I want to write about the sudden craving to be invisible on social media. I feel this pang here and there. If I don’t update my Instagram story for a while, I think “gosh, this feels good.” And then I get a tiny high from leaving my Instagram completely alone. And the longer I don’t update my feed, the more deliciously powerful I feel (over myself). I am secretive and off the radar. No one cares. The feeling is quaint and soothing like a long dirt road up in the middle of nowhere.

I’ve had social media for a long time. And sharing your public personal becomes quickly intricate and obsessive. What makes us so obsessed? And why does it feel a bit juicy and tempting to become out of touch for a while?

To start, I know why we post on social media. We all know why. Social media serves fundamental human needs: connection and belonging. We can be self-expressive, and “likes” and “comments” serve that psychological need to be seen and known. I can feel the dopamine hit in my veins before I press “post.” The gratification is always there waiting for me. It’s like an emotional cigarette.

On most days, my social media (i.e., public persona) lives alongside of me. I wake up, start the day, open my phone, consider making coffee, and begin tracking my life. I snap a picture of Lila in her new “Just a Girl That Loves Iguanodons” shirt. I think, “oh people will think this is as sweet and funny as I do.” I take a picture of her wearing it by her playhouse. And then I take another picture with her head not in the image, so I can share on social media. As she grows, I’ve become more leery about posting pictures of her face. I feel odd about cutting her face off to be intentional about this, but I do it anyway.

My social media continues to tag along with me throughout the day. I visit my horse during lunch and admire his bobbing head as I walk up to him. He wants a treat, and his eyes are wide and searching. Phone has to make note! I snap a photo; spend 2 minutes fumbling around to get it back in my pocket, consider a caption that would pair well with an Instagram story … maybe I should share on Facebook? And then I snap back to reality. My horse, pawing in his stall for the treat I promised.

I take photos of everything. There’s a license plate that says “11 ELVN” at a stoplight. I take a picture and send it to my family: “Make a wish!” A squirrel on my deck. My cats paws folded just so. A book I just finished. Two butterflies dashing about together on my lawn. I open my photos and I click, click, click. I see a race car trailer that says “Racers for Christ.” I take a photo while I’m driving on the highway. I have to send it to my husband. He’ll think it’s hilarious! Click, click, click.

From my consistent sharing and posting, I sometimes get jealous of people that go dark on social media for a while. People taking “summer breaks” from Instagram or people that brag they’ve been using a Brick. I admire people that only allow themselves to visit Instagram on Thursdays and post cute summary stories of their week. I admire people that dropped off Instagram completely, and it bothers me to think that I couldn’t see myself doing that. I would mourn the connections, the dopamine, the creativity, the storytelling. I would mourn my little motions of tracking my own life, saving it online — instead of prioritizing a photo album or paper journal.

This quote from a Reddit thread about “why people post on social media” reminded me why I’m writing this. Because since having social media in my life since college and Instagram in my life for 10+ years, it feels as if “connection” has become a bit of a fallacy. We connect with people on social media (sure), but why is social media starting to feel like a painful distraction?

Validation isn’t connection. But, social media sits in the middle ground of both of phrases. When I first got Facebook, I thought I was connecting with my friends. Texting was a new thing for me, and Facebook felt like a giant room of all my new college/high school buddies. We didn’t have to drive our car around the neighborhood to see what everyone was up to. We didn’t even have to go to a college party. We were all right there! Commenting on each other’s digital walls, imagining meeting each other at orientation.

But somewhere along the way, with the dopamine hits and the never-ending feed and personalized algorithms and easy-clickable shopping … connection became validation. With each year and platform update, we wanted more. We were given more. And the constant craving for validation doesn’t feel good.

Think about it. Social media doesn’t have a “dislike” button. Literally nothing on these platforms (aside from bots I suppose) is there to cease validation. It's a cyclical system made to keep you posting; make you feel good about yourself. Which is likely why I feel a sense of overwhelm in documenting my own life.

So, it makes sense that sometimes I feel a deep desire to step away. I want to be in a place with no internet, or somehow close myself off from my constant craving to reach out and share, share, share. I want to sit by a waterfall for a day and eat warm food. And it makes sense when it comes to psychology. I read somewhere that people in places without technology have needs that are lower on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. And they’re happier because of it.

When the needs in the lower region (psychological and safety needs) are the only essentials that need to be met, it’s easier to be satisfied. AKA, the reason “touch grass” became so popular.

The needs higher on the pyramid are difficult to fulfill. Or, they are supposed to be difficult to fill. Social media makes them easy to tickle. And we become addicted to that itch. Maslow even argued that survival needs must be satisfied before the individual can satisfy the higher needs. And yet, social media makes us forget about the lower-bowl needs all together. Social media flips Maslow’s hierarchy of needs on its head.

My need to dissociate got more prominent when I entered motherhood as well. I wanted to be numb. My life was transitioning and I didn’t want to deal with the pain and mourning of my past life. I became a mirror of my baby daughter, and it was hard for me to grasp at first, to feel like a baby myself. Social media became a transaction with my brain that allowed me to step away and scroll past my cognitive thoughts. I know social media has become an addiction for me. And for that, the cycle is self-actualization with gasoline poured on it.

Gosh, I feel the pull now — even as I’m writing this — to share something about my life that someone might find as relatable. But, again, I struggle to understand the difference between connection and validation; and if they’re really so connected that I’m missing the point. I want to prioritize privacy in my life. I want to prioritize boredom. I want to prioritize good sleep, fresh food, and personal security. I owe it to myself; and the people I love.

Anyway, hope you’re setting your phone down like I’m trying to these days. Or, throwing it in a lake.

1. First and foremost, in honor of Dolly Parton, I’m taking a page from in that we should be practicing one of Dolly’s favorite activities, as stated in her 1994 memoir “Unfinished Business.” The activity: “Run naked through the moonlight with my best girlfriends.”

2. Anyone remember World Market? I had forgotten about this delicious store until recently. And they have the cutest home storage options!

3. I have another football season recipe! This dirty martini dip as an app. Heard you’re supposed to try it with the truffle chips from Trader Joe’s. Also noting to buy this HICKORY dark balsamic to marinate chicken for the last few grills of the summer.

4. This advice column about how to handle your child wanting the parent that isn’t you, will make you cry. I’m the default parent at current, but my heart stretches for my husband in this scenario.

5. I feel like it’s important and crucial for you to know about these Mofusand cats I bought at a Japanese grocery store in New York a few weeks ago. They are everything.

   

6. I’m finally reading the coveted book of the year, “Strangers” by Belle Burden. It’s a definite must-read (even if you may hate it a little). And by hate, I mean I’m not in the correct tax bracket to be reading about a rich woman who’s husband left her during the pandemic. I have thought about this quote from the book a lot (there are MANY like it):

   “James and I didn’t feel at ease in the Hamptons, at least not the modern version of it, which involved a lot of competing, dressing up, and traffic … Most of our peers in New York, nearing forty, were buying summer homes. It wasn’t just an expectation; we wanted it — a respite from the city, a place to define ourselves, an investment in our life as a family. But we weren’t sure where to go.”

7. Two of my dear friends are the most prolific writers I know and recently they both wrote sincerely about painful things and made them beautiful. and her write up “Light of a Clear Blue Morning” and ’s essay “Numbers.” ❤️

8. A good read: Comedian Esther Povitsky’s Getting Sticky interview. I love her quote about independent/parallel play:

   “I'm a really big believer in independent play. I can see how this sounds sort of sad, but when I think of my childhood, the greatest joy I ever had was when I was playing alone in my room, inventing games and stories, and just creating my own world. I feel like the only reason I am creative is because of all those hours I spent alone in my room dancing in front of my mirror, playing school, teaching my stuffed animals how to read—whatever it was. That's what I'm trying to get back to as an adult, what I’m trying to channel when I sit alone in my bedroom with my notebook out.”

9. Here are all the cutesy fall kid’s clothes that I’m drooling over for Lila: This cat cardigan from All Small Co., and this tangerine cardigan! Misha and Puff’s flared pant. These Milk Teeth leopard trousers. UGH. Lewis trail shorts. This list would go on.

10. Ocean Vuong and his perfect slow poetry. Also, you need to read all his books if you haven’t already. Or, read them twice!

For as long as the history books have written themselves, motherhood has been engraved in every women’s life story. Being a mother was the female expectation. Even so, throughout history, mothers worked to etch their own choices; increased their labor force participation, gained the right to vote, agitated for more resources to perform their motherly duties, and nurtured their families. Finally, by the 1960s, mothers had poised themselves to challenge male expertise. From abortion rights to job titles, and the confinement of women to maternal roles. Suddenly, mothers and women could make more choices, their choices. And while two new options merged together: motherhood and non-motherhood, another enemy came into play—the women themselves.

For women, options became life sentences. If one woman doesn’t want to have children, there must be something wrong with the woman that does, or even worse, is there something wrong with you? Because of this, women are hungry to tell a story that puts women in two boxes: A or B. Motherhood, or non-motherhood. We pit ourselves against each other. In a way, choosing between motherhood and living without children has become a stand-up routine. Is it because we’re jealous of the choices we don’t make? We’re damned if we do and we’re damned if we don’t?

In a 2022 New Yorker comic “Choosing Horses,” a horse girl explores why she doesn’t want to have children. “Having kids would ruin my favorite activities: cursing and gossiping. Did you know you can’t gossip around kids [....] the delicate social fabric woven from shit-talk means NOTHING to them!!”

In a 2017 essay in Samantha Irby’s book “We Are Never Meeting in Real Life” she writes, “Everyone I know is having a goddamned baby and what that means is you can’t just stop by your homegirl’s house unannounced with a bottle of Carmenere and a couple of tubes of Pringles to watch hours of makeup tutorial videos on YouTube anymore.”

She goes on, “Now that a lot of my friends are having babies, the only resource I have against feeling like a huge dork for still trying to maneuver my way through my first real romance is doing things those mother hens can’t do anymore.” Irby lists, “I curse at the top of my lungs in the solitude of my apartment! Eat pizza for breakfast! Take several long, uninterrupted showers every day! Turn my phone off! Watch R-Rated movies! Poop in blissed-out peace! Buy unpasteurized cheese! And pointy furniture! Leave my vibrator in the dish drain and never wash it! Never ever watch public television! Get some mercury-laden sushi! Spend an entire day reading under the covers! Go out for drinks! Throw away all of my bite-size foods! Take a bunch of Tylenol! And a bunch of Advil! And don’t forget: DRINK A SHITLOAD OF COLD MEDICINE!!!”

Why are we treating “all mothers” or “all women without children” as stone monuments that cannot change? Stones that want the same things? We frame mothers as Kohls ads. Robot women driving sport utility vehicles with roof racks, in stable relationships with men who wear sensible shoes and make wise investments with their beer money. And women without children? Drunken partiers toeing the line between ‘fabulous and exciting’ and “sad as a motherfucker.” This is as according to Samantha Irby.

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And this is the problem. Women, themselves, place all women in a square box of shame, even if we aren’t able to understand what container we’ve been put into. Are you a mother? Or a non-mother? Are you flaccid or unmanageable? Are you a caregiver or a generalized piece of shit? And, if you’re wondering — ladies — there’s nowhere else you could possibly fit. According to all of us, you have one box to make a home in.

“Women, themselves, place all women in a square box of shame, even if we aren’t able to understand what container we’ve been put into. Are you a mother? Or a non-mother? Are you flaccid or unmanageable? Are you a caregiver or a generalized piece of shit? And, if you’re wondering — ladies — there’s nowhere else you could possibly fit. According to all of us, you have one box to make a home in.”

While women are labeling other women as individuals, on the contrary, men label women as a whole. Glynnis Macnicol writes in her memoir “No One Tells You This,” “When men gave thought to women’s life choices, it was never the individual they seemed to have a problem with, just WOMEN as if they were a great body of water to be sailed over. Women, on the other hand, often responded to me in the exact opposite fashion.”

Is this why we’re so hard on each other? Because it’s easy for women to feel that other women’s choices are somehow a reflection of theirs, instead of an alternative made on their own? Because we’re hard on ourselves, we’re hard on others? Is this why we measure women by what they don’t have?

Perhaps this is because it’s impossible for women to “have it all.” We’ve been spoon-fed the narrative that “having it all” is as close to impossible as a fair chunk of maternity leave. In Taffy Brodresser-Akner’s book, “Fleishman Is In Trouble,” she writes, “It was like those T-shirts all my daughter’s friends were wearing to school now, the ones that said THE FUTURE IS FEMALE in big block letters [...] But the only reason it’s tolerated is that everyone knows it’s just a lie we tell to girls to make their marginalization bearable. They know that eventually the girls will be punished for their futures, so they let them wear their dumb message shirts now.”

Punished for their futures. Because if we don’t choose one of the futures set out for us (ahem, motherhood) we are self-righteous, gluttonous, impolite humans that can’t be tolerated. It’s no wonder women are bitter toward one another. If we have one and not the other, we must point fingers. We must compare. We must yell, “If I can’t be fabulous and exciting, I’m going to be sad as a motherfucker!”

All the while, women are fluid. We can change our minds. We don’t have to choose. We can be cursing in a grocery store with our children. We can mother. We can get drunk in the shower. We can mother a shelter cat instead of a baby. In all scenarios, we can find empowerment and live a life without regret and shame. Not all women are destined to devour maternal desire. And not all women are destined to regret motherhood. We should not have to choose between one or the other to have it all.

Motherhood is not every women’s natural role. And that shouldn’t be expected of us. Ruby Warrington, author, editor, book doula, and host of the podcast “Women Without Kids” says that the idea of naturally wanting motherhood “gives all mothers permission for mothering not to come natural to them.” Even more, she says, “How about we’re all just people, trying to figure out how to create lives where we get to thrive as who we know ourselves to be? Getting some things we want, not getting other things we want, and trying to make peace with wherever we are today?”

Thrive as we know ourselves to be. Yes.

So, what do to fix this narrative?

For me, it’s hear each other’s stories. Listen to podcasts like Women Without Kids and read more about abortion. Vocalize how motherhood feels. Stop posting TikToks about how to parent our children. Let parenting be natural. Know we, as women, are capable of everything. Read a book like “How Not to Exclude Artist Mothers (and other parents)” by Hattie Judah. Know that no matter the cultural expectation of women in general, we all can smoke some weed, roam through an aquarium, and end the day with a hot pretzel and cheese. We are all simply getting to know ourselves, no matter who we are.

1. Something on my TBRT (To Be Read Tab) is this article about how studying things like books, history, art, and ideas is important, even when they are hard to understand. In a world of AI, we shouldn’t try get rid of difficult reading or thinking just because it’s easier to have computers or other people give us quick answers. Learning to think carefully (and use our brains) helps us understand the world for ourselves.

2. Just a beautiful and touching article about someone’s cat named Melon.

3. I WANT A CARPET BAG. 🤤

   

4. Obviously this blog, because I … never feel like cooking. I have my eyes on this one-pan green chilis, chicken, (white) corn, and rice casserole. We love a dump recipe!

5. If I ever get back into audio book land, I want to read Christina Applegate’s audiobook, “You With The Sad Eyes.” Dark-funny fall, here I come.

6. Juliana Ramirez’s Substack, Search Terms. I really love the monthly “Hot Sheet” lists. She posts things like the most ideal nail colors (Celisse in Baby Doll) and cute hats like this.

7. I just started watching Sterling Point on Amazon Prime. It’s a fine show. The setting is stunning. It’s a bit wholesome and entirely cheesy (i.e., a great mid-week watch). Cool factoid: Connor is played by Mark Ruffalo’s son, Keen. I’m surprised I didn’t notice this sooner!

   

8. A great guide to LED lightbulbs that are good for the earth and not fugly. The best design advice I ever got was to pay attention to home lighting.

9. How to build an aura that changes the energy around you? Okay, I’ll bite.

10. This article, “Why We Like Things” is such a good read. It’s all about good taste; and how it’s become a catch-all term. I also really love how the article defines Camp.

    

Near fall or end of summer, my family and I take a two-hour drive up to Nisswa, a northern lake town in Minnesota riddled with the most bittersweet touristy spots and scenery. Think: candy stores, tee-shirt shops, stores filled with kitschy northern quoted dish towels, fish fries, the constant smell of sweet bonfire, a Paul Bunyan Land Amusement Park, mini golf, and VPWs with real pull tabs.

There are four grandchildren, almost five, and it’s typically a short family getaway packed with long and stretchy afternoons and early mornings at the continental breakfast. We rent bikes and take kayaks into the lake, plop on the beach with the toddlers (sand all over their diapers), shop/eat all day, and make sticky s’mores by the bonfire.

This year, I’m going solo with my toddler since my husband is working. So I had to take some very serious time to write a packing list for myself. And I think it’s hilarious how much two humans can pack for themselves, even if one of those humans is only 40 pounds and could live off yogurt bites for three days. When you go somewhere with a toddler, forgetting something could make for weird travel-improv (ever heat up a bottle in a bucket of hot water?) and toddlers are basically royalty.

Here are my our essentials:

1. Free People Running Shorts: Best for running across the lawn to grab your toddler.

2. A bag full of these sensory noodle fidget toys. Because we need all we can get to distract a three-year-old in a restaurant. Honorable additional mentions: mini Magnatiles, reusable water pens for and drawing pads, and sticker stampers!

3. A good sunscreen for me. And a good sunscreen for my toddler. Roll-on is always best!! I will die on that hill!

4. The best travel toiletry bag I’ve ever purchased. This goes on every trip and it carries everything I could ever imagine needing (Ibuprofen, my Quip toothbrush, extra contacts, Tide pen, makeup removal wipes, travel toothpaste, extra toothbrush, peppermint oil, deodorant, hair ties, etc. etc.)

5. A portable travel fan. Girl needs her white noise. This stays in my suitcase.

6. Two of my Roark dresses. They are the most breezy, breathable, and carefree dresses I own.

7. My daughter’s SlumberPod sleep tent. An absolute game-changer on summer nights when it doesn’t get dark until 9pm and we don’t have black-out curtains. It gives her privacy to sleep in her Newton Travel Crib. The SlumberPod even has a built in ventilation fan! We will also be bringing Lila’s Frida Baby Air Purifier sound machine. Yes, I pack this thing!

8. Birkenstock sandals (Arizona Essentials). Versatile for the beach and easy to rinse off.

9. A notepad with a set of watercolors. And the next book in the Empyrean series (yep, I got into the dragon romantacy). Because I don’t want to look at my phone the entire time Lila naps.

10. My Blooming Jelly Womens One Piece swimsuit. I have one in black. The key, friends, is to search “postpartum swimsuits” and you can really find the jackpot.

11. YESNO Women’s Summer Boho Cotton Casual Jumpsuit. I have one in Floral POO2r and one in Floral 26. They are the best paired with a simple tee. And they’re perfect for any type of weather because they’re so light.

12. An oversized linen top. Perfect to mix with outfits and pair with a swimsuit.

13. My portable heating pad, DUH. This is the most underrated travel item of all time.

14. A two-piece track suit, like this one. I don’t own this suit specifically, but whenever I travel it’s what I want to wear. It’s on my wishlist!

15. Organic lollipops (dye-free) for Lila. I know you’re not supposed to bribe children but in a lasting vacation moment, we will be bribing with these.

16. For Lila, these breezy pants, and cute sweatshirts like this.

17. Cann pocket-sized liquid packets. They only have 2mg of THC and 4mg of CBD. Perfect for a calming cabin microdose.

18. A toddler beach robe. After rinsing them off from the beach, they get cold quick!

19. Instant camera! I always love having these on-hand because I swear they capture something a bit different, more tender and unique and intentional, than my phone.

20. A linen beach blanket. I bought one recently from a brewery that I love and screams “Anthropologie” but you can’t go wrong with any linen blanket option.

Want more lists like this one? I love lists!

For Mother’s Day this year, my sister handed me a tiny white pot filled with hard dirt. “I planted you some sunflower seeds,” she said. It was a gracious, thoughtful gift. My sister loves to grow things and she grows them well: raspberry bushes, tomato plants, children, a home.

I placed the pot on my deck, in a spot it would get ample sun. I worried slightly that the pot didn’t have holes to drain water, but admired the flat dirt and what was under it: hope, seeds, and life.

We were supposed to have a baby on July 2. After we lost the baby in December, I worried about this due date all spring and summer long. I thought that July 2 would be hot and loud. Fireworks would crack and pop all over the neighborhood. The bee balm would be blooming in my mother’s garden. Limelight hydrangeas would be opening their buds. I thought, I will be so sad on July 2. I missed longing for the date, anticipating the warmth of a scene; what the world would look like when the baby came.

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Which is why I’m telling this story about sunflower seeds and that gorgeous sisterly intuition that knew I needed to take care of a life, grow it from seed, and to see it bloom in July.

I watered the pot every day. Without initial expectations, something sprouted. The shell of a sunflower seed was a skeleton on the tough dirt. And then, another sprout came. And another. Three striped seed shells were proof of life.

The three sunflowers grew to be a foot tall and they hung with their heavy stems. I knew I had to transfer them to ground, so I dug a three holes in the sunniest corner of my yard. I watered the soil to loosen it up, worried about pulling each flower from their safe pot.

I watched at least five YouTube videos (in full) on how to successfully transfer a partially grown sunflower plant. Do not disturb the root ball!! I accidentally ripped part of the rootball. I prayed their root loss didn’t kill them. Water them deeply after planting. I watered and I watered and I watered. Move them in the evening, or on a cloudy day. We moved them in a heat wave. July wasn’t letting up on us. I covered all three with wire fencing and spread fresh wood chips at their base. Make a basin. I kept watering them, drug the hose halfway across the yard every morning to ensure the water stayed near the roots. Bugs ate some of their leaves and I spent a whole week fretting about it. I bought a bug powder at the store to sprinkle on their leaves.

It became quickly apparent over these few weeks that the sunflowers gave me purpose. In a world that I couldn’t control, one that took babies away and barely gave me time to heal. In a world where I kept getting older; life made it hard to let things go, or keep things close … I had these sunflowers. Sunflowers that I could grow, time that could prove life, and the blooming potential of flowers in the end.

Now, I do realize that I have a healthy three-year-old daughter that gives me light and life every day. Teaching her things and telling her stories and giving her a safe place to land is obviously my North Star forever. Having a daughter is purpose. The sunflowers, however, were a small flicker that brought me a target that had an end. The earthly part of me wanted to see something grow from a pile of dirt, with a deep intent to create something. It wasn’t a baby, but it was beautiful.

The sunflowers kept growing, two feet, three feet, reaching their jagged leaves toward the sun. I noticed a flower sprouting on each of them, a circle of green arms. I thought, oh these little seeds. They’re going to make it! A friend of mine asked if she could have some seeds when the flowers bloomed. I confidently said “yes.” I imagined myself cracking open the flowers early fall so I could share the life they beared.

Two months after my sister handed me the little white pot, these strong and mighty sunflowers pushed their faces to the sun. I don’t think sunflowers are hard to grow (my friend found some in a pile of construction dirt they had in their yard; someone else told me that sunflowers were just weeds). But, they meant something to me. They were proof of life. They were something to nurture. They showed me that my body could grow something beautiful.

1. Everything writes, to be clear. But this essay about how our phones are the reason we don’t feel sexy, is divine. This quote. 😍

   “Today, everyone and everything is always available, and there’s nothing less sexy than that. There’s no chase. Our phones don’t allow us time to dwell, and they don’t allow us time to yearn. Why force yourself to daydream about the guy you’re seeing when you can easily look at dozens of photographs of him online? Why walk into a store in Soho and see what’s on offer when you can stay home and scroll the entire inventory from the comfort of your couch? Why go to the library to find books about a topic that interests you when you can look it up on Wikipedia in two minutes and move on with your day?”

2. Okay, I’m not done with yet! She also recently published a Sunday Opinion essay in the New York Times called “The Trap of the Digital Double,” about being constantly confronted with our own image; what’s unsettling and dark about that.

3. This delightful, nostalgic video of a 13th birthday. And basically every video Stella Blackmon creates.

4. I was talking to our long-haired cat the other day, after we brushed him, and I said, “You’re sooooo soft, bubba!” Lila, eating dinner, paused to say back, “I’m soft too!!”

5. In-home Scandinavian style is by far my favorite. Here are a few items I’ve been thinking about lately: blue taper candles, a simple desktop organizer, white ceramic vases (this one, but cheaper), a mid-century vanity (something from an antique store), and white and blue embroidery.

6. A new recipe to try: this craveable zucchini-corn salad. I might try to make the way intended: “With mayo instead of tahini because I am a pervert (skip the water in that case).” Oh and this miracle August tip: “Juice your bad watermelons in the blender with lime juice and zest! Read in bed with the fan on!”

7. As always, an absolute banger poem by .

   

8. One more bonus recipe: Hailee Catalano’s pigs-in-a-blanket. The peppies!! This also has me thinking about football parties 😊.

9. I’m in the market for new sneakers (I still run with the sneakers I’ve had for 10+ years). BlissMove sneakers have come highly recommended.

10. BRB thinking about this:

On paper, motherhood and horsemanship have nothing to do with each other. In one relationship, there is a forty pound human that can’t yet define emotions or poop in a toilet. In the other relationship, there is a is herd-motivated animal that can’t understand english and can only RUN when afraid. Despite their differences, I recently noticed their likeness. Somewhere between brushing my daughter’s hair and my horse’s neck, and cleaning up both of their poop, I noticed that both relationships have something in common. They expect, need and deserve the same things from me.

Some of these things are: Soft hands. Patience. Emotional brevity.

Both relationships respond to the version of me that is patient instead of hurried, curious instead of frustrated, gentle instead of loud. Both force me to confront the parts of myself I’d rather ignore (the impatience, the overwhelm, the temptation to rush). And both reward me when I choose softness instead.

I’ve come to realize that I am practicing the same craft in two different places. Here’s what they look like alongside each other.

Home:

I wake up feeling groggy and start a warm bottle for Lila. She’s three, and we still warm up a sippy of milk for her every morning. “I want it HOT,” she says, like an old lady at a nursing home, demanding her morning lemon tea.

I crack open her door and the woosh of her sound machine falls all over my body. “Good morningggggg,” I croon in a sing-song voice. Her rooms smells like deep breaths and her shampoo. I can see her baby hairs lighting up behind the sun. An orange July sun that’s already seeping through her curtains.

I always want to make sure she sees the best version of myself every morning, the second she sees my body in the door frame. It’s not hard. Seeing her in the morning is the best thing I could ask for.

She needs me; and I need her.

Barn:

I walk into the barn, emotionally hungry for what it offers. A calm falls over me like the thick smell of alpha and warm horse. I could chew on the feeling. I have a few tiny apples in my pocket from my sister’s apple tree.

I see my horse’s head, propped over his stall, gazing at me with sharp ears. “Hiiiiii, bubs,” I sing to him. His head bobs while he paws at me. He wants his treats. He wants to move his legs. I consciously activate the peace in my body I save for horses and my little girl: calm. I take a deep breath, attempt lowering my heart rate, and keep my hands softly near my hips.

He needs me; and I need him.

Home:

Lila is sitting on the couch sipping her milk, watching cars out the window while I brush her hair. We do this every morning. I admire what she picked out to wear today, a lime green dress with dark pink stitching near the neck. She has a fluffy white blanket over her legs and the air conditioning vent tosses her baby hairs. She’s cool and content.

That little truth fills me with joy.

Barn:

Crow is standing in cross-ties in the barn aisle while I brush him. A giant, industrial fan blows his chestnut tail against his white legs. I’ve always loved horses because they’re so beautiful to look at. His breed originated through the Thoroughbred, so he’s built long and lean, with expressive eyes and big shoulders. My favorite place to brush is his neck. I brush it into a copper gold. He’s shiny and happy to be out of his stall.

That little truth fills me with joy.

Home:

We have to get out the door for daycare, and it’s always a slow and steady process. She wants to grab her bunny from her crib. She wants to check on her babies. She’d like to put the blanket back on the couch just so. She wants to check on the cars one more time, pick tomatoes, stand in the yard and breath in and out.

I don’t want to rush her. I read somewhere that rushing children can lead to chronic stress, exhaustion, and anxiety. I try to fill her with confidence. I try to talk in long and level sentences. The nicer I ask her to do something, the happier she is. My life has suddenly become an emotional regulation marathon. I am an emotionally regulated unicorn!! I am patient! I am kind!!

Barn:

I lead Crow into the arena for some ground work. Ground work with horses is when you don’t ride them (i.e., leading them over poles, lunging etc.), and it’s extremely important, tedious work that builds your relationship with them. Today, my plan is to try to free-lead him (without a lead rope) and teach him manners about spacial awareness and listening to my voice. We’re also going to do some backing up work to build his back muscles.

I don’t want to rush him. When I tell him to stop next to me, he keeps walking aimlessly, curious about something across the arena. I let him drift off and instead use another level voice command. “Woah.” Using delayed or harsh punishment on horses destroys their trust; and they won’t be able to connect a delayed reaction to something they actually did wrong. When he does stop nicely, I offer him a bite of apple.

He crunches softly and nudges my arm. I give him a pat. Crow and I have been learning about each other for a long time, and we have these flickers of wins that wouldn’t be noticed by the regular onlooker. I take another moment to remind myself to stay emotionally sound. I am patient!! I am kind!!

Home:

I tell Lila to climb into the car. She’s standing in the driveway. “No,” she says plainly. I realize, for the umpteenth time today, that I have to make something sound like it’s her idea. “Do you want to walk to the car or do you want me to carry you into the car?” She immediately spins on her heels and marches to the car.

Man, I am good.

Barn:

Since Crow and I are working on manners, I’ve been trying to teach him not to sprint off the lead line when I let him play in the arena. The first time I release the snap on his halter, he spins on his heels and throws a few bucks before he’s far enough from my body. It’s his natural reaction, but I want him to wait until I leave the arena to act like a horse.

I walk calmly to the corner where he ran and speak with ease. He waits for me to clip the halter and I ask him to back up in a straight line. I walk him in a few circles, squaring up my shoulders with his shoulders, asserting a safe dominance. He drops his head and chews, a sign that he’s being submissive.

I ask him to halt and wait. I unclip the halter. I ask him to halt and wait. Halt and wait. Halt and wait. “Woah. Woah. Woah. Wait.” I leave the arena. He’s still waiting. I make a chirping noise, a cue that it’s okay to run. He bursts like a spring and prances across the dirt.

Man, I am good.

Home:

We are driving to daycare. I know I’m not always good. In fact, more times than one, I am unregulated, overwhelmed, tired, or unable to fully mount myself into glorifying motherhood society applauds. But, I always apologize. I always explain when I’m struggling. I always try my best. I watch Lila look out the window, watching the trees. I am proud of her, and us, for trying.

Barn:

I’m leading Crow out of the arena after our ground work. I know I’m not always good. In fact, more times than one, I am impatient, shrill, or unable to fully mount myself into a quality horse person. But, I always replace harsh thoughts with a soft hand. I never blame the horse. If something is wrong, that’s on me. I take responsibility. I watch Crow point his face down the aisle, and blow hot air on my arm like a dragon. I am proud of him, and us, for trying.

Home:

When Lila’s not at home, the house feels desperately empty. I spend the day answering emails, sitting in meetings, pulling weeds, doing laundry, organizing a drawer, writing to do lists, paying bills. I miss her but I am comfortable in the motion of the day; the getting things done. I need this time, I think. I need this time to myself.

Barn:

I love the barn for its chores; how they put me at ease. I spend part of the afternoon cleaning Crow’s stall, filling his water bucket, rationing his grain, sweeping the floor, cleaning tack. It’s mindless and full of movement. I’ve always loved the swift motion of pushing a pitchfork across shavings, and the repetitive, honest work of creating a clean space for an animal. I need this time, I think. I need this time to myself.

Home:

When Lila gets home, there’s a lot to do. I make sure she has a snack and water. Lately, the snack has been fresh cherry tomatoes from our tomato plant and ice water (with a splash of cranberry juice). If she had a good day at daycare, we do something special. We walk to the park or the gas station for a sucker. I prep her dinner while she plays peacefully in her room. I make sure the house is quiet. I light a candle. I am fighting an urge to dissociate and check-out after a long day at work. Mentally, I am in the bathtub, reading a book.

I am here. I am here. I am here.

Barn:

I put Crow back into his stall. I throw him a flake of hay and fill his water again. We had a good day together, and I always offer treats in his stall when we’re done. I tidy my grooming box and look at my body. Hay flakes and sawdust cake my arm. I make sure his stall is secured shut; his halter is hung nicely. I am thinking about all the things I need to do when I leave the barn. I calculate the time it will take to get to Lila’s daycare, and if I have time to stop at the feed store for more fly spray. Mentally, I am halfway down the highway.

I am here. I am here. I am here.

Home:

After Lila is fed and bathed, fully played out and well read and cozy in her “sleep zippy” (her sleep sack), I sing to her before she falls asleep. We sing three songs exactly, and walk through the same ritual every night that evolves by the day. It’s a practice I take very seriously, especially as we recount on the day’s activities; what we did. I try to leave her with a lasting note: “You are safe and I am always here for you.” Or, “I love you because not because you are good or bad. I love you because you are you, and because you did your best today.”

Barn:

I visit Crow one last time in his stall, and give him a good boy pat on the forehead. I admire all the hard work I put in for him that day, and watch his hooves squish the fresh savings and soft pad in his stall. “See you soon, friend.” I tell him and walk away feeling peaceful. I think that I find such safeness in knowing everyone I love is fed, watered, and clean. It’s a very simple, if not fundamental, pleasure.

1. I recently read “Yesteryear” by Caro Claire Burke and it’s PERFECT. It’s been on every summer reading list and talked about all over the internet. Once it was in my hands, I couldn’t put it down. I won’t spoil anything for you, of course. It’s pithy and visionary (it’s giving tradwife influencer dystopian vibes). The plot and storytelling is as juicy as they come. In fact, the book swept my up like an ocean wave and swallowed me whole. Delightful!

2. I am loving Gracie Abram’s new album “Daughter From Hell.” Notable favs: Hit the Wall, Look at My Life, Good Reason, and Minibar.

3. “You’ve Got Mail” was on this weekend and I wanted to take a moment to admire Kathleen Kelly’s apartment.

4. Oh, man. This intricate bit of writing by on not keeping a notebook. She effortlessly captures the stresses of trying to bottle up time as a parent.

   "Something to consider: Sunny’s adulthood will not be transformed by knowing the day on which she requested her first ponytail (July 22, 2026). Yes, there is pleasure and amusement—for me, maybe one day for Sunny—in reading the entries, but they won’t change her life. And they’re certainly not worth the thrum of anxiety their blank counterparts have sent pulsing through me for two-plus years, some of the most vulnerable of my life, during which I’ve never tried harder to be present, to observe more closely, to love more deeply. They’re worth a little anxiety, maybe, but not that much. The real problem isn’t planning. It’s that we take our plans to be something they aren’t. Documenting is fine; it might lead, one day, to a sweet afternoon of remembering, a detailed interview, a great memoir. But the most thoroughly documented life will not bring it back, make it real again, in all its detailed splendor.”

5. I’m going to New York next week for a quick work trip, so I’ve been admiring this “summer in the city” collection of trinkets and high fashion. I really want this book and this grandparent and grandchild pen pal kit. (Air Mail)

6. When communication is used in its top form.

7. Lila was playing sensory noodle boards at daycare the other day for the longest I’ve ever seen her play with a toy (she’s three). We pack them to every restaurant trip now, and they keep her happy and busy!

   

8. recently recommended this eye cream from a friend of hers that “looks like a porcelain doll.” The recommendation was pretty convincing so I bought some for myself. Can’t go wrong with Korean skincare.

9. 🚨MOM SHORTS ALERT. 🚨 These Adidas satin sprinter shorts. I want them very badly to accompany when I go on walks/move the sprinkler/sit on the couch/do everything.

10. This extremely relatable comment section on an Instagram reel where the woman is talking about the physical/emotional labor behind taking your toddler to the park.

    

I recently read ’s all-time housekeeping heroes list, and it inspired me to come up with a list of my own tools, equipment, and materials I will buy over and over again for my home. I happen to enjoy cleaning my house and take pride in the things that serve me best throughout that glorious OCD love language. Let’s go!

p.s. don’t threaten me for a good time (feeling awkward at a party and talking about my favorite housekeeping items).

1. RIDGID 3 Gal. 5.0 Peak HP NXT Shop Vacuum

I can’t REALLY take credit for this one. My husband purchased the orange beast a long time ago. But I love this hefty thing. I use it to clean our carpeted stairs, nooks and crannies in the couch, any giant rug, the car seat, and near the cat’s litter boxes. It’s easy to empty, picks up everything, and won’t let you down! The hand held RIGID vacuum is an honorable mention.

2. Briotech Sanitizer Disinfectant

Anxious mamas nervous about germs, please stand up! This daily all-purpose surface cleaner is the best solution I have ever found for my home, especially during the sick months. I love this stuff so much I have a reoccurring bottle delivery once a month. It kills viruses, mold, fungi and fights the ickiest smells (i.e, it contains no harsh ingredients, so you could basically eat off a surface immediately after using.) They also have a topical skin spray I love that calms irritation and redness.

3. Protecto Electrostatic Magic Brush Glove

We have cats, and this brush will effortlessly pick up any hair, anywhere. You don’t have to put your back into it to brush up hard spots, it’s just a simple swipe back and forth. So much easier than trying to brush up hair or sucking it off a couch crease with a vacuum. ILYSM, electrostatic brush.

4. DIVA Glamorous Wash Laundry Detergent

When we had Lila, the smell of Dreft was a tender, nostalgic high for me. We still use it for her clothes, and sometimes I sneak a lil’ for myself. But, the real deal laundry detergent (and something I sometimes allow myself to splurge on) is DIVA detergent. It’s a little expensive, but smells like a designer perfume that isn’t overpowering. If you want to test out the smell yourself, buy some dryer sachets (they’re cheaper).

5. DIY cleaning solutions

This can come in a myriad of options, so here are the DIY cleaning solutions I put together:

• To repel bugs from windowsills: In a small spray bottle, I mix together witch hazel, 8 drops of peppermint oil, and 8 drops of clove bud.

• To spray on linen: In a small spray bottle, I mix together witch hazel or distilled water, 8 drops of lavender and 8 drops of magnesium oil (lemon and sandalwood are good alternatives too).

• To clean hard surfaces: In a bigger glass spray bottle, mix 1/4 cup of white vinegar, 1 teaspoon of mild liquid dish soap, and 15-20 drops of antibacterial essential oils (lemon, tea tree, or lavender).

6. Grandma’s Secret Spot Remover

This stuff will get a stain out of anything. It’s non-toxic and fights stains that have already been washed and through a hot dryer (game changer). Also great for pet stains stuck on the floor (i.e., your cat that hacked up a hair ball a month ago and you didn’t spot it until now).

7. CHOMP Long Handle Wall Cleaner

If you’re a bizarre freak like me and staring at your dirty baseboards five minutes before people come over, this wall cleaner is for you. I stick a squeegee on it in the spring/fall to clean my windows outdoors as well. It really is a versatile dreamboat of a cleaning tool! Don’t invite me to parties. I’ll just talk about shit like this!

8. Meyer’s Hand Care Products

My favorite!! They have the best seasonal scents. My summer favorite is “Fresh Cut Grass” and my winter favorite is “Snowdrop.” Their “Peony” or “Snowdrop” Multi-Surface Every Day Cleaner is also a top contender for me; and I always keep backup under the sink.

9. A cleaning service

Let’s be real. I would be lying if I said someone didn’t come to my house to clean it once a month, and it’s changed my life for the past few years. After we had Lila, I knew I’d want someone to clean our house ongoing, to smooth out my brain waves like an emotional iron.

I met my cleaning person in a Walmart cleaning aisle when she recommended what I use to clean my bathtub (PSA: toilet cleaner!!) and I trusted and adored her from the start. There are so many wonderful cleaning services you can use, and I recommend asking friends and family who they use to get started.

I was so inspired by Erika Veurink’s list about what she’s quit since turning 30 and ’s midlife “not-to-do” list, I wanted to make my own version. At first, I was going to call it the my “Nope List.” And now, it’s morphed into my “Reverse To-Do List.”

I turn 39 this year, and instead of making another ambitious to-do list, I'm celebrating everything I don't do anymore. Think of it as a collection of habits, obligations, and expectations I've happily crossed off for good. Somehow saying no has become one of my favorite ways to say yes.

Let’s get into it.

Here’s a list of things I’m not doing anymore:

1. Saying yes to freelance projects I don’t want to do. I said “yes” to every freelance writing gig in the past because I wanted to build a portfolio and get my name out there as a writer. I ended up writing a lot of things I didn’t want to write, and didn’t write them well. I understand that’s a part of the process. But now, I’m working on prioritizing the projects that light me up instead.

2. Sharing performative politics online. I try to do my best to give back to my community and share something actionable (who I’m voting for, a meaningful petition, where to vote, etc.) But when it comes to overly opinionated things and constantly sharing that stuff, it feels performative. I know life isn’t always sunshine and roses, but I want to lean into sharing that kind of content on social media, and step away from the toxic side of the social media world.

3. Reading books I’m not into. I use to guilt-skim through books I didn’t enjoy, and waste a lot of time doing so. If I don’t like a book by 100 pages, it’s time to go into my Little Free Library. No hate here! Everyone loved “Remarkably Bright Creatures” and I did not enjoy a bit of it. That went in my LFL!

4. Workout classes. Do riding lessons count? If they do, maybe I shouldn’t put this on this list. Either way, while I love a good hot yoga moment (and often need a deadline or specific time to be anywhere or get anything done), I can’t prioritize paying for a workout class anymore. Getting outside and moving is my best medicine.

5. Buying (uncomfortable) shoes. But, especially shoes at Target. I’m sorry. Every pair is uncomfortable. And I will not be buying uncomfortable shoes until further notice.

6. Buying expensive shampoo. And expensive skincare. I have a theory that we’re all being tricked to spend more money on beauty products even though simple is better. A standard jojoba oil for my face (soaked in geranium rose leaves and distilled), and Pantene for my hair will do just fine. Also, my mom told me to always put things on your face and hair that you could rightfully eat (she uses olive oil). Guess I’m going to start doing honey and yogurt masks!

7. Buying overly trendy fashion pieces. Skinny low-rise jeans don’t fit my lifestyle. And you know what? That’s fine. I’m trying to be more intentional about what fits my season of life and what I feel comfortable wearing.

8. Googling everything. I was at Taylor Swift trivia the other night (white girl flex) and I could not, for the life of me, come up with a song based off a single lyric. It made me feel as if my brain was tapping out, or something up there wasn’t firing. Well, it kind of is. According to Psychology Today, the brain actively discards factual data if it knows the information can be easily retrieved online later. My brain is literally cognitively offloading itself. My new vow is to, instead of Googling something right away, write a list of questions down in my notes. So, I can mull on them for a little while. And maybe look something up in a damn encyclopedia like I did in middle school (I’m my-parents-had-an-encyclopedia-collection-old). If you want to be more creeped out, here’s a good additional read on the topic of Google amnesia.

9. Caring about what I post on Instagram. A lot of people have been writing about how they wish we could go back to early 2010s Instagram, when no one cared about what they were posting on there (i.e., it was a plethora of sepia-toned nature scenes and blurry flat lays of brunch). I’m going back to that. I don’t care what I post. If I feel like posting a photo of my food, I will. If I don’t feel like posting a photo of anything for a week, I won’t.

10. Scattering my meetings throughout the day. Instead, I’m going to do my best to batch my meetings during one section/half of the day. Gone are the days I have a meeting every thirty minutes, thus taking away any sense of productivity or free time. Bouncing from meeting to meeting and using the random thirty minutes in between to dissociate on Instagram reels is not serving me well.

11. Emailing people first thing in the morning. To start, it’s a bit rude. I read somewhere that emailing right away scrambles your priorities for the day. You’re supposed to check one (crucial) thing off your to-do list, sip some coffee, and then start firing off emails.

12. Trying to change the people that I love. I was talking to my mom on the phone and she was watching an older couple get interviewed about the longevity of their relationship. They were asked separately what their secret to a long marriage was. They both said, “I didn’t try to change them.” I think this is the most beautiful thing; and I will carry the advice with me forever.

13. Buying cheap paper products (toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates). Girl, we are almost 40 and I’m not about to pop my finger through anything I’m wiping.

14. Completing the “zero trimester” marathon. I’ve previously written about the “zero trimester marathon” and it’s total misadjusted bullshit. The wellness industry is hungry and greedy to catch our grief; and I’m no longer going to let the fertility doubt be “cured” with every single wellness treatment known to man.

15. Say yes to anything that isn't a HELL YES. If it’s not a “HELL YES,” then it’s a “No.” This goes for all things: activities with friends, events, who Lila spends her time with, freelance projects, buying things for my home, reading certain books, volunteering, driving somewhere far … the list goes on. I understand life isn’t a plethora of no’s (there has to be a yes in there somewhere), but when I’m able — I’m going to try and lean into the “hell yes” opportunities.

16. Gel manicures. I love a routine manicure moment, but gel destroys my nails. G’bye, long stretches of perfect nails.

17. Staying at parties when I don’t want to be there. I’ve done this a lot in the past out of politeness, but I realize now it’s a pure waste of time. I’m not adding anything to a party I don’t want to be at — so why waste everyone else’s time, too?

18. Feeling guilty when my toddler doesn’t want to provide affection to others. Secondarily, expecting her to hug people or be super cheery for them. At family events, it’s the expectation that your kid act like a full blown proper adult and hug/say singsongy goodbyes to every family member. AND be in a good mood. But, that’s not fair. Her body is her space, and her feelings are her feelings. I won’t be expecting her to provide physical or emotional comfort to people if she doesn’t want to. She’s three! She doesn’t even know what day of the week it is!

19. Deprioritizing rest. When Lila is home, I spend a lot of my time swirling around her — doing laundry, washing dishes, prepping food, sweeping, tidying. During work hours, I sit at my computer for long stretches, analyzing emails and asking CoPilot to unpack questions I had in a previous meeting. Rest is last on the list for me often. On Saturday mornings now, I read my book while Lila watches a few morning episodes of Bluey. I try to sit on her blanket in the yard when she plays and stare at the trees. They’re small steps, but I’m prioritizing rest more.

20. Carrying my phone into the bathroom with me. Good God. STOP.

If you like lists, read a few more!

I just want to write something beautiful.

I’m at a Walgreens again, buying tampons and a jar prenatals. I’ve gone through nearly 4 bottles of those horse pills since we started trying to have another baby and I know that’s not half the amount some people go through. Time is such a fickle thing. It eats up everything.

The days are getting shorter now, which feels a lot like aging. As time goes on, days feel shorter. The summer solstice feels like turning 39 when you want more out of life. More sunlight and heat.

I’m driving from a horse show. And I see a pink sunset over the Minneapolis skyline. The clouds above the sunset are dark and hooded. I’m listening to an old playlist (Don Diablo ft. Gucci Mane is playing). It really is such a shit song. But suddenly it feels as if I’m right there, in my early twenties, wanting everything. I have most of that everything now, and how could I ever want more?

But I do. I always want more. We always want more. Is it our condition? Is that the human way? Why are we like this?

I think, right up front: survival. We are like this because we will do anything to survive. We must be such yearning desire-hounds because the act of physical longing keeps us alive. And yearning happens more when we lack things. I’ve heard society is having a yearning moment for romantic relationships because no one is dating in person anymore. In terms of survival, maybe yearning keeps us alive because it keeps us moving.

I loved this post, “why are we so obsessed with yearning,” because it explained to me that yearning has an element of distance to it. Instead of merrily just wanting something, yearning is deeper. Because it’s slightly out of reach. Yearning is a pull that keeps us interested, trying, wondering, pleading, and praying.

I had a dream last night that I was on a boat. In the dream, if I put my palm towards the water, channeled peace and yearning, an orca would surface, waiting for an offering. It worked every time. I was feeding each orca that came something I was eating. And the orca would bring me back offerings too. One of those offerings was a random scrub brush, that looked a lot like the ones at nail salons. Why am I telling you this? I suppose because the yearning is even in my fantasies, the deepest chasms of my REM sleep.

I want to see yearning as a beautiful act of emotional painting (if you’ll take that metaphor). Physical longing doesn’t have to be desperate or disappointing. Yearning is a pull towards something exquisite. Yearning tells us what we desire, what we see as meaningful, as beautiful. As I yearn for another child, one to play in the yard with Lila and climb things with her and stand with her at family reunions when they’re teenagers and over it … how can I not account for that as the most beautiful thing? The disappointment every month when my period comes, I’m lucky to know that’s what I want. I’m lucky to have that pit-like hunger for that narrative, that way of living.

The unknown is the scary part. When we stop wanting something because it’s impossible to have. Who are we to become with that? What’s to become of our futures and the life after we’re gone? What happens when we give up?

I got a birthday card from the wellness studio where I spent a few months getting acupuncture for fertility. “Wishing you all the best on your special day! And a year full of blessings!” Ugh. I threw away the card and felt a flicker of anger. I wasn’t mad someone sent me a nice little card, but my birthday was in a month. I had one more year as a 38-year-old.

I Google “how long does it take for your body to go back to normal after a D&C.” Yes, I know it takes 1-2 days to recover. I got on a plane for a business trip after MY D&C (humble brag that I’m also not proud of). What’s the German word for that one? Anyway, that’s not the answer I wanted. I wanted to be certain that my body was normal. I wanted to be certain that my wait was normal.

Seriously Google, come along this ride with me. I try again: “how long does it take for your cycle to be back to normal after a D&C?”

Blah. I close the search window before I can even see the answer. Enough of that, self. Enough. Use the yearning somewhere else. It happens too often — the yearning takes over on my phone, inside of Facebook mom groups and long chat threads. Suddenly, I’m on a Reddit thread somewhere from 3 years ago trying to find myself, every single solution a dead end. Or maybe I’m trying to find a weird affirmation that someone else is going through the same thing. And yet, I have no idea how it turned out for them.

Yesterday, when I started writing this post on my iPhone notes, I started by typing, “I want to write something beautiful.” I was curious to see where that sentence would lead me. And it’s led me here. To a rambling post about what it means to yearn, how to find beauty and purpose in that yearning, and to discover that the pining inner hunger we hold is but a tiny light that keeps us moving.

If it weren’t for that hankering itch, I wouldn’t have Lila. I might not have a job. I might not have met my husband. I would perhaps still live at home under my parent’s roof, stuck watching the same television shows and music over and over again. I wouldn’t discover new art, new parks, new cities. I wouldn’t love oysters as much as I do now and I probably would be way less tired. Yearning causes friction, and discomfort is the juice of life.

1. May I recommend reading “Famesick” by Lena Dunham while you absentmindedly watch a hot (and sorry, kind of stupid) cast on “Love Island USA” court each other with twerking? “Love Island” is such an easy side-watch because the episodes could be 15 minutes but they’re at least an hour.

   

2. Here are my favorite summer mom shoes. Just bought my second pair (in Gray Taupe). Speaking of summer. Do I need this After Sun Lotion Bar for the cabin next month?

3. A late Father’s Day post (hehe).

4. Well, this post is delightful: “10 uses for a pocket notebook to keep you off your phone.” Pocket games might be my favorite. [Example games: pictionary, noughts and crosses, hangman].

5. HA. I also feel seen. And I only have one toddler.

Every year, if we’re able, my mom, sister and I travel to San Francisco and drive down the coast to Pacific Grove.

I’ve written about this before. And I cherish the trip so much each year. This year was our fifth year. A lot can happen in five years. And every year, the coast gives us something different.

We stay in the same motel. We go to the same vegan restaurant on the first night. We take the same roads. We stop at the same vegetable stand. And one day, we spend driving to a special river in the mountains down Highway 1, after a treacherous drive along the coast.

I won’t specify where this special place is exactly, because there is something I cherish about it. And we don’t need to share EVERYTHING. But, it’s the type of place that holds a metric ton of magic. The sun is a different color. The earth holds you differently. I swear everything comes in clearer. And it’s always sunny in Philadelphia this very special location.

During our second year there, my sister found out her best friend had passed away. She also suffered another personal loss, in this exact location. It had been a gorgeously sunny afternoon, and sorrow and the creek rushed by. We hugged and cried on a sunny patch of grass, where daisies the size of our knuckles were blooming. My sister and I are deeply emotionally close, but we aren’t big huggers. I will never forget the feeling behind that hug; and how it seemed to swallow both of us.

This year, my sister was 20 weeks pregnant. I, trying to have a second baby, felt wordlessly empty (and not pregnant) in her presence. We knew a trip to the Big Sur creek this year would be meaningful in many ways. Because it always is. And each time we’re there, the truth of life collides. There is so much loss. There is so much life. And in this very spot on earth we’ve lost and loved so openly.

We brought fresh farmer’s market pickles, roasted garlic hummus that had the consistency of whipped, melty butter; and slabs of pita bread to eat on a blanket. We sat and gorged ourselves in silence. And then, as expected, magic things started happening.

We quickly noticed that we were sitting on the largest patch of clovers I’d ever seen. They spanned the entire green near the river.

“I’ve never found a four-leaf clover before,” I told my sister as we were sitting there. It felt like such a fairytale, the act of finding one. I imagined listlessly what it would be like. Would I gasp? Cheer? Feel free? I had lived nearly four decades without the twist of miraculous fate.

“Oh my gosh, Brittany.” That prompted my sister into looking, sitting on her good sciatica nerve, swelling and pregnant, using her long fingers to flick through the clover-cluster.

It hadn’t been 30 seconds before she softly tore a stem from the ground.

“Brittany,” she said, lifting her hand.

A woosh of a sigh escaped my diaphragm. God, I was jealous. My sister sat there, beautiful and pregnant, and it took her mere seconds to find one. I’d never seen one in person.

I was desperate. We oogled over the specimen, a perfectly symmetric, unique weed. And I got on my hands and knees to find my own.

After about 15 minutes, I gave up and joined my family down at the river. After six months of trying to get pregnant after a miscarriage, I was feeling the fog of doubt suffocate my senses. It was a familiar feeling. At 38-years-old, I had been struggling with my own sense of uncertainty. Getting pregnant again had become a bit of an obsession of mine, and I had been spending the last few weeks trying to manifest hope and positivity that I could get pregnant again.

I’d been spending A LOT of time trying to think positively about the future and getting pregnant again, but I didn’t know how to manifest goodness without worrying about every possibility. For whatever reason, my brain could not get into that space. Time passing, my health waining, the thought of Lila being alone someday … all of that worry always took over.

It’s so, not finding my four-leaf clover (after my very pregnant sister found one) felt very personal.

At the river, my sister was on her back on a giant rock, her feet in the water. My mom was placing shiny river rocks and daisies on her beige globe of a stomach next to her four-leaf clover (because of course).

“We need to have a ceremony,” my mom said, leaning down to search for more rocks.

My sister agreed with urgency, “Yesssss. Like a sacrament.”

“Oh, yes! Maybe, the spirit you left here before can come to me. Like a holy transfer,” I conspired, feeling witchy and glorious. My sister looked at me with big eyes of whimsy and agreement, “Oh my god.”

“Everyone collect one rock and one cool leaf,” my mom announced.

Then we were all chattering at the base of the river like nervous squirrels searching for a nut.

“We can send the rock and leaf down the river!”

“We can hold hands and pray!”

“People are going to think we’re NUTS.”

“Good!!”

As I thought about finding my first four-leaf clover, I searched for a rock that signified life and pregnancy for me. I channeled every ounce of cosmic possibility I had left in my body to seek it out. I tried not to put too much pressure on myself to find it naturally; and landed on a speckled white rock that resembled a heart.

Everyone placed their hopeful finds on a big rock. We marveled at them.

“Okay, everyone get in a circle and hold hands,” my mom said, reaching for us.

So, we stood. We held hands. Everyone closed their eyes. Everyone quietly prayed. Through my eyelids, I could see the sun flickering between the trees. It was a beautiful, enlightening pulse. I was with three of the people I loved the very most. And they were manifesting fertility and life for me, for us. That gesture filled me up like a hydrant. The tears instantly welled in my eyes and I snuck them open to see them standing peacefully with their eyes closed. I said my quiet prayer, which I think was something like, “Please, please give me life again. Let me hold life. Let me hold life.” I squeezed my sister’s hand. I squeezed my niece’s hand. They squeezed back.

It all sounds a little weird. But I’ve never felt something so beautiful and freeing. We were standing there, in an ice cold creek, with items we felt with our soul meant something to us, and to life. And we had the support of one another, three generations of women. We were all doing this wonderful weird shit as a collective of female energy. That felt like love.

When we were finished, starry eyed and glistening, we set our rocks on the leafs we chose and placed them in the river. I understand everyone else chose bigger rocks than mine, but my rock made it’s way down the river quite far, and we all cheered it along.

“Brittany’s is the only one that didn’t sink,” my sister yelled.

“That’s the way it was supposed to be!!!” (my mom)

“Look at her goooooo!”

After our ritual, we retired back to the blanket to sunbathe. My mom told us SHE’D never found a four-leaf clover and started looking from the edge of the blanket. In seconds, she found one too, and I was happy but feeling desperate once again.

“That’s it, I’m finding one.”

I committed again, but it didn’t take me long. There it was, the perfect four-leaf clover, one I saw first with my very own eyes. I lifted her like a thumb-sized baby into the sun and squealed. I couldn’t help but think that minutes after our ceremony things were changing.

We encouraged Esme, my niece, to find one next. We all had to find one now.

Oddly enough, earlier in the trip, my sister said she’d been seeing fours everywhere. And what does 444 mean? I feel like it means something big and good. We googled it in the car on our first day, and it said it symbolized divine protection, encouragement, and a solid foundation. Seeing it repeatedly meant you are on the right path and guardian angels are close by. It’s so, Esme found one right away and we all cheered and tucked our four-leaf clovers in my book to press and save. We mentioned Madi’s statement about 444 earlier, and saw the magic unfolding before our eyes.

The odds of finding a four-leaf clover are roughly 1 in 5,000 or 1 in 10,000. They’re rare because they’re created by a mix of genetics/recessive genes. Extreme weather or trampling can cause this. In any case, if one has that mutation in a cluster, it’s likely you would find another. The odds still felt minimal and beautiful and I was so tickled by the fact that we all found one.

Before we were about to leave, a crow landed near our blanket. He tilted his head at us for a long time and wouldn’t leave. He was four feet away at his closest. And we all agreed he had a fantastic aura. We chatted with him for a while and fed him some pita bread. It was desperately fortuitous that he was there with us, in a place that we experienced loss and life so many times. In some cultures, seeing a crow is considered a good omen, symbolizing good fortune or a message from a higher power. In others, the crow is seen as a symbol of death or misfortune, though this often relates to the end of one chapter and the start of another. So, this crow was right where he belonged, carrying both for us.

After that, things kept happening that were opportune and hopeful. We visited a random antique store in Pacific Grove the next day. It was full of glorious coastal treasures. We came across a pile of poetry cards that reminded us of a set we’d found at home years before. We had a tradition of choosing one at random and letting its message shape our path for the year ahead. Out of a stack of nearly 100 cards, each of us chose one to bring home.

This was mine:

On my husband’s birthday, the day I returned from the trip, we saw a double rainbow.

The thing is, when you ask for magic, or take something symbolic and manifest that magic, you start to see enchantment everywhere. Things become possible.

And if you’re struggling with doubt, and believing that something can happen — whether through your fertility, getting pregnant, finding a partner or a job you love, purchasing a house, or watching your kids grow up and become independent — rivers do not have any doubt. And we are rivers ourselves. We will get to where we’re going.

1. This little story about how trees can really transform an area as small as a city block. It focuses on the corner of White Street and West Broadway in NYC.

2. I was in need of new bronzer (I did have the Charlotte Tilbury Bronze and Glow kit before). It was nice but really expensive. This time, I opted for this $16 “Everything Balm”. I’ve heard it blends easily, feels weightless, gives you an all-over sun kissed glow AND is good for your skin! I ordered the color RUSH.

3. Guys, I gotta talk about my dream jeans. I wrote about my struggle with wearing jeans post-baby on a recent Instagram post. And I finally found the perfect pair! They’re American Eagle’s Dreamy Drape Stretch Super High-Waisted Wide Leg, in the Salty Air color. I’m 5’5” and bought the regular length; and it fit true to size like a glove. I don’t love to endorse fashion because there are so many recommendations out there. But these changed my life.

4. If you are not watching “Widow’s Bay” on AppleTV, start! It’s the perfect blend of “Hocus Pocus” meets “Parks and Rec” meets a cheesy Stephen King film. It’s dark horror-comedy. It’s perfect dialogue. It’s Matthew Rhys doing his thing. It’s funny and heartbreaking and knows exactly what it’s supposed to be.

5. My boss recently recommended reading “Radical Candor” and it has the best advice about incorporating empathy and kindness into work management. I’m not big on “professional advice” books, but this one feels good and right.

6. Hands down, the best album of the year. No skips. Pure perfection. Donnie Darko meets eighties movie meets a Disney princess solo. I love every bit of it.

7. Some young gal pals at the barn gave me their top makeup products for sensitive skin. They are: medicube serum, NARS concealer pot, and anything Rare Beauty by Selena Gomez. You’re welcome!

8. A real good reminder.

9. This was a delightful read.

   Deeply Madly Substack

   Moving A Lot Taught Me How To Make A Space Feel Like Me, Fast.

   I was about 19 when I packed up and moved from my family home to a downtown Philly apartment on a whim. Not much of a plan just a feeling. One more move to another Philly apartment then about a year later I was in a u-haul with my dad moving to New York City. If IYKYK, New York is not a city that eases you in gently, it looks you dead in your face and…

   Read more

   3 months ago · 34 likes · 5 comments · Kellie B.

10. Couldn’t think of anything else to add to my “Fun Links” section because I was writing last minute this week, so I asked my husband to contribute one fun link. Here’s what he offered: The Yuka app. It lets you scan food or cosmetic products and gives you a grade based on their health impacts (0–100 score and a color-coded rating like Excellent, Good, Mediocre, or Poor). Let me warn you: Don’t scan a Cheez-It box (haha).

I watched Off Campus (a total of eight hour-long episodes with commercials on Prime Video) in two sittings. I stayed up until midnight both nights to finish it, and didn’t look at my phone once. When I started watching the show, I was skeptical. I didn’t watch The Summer I Turned Pretty or Outer Banks. I also didn’t read the books based on the show. And the first episode didn’t catch me completely. It felt very classic cheese-ball-captain-hockey-player-nepo-baby-falls-in-love-with-a-mouthy-nerdy-girl. Did I have time for this mild nonsense? Despite my first impression, I was quickly sucked in.

Reader, I did have time.

If you’re not cued into the hype, let me spell it out in one paragraph for you. Off Campus follows a glittering college fantasy life where the hot jock meets a dorky music major and their tutoring arrangement and fake-dating scheme slowly turn into a very real relationship. Based off Elle Kennedy’s bestselling BookTok novels, the show feels like One Tree Hill and a John Hughes movie had a sparkly baby. It’s giving Rachael Leigh Cook in She's All That and Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You.

During the show, I spotted callouts to Legally Blonde and Mean Girls, and every football movie there ever was, tuned to hot-headed hockey smut. There’s tropes all over the place: Tutor vs. Student, Enemies Turned Lovers, Popular Jock Falls for Ordinary Girl, He Falls First, Found Family, Only One Bed; and Hot Halloween Party is the Turning Point for Romance (Writer’s Note: I made that one up). But, the list goes on.

Quickly though I realized: unlike all the tropes scratching to get out of the early 2000s romantic comedies, this series had something different.

Let’s unpack.

For one, Off Campus was written by mostly women. The TV series was created by Louisa Levy, with Gina Fattore serving as co-show runner and executive producer. The writing staff appears mixed, but many of the key creative leadership roles are held by women. If you're wondering whether Off Campus was written "for the female gaze," the answer is largely yes.

The show has exactly what women are looking for: accountability, vulnerability, naked dude montages (full frontal penis?? Since when??), and the fearless and beautiful guts to let the leading man drop the ‘tough guy’ act. For once, a romantic comedy doesn’t showcase a male character that’s cool and detached, rooted in conquest, charmed with manipulation, or using possessiveness as a form of love (ehem, Twilight). Off Campus values a man that’s ready to show up who he cares for, in his romantic relationships, and his friendships.

After watching the show, I slowly morphed into the person I felt like when I was 13 and obsessed with *NSYNC. Young, desperately free, always thinking about kissing sensually, and as urgent and squirrely as ever.

Back then, I used to tape (yep, with a VCR) every single segment that interviewed the boy group live. I bought every magazine they were on, and rewatched said tape recordings a dozen times, decorating their cardboard sleeves with magazine cutouts. I never stopped thinking about my short-breathed crush on Justin Timberlake and always felt this left-out FOMO pit in my stomach for not being able to exist in the band’s orbit. They looked so fun. They looked so famous and free and hilarious.

So … why was I feeling this adolescent obsession with a TV show at 38-years-old?

Because ‘Off Campus’ redefined male masculinity as I once understood it.

[start of spoiler alert]

For example, if you’ve seen the show, you know that there are multiple scenarios where a man could have ruined everything. I thought Justin was going to steal Hannah’s song she wrote. I also thought that Garrett’s best friend, Logan, was going to try to sabotage Hannah and Garret’s relationship because Logan had a crush on her. But none of that happened. Justin helped Hannah finish the song. And Logan ended up standing by Garrett to help his friend get through something tough and personal. I thought, is my perception of men in television ruined?

The answer is probably, yes.

[end of spoiler alert]

That’s the very nice and unique twist about Off Campus. We’re used to seeing the worst behavior portrayed in men on television. Consider The Notebook, one of my favorite movies as a teenager, and all of the emotional swings and jealousy that led to its grand romance. In How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, both learned how to manipulate each other. In Off Campus, conflict exists, but it’s handled through honesty and accountability. Every day respect is also portrayed in Off Campus, while older movies accentuated love through one big moment, like a boombox scene in Say Anything, or the sweeping rescue fantasy in Pretty Women. I could go on forever.

And we’re used to seeing the worst behavior in women, too. Yes, there’s drama on this show, but it’s healthy drama. There are no mean girls. There’s no viscous backstabbing. Healthy communication is being portrayed constantly. And it’s still entertaining.

The show normalizes the idea that consent is something you talk about, and it’s not an awkward topic to avoid. It preaches the notion that not all safety is physical; and that a lot of it’s emotional. One of the most realistic parts of Off Campus is how heavily the characters rely on friendships and community during difficult moments. Friends in the show call on emotional changes and step in to help when something feels wrong. Media always romanticizes jealousy, obsession or dependencies. Which, is likely why this show pushes against those stereotypes and FEELS SO GOOD.

Moreover, the show introduced its viewers to an entirely different view of masculinity. One I’ve honestly never seen on a television show before. Intimacy is never treated like entitlement. When Garrett learns his partner is a survivor, he slows down. He asks. He listens. The locker room is different. The men hold each other up instead of dragging each other down. Cycles break everywhere. The show proves that characters are malleable, and don’t turn out like their abusive parents. The characters have real fears that they marinate in. Men don’t run from things. They sit inside of them.

But, there’s more. Ella Bright, the actor who plays Hannah Wells (the female lead) has a beautiful and average body type. In fact, her body type is exactly like mine — curvy and big-chested, the most refreshing thing I’ve seen in a world of Ozempic and since going to college in a Britney Spears low-rise jeans kind of world. Hannah Wells wears clothes that are modest and sexy. Her outfits changed based on her mood. She can dress sexy and comfortable. And it’s freeing to watch.

And don’t even get me started on the chemistry between characters. If you haven’t seen the show, all I’ll share for now is this short clip of Allie (Mika Abdalla) dancing with Dean (Stephen Kalyn) to “On the Floor” by J-Lo. Put this in the Lourve, as they say.

Every sex scene on the show is strictly character-driven and highly emotional. Instead of being unjustified or random, the sex scenes are an extension of each character individually, and how they’ve grown throughout the show. The sex scenes are intentional and consensual. For example, if a character isn’t as confident, they wear more clothes and every detail is reflective of where they are personally. It’s intricate and meaningful.

Because of all this, I’m embarrassed to admit that my crush on every character of the show, but especially Garrett Graham (Belmont Cameli), felt a lot like the boy band crushes I had 20 years ago. Everything made sense to me. Everything was safe and believable and real.

My “For You” page on Instagram quickly became only Belmont and interviews with the entire cast. The day after I finished the show, I couldn’t stop consuming them all like a sweet treat. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t think about my grocery list, putting away my clothes, or anything remotely normal. I tried to secretly rewatch the first episode before bed (if my husband is reading this, I know you caught me). I wanted to relive the forward-feeling of crushing on someone like a tween again.

The characters, and their safe and comfortable way of carrying their masculinity or their strong femalehood, became my obsession.

I loved watching videos with Belmont Cameli because his TV character seeped blissfully into real life videos. He refers to Sauvingon Blanc “Savvy B,” LOVES Orcas, can quote “Princess Bride” like a king, and isn’t afraid of busting an absolute shameless rug in any scenario. He also has a very effortless, suave way of being in that comfortable boy-essence that is fun to love. Protect this respectable, quirky man at all costs.

And honestly? I figured out what’s so hot about him. He isn’t afraid of showcasing his feminine side. And a heterosexual man who is comfortable with their feminine arch — through dancing, things they love, how they talk and make jokes — something happens to my psych when I see that. Belmont isn’t afraid of showing his girlish quirks.

After an entire day watching Instagram reels with the cast and how the show came to life (they had an Intimacy Coach for sex scenes), listening to the entire Off Campus playlist on Spotify, and researching the storylines in the books, I was a little startled when I had to go pick up my daughter from daycare. Wearing gym shorts and an old Lululemon long sleeve, I couldn’t shake a heaviness, a yearning. Oh, you mean I wasn’t at Briar University and effortlessly attractive and young again? Oh, you mean that’s not the experience I had in college? It had been a long time since a source of entertainment had made me felt such desire and (pause) is that … jealousy?

That’s another thing. The show is all about wanting.

In Off Campus, almost every major trope is designed to manufacture yearning:

• Fake dating → they’re acting like a couple before they’re a couple.

• Friends to lovers → feelings exist before they’re acknowledged.

• Grumpy/sunshine → emotional barriers delay intimacy.

• Trauma and trust issues → characters want connection but are afraid of it.

• Team dynamics and college life → constant proximity without resolution.

Culturally, yearning is having a bit of a moment right now. Critics and trend-watchers have noted that audiences seem increasingly drawn to stories built around emotional buildup and longing rather than immediate gratification, partly as a reaction against hookup culture and hyper-fast digital relationships. And for married millennials like me, the storyline feels like a blast from the past, and packaged with an emotionally healthy bow. 🎀

Now, don’t get me wrong. The show itself has it’s oddities. Playing with a charred turkey on an ice rink? That’s criminal. Additionally, does everyone have ongoing access to the hockey rink at this college? I can imagine a working staff would love that in real life. Also, I’m not sure why there’s a theatre room with a piano inside the hockey rink … but whatever works for a fairytale storyline, I guess. That kind of stuff is just par for the course for a cheesy rom-com based off a BookTok tale.

I can allow unrealistic moments if a show is a refreshing, system-wide reframe of personal and shared relationships. When men show that emotional safety and growth matter to them, that’s the sexiest shit I’ve ever seen.

In today’s special edition of bathmilk, I sit down with someone I admire from afar (storytellers, horse girls, comedians, therapists, painters, mothers, dreamers, gorgeous fail-artists and more) and ask them a series of personal questions.

Of course, I had to ask Sarah how we met. My mom brain could not conjure how kismet got us together. She’s definitely one of those people seemingly dropped off by a human-sized fairy in my orbit and now I am lucky enough to know her. When I sent her an email asking how we knew each other, she had the best response:

“I just wracked my brain because I usually do not forget things like this. However, I think you nailed it in that we. .. just were?! I feel like we had a lot of cross over in community/mutual people, especially while you were wedding planning. I distinctly remember being in my old studio in STP and finding out you were getting married on my same anniversary (I think? Sept 19?) and discussing your idea. Was Jennea of Blush and Whim your planner? I remember there being a mutual connect in some way and then, like all good connections, it just happened and was meant to be. No grandiose meet-cute but rather BOOM, and there we were. :).”

Yes! Jennea! My gorgeous savior of a wedding planner. And no grandiose meet-cute but BOOM, there we were. Those are the best connections, in my opinion.

As for Sarah, you can tell she takes the time. And what I mean by that is: She doesn’t do anything with her ass half on the horse. That goes down to Instagram messages, emails, interviews, her photography, leaning softly into motherhood, noticing the truth of things, and taking care of her work.

She understands how to weave the meaningful into her passions, and that comes out in the businesses she builds and runs. She’s the co-owner of two incredible brands, Velvet Raptor, a luxe velvet paper goods brand, and Linyage, for custom wedding dresses.

She also writes a poignantly honest and freeing Substack called “sarahtonin” for creatives and the multi-passionate humans who seek knowledge, perspective, and a safe space to land. Her post “What My Mom Taught Me About Love, 5 Days Before She Died” makes me grateful and weepy.

sarahtonin

A landing pad for Multi-Passionate people who value a deeper connection. We cover the gamut here but will always leave you feeling inspired, curious, seen and ideally with more joy than when you arrived.

I always admire Sarah’s ability to speak honestly and whimsically about motherhood. She recently wrote about how her family uses the phrase “love supersedes logic” and that family heirloom-statement led them to have a third baby. And I just really love that way of thinking, that centered promise to not let doubt rob your joy. Life is short. Life is beautiful, and we paint the picture. Sarah paints quite the masterpiece out of life.

Without further ado here are…

BATHMILK: I always love starting with this question. The thing that you do, regularly, that’s hard as shit but worth it.

SARAH: I mean in all honesty, my first thought was “show up.” As someone who wears her heart on her sleeve so brazenly, with neurodivergent wiring and the many, many hats and responsibilities I bear in such a loud world, the older I get the more I am proud of simply showing up. And even more so, unapologetically. Sometimes I look back at things I’ve done (like the years of going to school and working full time, and driving through the night to shoot a wedding?!) or the time I moved a few weeks postpartum with my second, while running my businesses, and then dove head first into being my mom’s primary care giver when she was ill. I say none of this for accolades in the slightest or to glamorize the culture of ‘rise and grind;’ far from it. I’m very much dismantling that narrative in my life.

Moreover, I think there are periods in life (and I’m in a growth one right now), where we forget how incredibly resilient we are. And even with major pendulum swings of life milestones, simply choosing to be every day is something worth marveling at. Especially in today’s world. I often reference my 12-year-old self, my 20-year-old self, and think about how pumped they’d be that we showed up anyway.

BATHMILK: Let’s talk about motherhood! Specifically, what motherhood gives you in the creative space. I’ve found, for me, it’s forced me to find beauty in everything. Can you tell me what it gives you?

SARAH: Oh they [motherhood + creativity] absolutely feed into one another. I’ve always been someone that tends to see things in different perspectives. When I was little, I said I wish my superpower was that my eyes were a camera shutter like Cam Jansen so I could take photos the way I visualize things. But Motherhood? Woof — amplified creativity by one million.

I’m constantly sucking the marrow of it all. It directly feeds into everything I do by enhancing everything that I already see and feel to the nth degree. Motherhood makes me really relish in the nectar of simple moments, of the emotional spectrum of being human, of what it means to take time to create and/or preserve something that ignites the senses. I feel like motherhood has also stripped away all of my ego, and allowed me to show up in my creative endeavors more deeply and from the vantage point of serving someone else or the betterment of their life; not for one second about “look what I can do and make.” All of my many different professional roles are creative ones, even when I’m doing the necessary admin work, and I find that motherhood is a direct conduit to that, and vice versa. They are sort of one vessel now, but in the best way.

BATHMILK: What is something you love that you wouldn’t recommend to others?

SARAH: Of course I have a few, because brevity is not my strong suit:

• Vinegar on everything. The pain-to-flavor ratio is a rush but also always cuts your tongue and yet you will forget and do it again.

• Always seeing every side of the argument. Makes you personable and able to get along with a variety of folks, but it can be pretty exhausting spinning your head so much.

• Being Type C. I don’t always love being Type C, and it’s weird where it does and doesn’t show up for me because I’m also a recovering perfectionist in some regards. But sometimes the dopamine seeking brain I have loves the thrill of living on the edge as it makes for some incredible results until competence kicks in. It’s a weird slippery slope to live on.

• Being needed/the reliable one and building your self worth around it because you will spend a lot of time undoing it later in life. [Editor’s Note: This one nearly knocked me off my chair].

• Driving with an open mug. I don’t know if others can handle the one handed or knee steer as well, nor if they can handle having the occasional coffee spills on the crotch of their jeans all day because ‘that pot hole came out of nowhere.’ Though I will say, as a millennial who danced in the shoes we did in our 20s without ever spilling our drinks, really prepped me for this era. If you’re willing to let the occasional mess go for the sake of sipping out of your favorite art-teacher ceramic while cruising to your favorite nostalgic tunes, then welcome aboard!

BATHMILK: In the stillest moment of the night, what are you 1) worrying about; 2) wishing/hopeful for; 3) at peace with:

SARAH: The answer to all three is the same: Everything, both perceived and real.

The difference now though, is that I trust I’m fully showing up as is and it’s enough. And for wherever and however I fall short, I will try my damnedest again tomorrow. ❤️

BATHMILK: Let’s do a quick round of five things: 1 thing you’re consuming (could be food OR television), 1 thing you couldn’t live without, 1 thing you learned last year, 1 thing you hate, 1 thing you want to do this year, and 1 thing in your iPhone notes.

SARAH:

• One thing you’re consuming: Every body oil, serum, lotion that is safe for my ever-growing pregnant bod that is rapidly changing. My friend Anna helped me declare that this is “glazed donut summer” and I am fully going to embody that.

• One thing you couldn’t live without: Deep sisterhood friendships. They are my lifeline and deepest form of nourishment.

• One thing you learned last year: That sitting in the heaviness of unlearning, deconstructing, honoring … elicits the greatest homecoming to yourself that you and the younger version inside of you always deserved.

• One thing you dislike: Entitlement and arrogance. Zero tolerance for any of it, ever. Also, intense humidity and ticks, despite loving summer. All of the above send me into rage.

• One thing in your iPhone notes: A complete blueprint of my colorful, cyclone of a brain. Full lines and ideas for articles, endless variations of the same grocery list, one-liners from my kids I don’t want to forget, words that I want to look up later, measurements for things to circle back on selling or buying (e.g. rugs, desks, etc), a lot of incomplete thoughts. It’s quite a melting pot and really the tell-all of the constellation of my one million ‘brain pings’ a day.

BATHMILK: When I think about photography, I think about preservation. Photos give us so much: change, emotion, evolution, textures, stories in our making. What do you want your photography legacy to leave with us?

SARAH: You know that (gut-wrenching) scene in the “The Family Stone” when the late and great Diane Keaton’s character is holding the framed photo of her pregnant, saying “that’s you and me kid” to Rachel McAdams? [Editor’s Note: Oh, DO I?! 😭]

That’s the same sort of feeling I think of when taking photos of others. How will this extend far beyond; how can I truly capture this soul in a way that feels emblematic to them?

I used to teach yoga for many years and I always said that cueing my students into a pose was the best practice for photographing people — you’re essentially holding space for someone who feels a bit vulnerable or maybe even uncomfortable, and guiding them into a different place that settles them deeper into their body. Much like yoga, the photos that end up “sticking” most on people’s hearts are the act of “getting there.” Rarely is it the final pose, but the movement of going from A to B. That’s where the emotion, texture, unplanned stories and most honest shifts happen. (i.e. an aerial view of eyelashes, a dimpled toddler hand reaching for Mom’s pointer finger, Grandpa holding his glasses frames while wiping his tears, head tossed back in laughter at something someone said).

That is where I want my legacy to live. Not because I took it, nor do I even want the memory of me attached to it really. I want the legacy to be a tangible piece that they can hold and treasure of a coveted moment, and from a vantage point they may never see it from.

BATHMILK: What are arbitrary rules you have for yourself? Something like: I don’t keep my phone in my bed, or I will never ask someone their political views.

SARAH: This is sort of a hard one for me because I’ve been really working on separating my personal values from the many random “rules” my brain makes up out of anxiety, superstition, or OCD ruminations. I tend to lean that way so it’s been a lot of exposure therapy over the years. (See: Checking the garage door three times before I can go to bed, taking photos of outlets to make sure they’re unplugged before I can relax). These days it’s less about arbitrary rules and more about protecting my peace. This has looked like: No push notifications from social media, “batch” answering communication so I don’t get sucked in, etc. I am sure I still have plenty of arbitrary ones that are just baked into my routine that I don’t even realize!

BATHMILK: Invent a word for a feeling you’ve never been able to name.

SARAH: I don’t have the exact words for them yet. They will surely come to me in the middle of the night weeks from now, or driving on an idle Wednesday. But the feelings I have yet to find words for are often the most treasured to me. Sometimes I wonder if they’re so special or sacred that no such word can exist? But here are a few feelings that makes me think of that, that I’ve been sitting in as of late:

• The liminal space of shedding an old identity and ushering in the next chapter, while simultaneously feeling like you are coming back to your true essence. You’re letting old facets of yourself rest while also bringing along every version of her to experience where your most aligned self is.

• When you’re already nostalgic for something happening. I think this is just summed in “motherhood” constantly.

• When you take a photo that you know, in the exact moment you hit the button, that it’s the one you/they will come back to. Hold on to as the moment or feeling they will say is emblematic of that time. As if you’ve been able to freeze time of a future core memory.

BATHMILK: Okay, I’ve been so intrigued by people’s sleep routines/rituals. What do you take for sleep? What temperature is your room? Blanket/pajama scenario? Sounds? Non-negotiables? Give me all the details!!

SARAH: This makes me laugh because I am always oscillating between being on my game (mag spray, red light, skin preservation potions) OR working until my eyelids are lead and I look like Glenn Close at the end of “Fatal Attraction,” with a nightstand full of half finished beverages. Sleep is always indicative of where I’m at in life, and right now I’m probably teetering somewhere in the middle.

I am currently entering my third trimester of my last baby, so honoring what self care looks like in this chapter while also knowing my comfortability and bodily needs are changing hourly. I’m also entering the busiest season for work and trying to prepare for some semblance of a maternity leave that I’ve never had, so some nights it’s straight routine and Unisom. Last night, it was ill fitting sweats and two day old mascara that tucked me in.

One thing that’s consistent is I’m always freezing so I want to be buried in blankets, with white noise on a loop. I cannot fall asleep in silence; always been this way and only enhanced since the soft hum of white noise entered my life eight years ago when I first became a mom. And if I’m really on it, I *do* love a matching PJ set. Doesn’t need to be fancy, just elevated loungewear that makes me feel like a functioning adult for some arbitrary reason.

We do what we gotta do and honor all parts of ourselves.

Read more interviews like this:

First, we have to define a “summer book.” It’s not a “beach read.”

From a similar optional summer-reading curriculum post on :

“A summer book has to be something you can read in massive daylong chunks, like at the beach, but it should also be something you can dip into while waiting for someone to meet you at dinner and then gush about to them when they show up.”

Summer books are a feeling. They’re what you’re reading when you’re drinking a sweaty cold glass of Chardonnay on a patio, waiting for a friend. They’re 150 pages in one sitting (when you’re not supposed to be reading). They’re books you read in long stretches next to moving water, under trees, or ordering lunch.

The books I’ve chosen were those particular books, and I’ll share what made them summer fodder. There’s something about a story paired with the place you’re reading. Setting makes the words stronger. And if you’re lucky, summer and a book are paired so well, they’re unforgettable. Like magic, teenage angst, satirical love, prose, and good cooking are visceral tidbits of the drone-like summer magic that makes you feel an imaginative sort of nostalgia.

Seeing the book later in life, recommending it to someone, brings you right back to that place you devoured it. So good, so good. It’s also important to note that while all of these books are glorious, this is not a “best book” list. These books are feelings. They are setting. They stick with you like a hardy meal.

Fear of Flying, Erica Jong

My god, this book. I wouldn’t read it without my pink highlighter. And I viscerally remember reading the pages before having Lila, spending long summer afternoons touching a dirty martini stem at a Russian restaurant patio that was covered in vines. The book is crude and beautiful. It’s sensual, neurotic and searching. Originally published in 1973, it’s intimate and controversial for its time.

Kitchens of the Great Midwest, J. Ryan Stradal

Tom Lake, Ann Patchett

Sandwich, Catherine Newman

Romantic Comedy, Curtis Sittenfeld

Forty-One False Starts, Janet Malcom

The Adults, Alison Espach

Now, tell me the “summer reads” you can’t forget in the comments!

My experience is a little bit less theatrical than the movie, and obviously less magical because it happened to me in a liquor store. Magic things aren’t supposed to happen in liquor stores.

But, now that I’m thinking about it, George Baily did meet Clarence in a bar. So? Magic does not have a default setting.

My story starts like this:

On Mother’s Day, I told my husband that I wanted to go buy hanging plants for my front step pots. And after that, I wanted to buy ingredients for Aperol Spritz. I really wanted an Aperol Spritz. The weather was right and it was Mother’s Day after all! While Lila was napping, I went by myself. I bought two geraniums and scampered over to MGM, which sat in a desolate, random strip mall parking lot.

The minute I walked into the liquor store, I sensed someone behind me.

“Ma’am, you dropped something.”

Sure enough, a man with his two front teeth missing tapped my shoulder.

“Oh?”

I hadn’t, in fact, dropped something. He was just trying to get my attention. It felt a lot like when boys in high school said, “hey, you got something on your shirt,” and when I looked, swept my chin with their finger.

“What are you looking for today?” He asked me next.

I wondered if he worked there. And was instantly annoyed about the possibility that he was going to follow me and pester me throughout the entire store.

“Ohhhh, just some ingredients for an Aperol spritz,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Hmmm, Aperol Spritz?” He started looking at a shelf full of inexpensive, flavored malt beverages.

I found the Aperol and pulled if off the shelf. He was standing closer behind me.

“Let me buy that for you, please.”

It was an odd request, especially from someone you made shifty eye contact with and had just met near the Boones Farm.

As a woman, I immediately assumed he was doing this in way of hitting on me. So, I politely said, “You are absolutely not buying that for me!!”

“Please,” he said again. He couldn’t speak English well, so he tried to get something out. While he was trying, I said, “I can’t let you do that. That’s very kind, but I’m okay.”

“Please. My … I don’t have mother anymore. It’s something I want to do today.”

My internal tone shifted. As quickly as you could say, “Aperol Spritz,” my heart softened.

He tried again.

“Please. I want to do something nice today. You’re mom, yes?”

“I have a three-year-old at home.”

“Then, let me buy this for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, yes I want to. I don’t have mom. I want to say thank you.”

There, standing in a musty MGM, with a man with two missing front teeth, I felt an ethereal kindness pass through. One I hadn’t seen in a long time. A stranger wanted to do something for another stranger out of the purest kindness of his heart, in a world that is hard on everyone financially, and emotionally. A stranger wanted to do something for someone because he wanted to honor someone else.

I looked down at my yellow linen button-up, feeling fantastically frumpy and mom-like.

“Manny!!! Let’s go!!” That was his friend calling now, on the other side of the store.

When I looked up, Manny was holding a $50 dollar bill.

“Please,” he said.

“Oh my goodness.” He was in a rush, pestered by his friend to leave the store. I could sense his genuine need to give me the money. I’m not sure his full story, whether or not he was doing this for his late mother, or because someone did something nice for him and he wanted to pass along a good deed. Or, if he was merrily a nice person doing a nice thing. But, $50 was a lot of money in this scenario no matter what you do or say. And my heart was rolling onto the floor.

“This is the nicest thing. You might be an angel. Thank you.”

I took the money for him and for me. I took it because his friend was calling him out of the store; and I wanted to give him the peace to leave. I took it because life is hard, and anyone can use the money. I took it because it was Mother’s Day. I took it because he asked me to; nearly begged me to.

“I’m Brittany, by the way.”

He put his hand on his heart and bowed his head a little.

“I’m Manny.”

We shook hands. Then, we hugged.

“Thank you. Please enjoy.”

That’s what he told me. And then he wandered away as quickly as he peered behind my shoulder. And I heard the bells of the store jingle as he left.

And then I was standing there, looking at this.

And it gets even more blissfully weird.

After standing there for a few minutes, I wandered to the club soda, grabbed a bottle, and went to the cash register.

Still holding the $50, I watched the man ring up my three items.

“Fifty dollars,” he said.

“On the nut?”

That’s what I said, “On the nut?”

“Yea.”

I handed him the bill clasped in my hands like a little kid. I couldn’t believe it. My hodge-podge cluster of Aperol Spritz items … $50 exactly. How serendipitous? How blissfully stupid? How storybook?

The entire moment was just one of those things where you look at the universe and go, “Okay universe. What are you trying to tell me in this very, weird, glorious moment?”

I floated out of the store, half-expecting Manny to be standing there. Of course, he wasn’t.

I spent the drive home trying to figure out what the entire thing meant (after calling my mom, of course).

What I decided:

1. I’ve been thinking a lot about having another child, and the toll trying to getting pregnant has taken on my mental health. I wanted this to be a reminder that I can’t control anything, and there are many selfless pleasures to seek out in the world beyond what we can’t control.

2. I struggle with holidays that commemorate people (Father’s Day, Mother’s Day) because it puts so much pressure to feel appreciated. Manny’s sweet gesture was exactly what I needed on Mother’s Day, and made me feel loved without the heavy sentiment.

3. Good people exist.

4. If you’re ever feeling down on grief, or having a hard day … you can always brighten someone else’s.

5. Not everyone is hitting on you, you self-conceded freak. ❤️

And then I made the best Aperol Spritz I’ve ever had.

Cheers, Manny.

1. recently wrote about this cake and it looks like the perfect dessert. Rhubarb stan!

2. Can’t wait to listen to this podcast because it’s all about what went wrong during the 1996 film "Twister.” And boy do I love a weather movie.

3. The best product I’ve tried lately, and one I will always re-purchase, is NIVEA’s in-shower body lotion. What a game changer! I hate being naked and cold putting on lotion. This is the cure!!

4. Hot tip: Mixing tulips with lilacs in a bouquet. How have I not thought of this? Is it a good rule to mix flowers that bloom at the same time? Give me all the seasonal pairings! (via Cosmos Floral)

   

5. Como Park Zoo & Conservatory just installed 10 colorful, larger-than-life ocean sculptures that are made from beach trash. I want to go see these! “Washed Ashore: Art to Save The Sea“ educates how “every action counts” in protecting our oceans and waterways (Axios Twin Cities).

   1. Quick follow up for the locals, this Sweet Martha's air fryer hack.

6. Used to Carry has the best vintage kids selection. The tiny loafers!! The vintage Ralph Lauren patch dress!! The red angels knit!!

7. Recently, I’ve become very intrigued with birdwatching (le sigh, aging) and want to try the Merlin app. I’ve heard such good things. The app is free, and you can track all the birds you see by location. It knows where you are and can help you guess what you’re seeing, both by suggesting what’s likely to be in the area and also by listening to actual birdsong.

8. Paume Hand Renewing Serum, get on my nightstand. I’m a mom, so I’m always washing my hands and they DRY. Skimm editors said they love using this product before bed, and the scent is delightfully relaxing.

9. Best snack: Wheat bagel with butter, whipped plain cream cheese, sliced heirloom tomato and Maldon salt flakes. 🥯 + 🍅 = ❤️

10. A very delightful read about different types of fun (by + ):

    Maybe Baby

    #268: The 3 tiers of fun

    Today I’m welcoming an esteemed guest writer in the form of Molly Young! Maybe you’ve read Molly’s work in places like the NY Times, New York mag, or N+1. Perhaps you subscribe to her charming newsletter, The Life and Errors of Molly Young—I marvel at her post ideas, like…

    Read more

    4 months ago · 142 likes · 13 comments · Haley Nahman

11. I’m packing for a California trip I go on once a year and I ALWAYS pack like an idiot. These are the four items a celebrity stylist says you should never pack — and it’s so helpful!

12. Classic:

My best day ever started, of course, when I woke up. I woke up next to my husband and our two STARVING cats (reader, they weren’t really STARVING). And the day swung into itself with fresh coffee, a jolly toddler, a crisp 50-degree April morning, green grass, and budding trees. I noticed shade in our yard for the first time in months.

💻 🏡 ☕

brief pause of story while Lila goes to daycare and my husband and I spend the day working

💻 🏡 ☕

My best day ever accelerated when I pulled into the driveway at 4:45 pm after picking Lila up from daycare. We were listening to “Know Somebody” by Ava Max. Ava Max is a staple in our car rides. Lila loves her. Whenever a song comes on by Ava Max, she gives me the side eye and croons, “Ava Maxxxxxxxx” like it was gifted to her from under a ruby, velvet blanket.

Surprise!! A rabbit!

Anyway, she crawls out of my Mazda CX-5 with a dandelion in her hands but not lightly held between her fingers. The steam is touching every pad of her palm, and she’s grasping it like a balloon on a string.

We have to see what “dada” is up to, who worked from home today and chopped wood in the yard, burning it in a steel bucket (I don’t know what it’s called). So, the yard smelt like camping all day. The wind picks up in the garage and swirls Lila’s sweaty bang curls as she climbs out of the car. “Thank you, mom,” she says with a genuine softness as I help her down. “Do you smell that?” I ask her. I’m trying to distract her from (maybe) a tantrum of some sort I’m not ready for. I find myself doing this a lot. But, today she seems quite pleased with life. She takes a settled pause and says, “yes, fire,” like she’s been acclimated to that smell a thousand times.

We quietly saunter inside and the house smells warm like houses smell on days like these, April and breezy the upper Midwest. The house smells like laundry and fresh air, but the smell has a heavy twinge of warmth. Everything is fresh and blooming. Lila looks down the staircase and wanders to surprise her dad, which is never a surprise for him, but always a delightful gift to see her.

As they chat, I do my things: check my email one last time, fill her bottle with 2% and warm it, turn on the news, open windows, light a candle, consider her dinner. By the time she’s back upstairs, her bottle is ready. She plays with her stuffed bunny in a stroller and whimpers like a baby as she nurses her own bottle in the corner. I assume she’s relishing in the delight that is being adolescent and safely small: a little bunny herself in a big world. I don’t ask her to stop, and bathe in the motherly realness that is feeding a small one with ease. She turns three in a month. And I’m Ready. But I’m not Ready.

The evening threads on. Jake gets the mail. Lila accompanies him. I air fry spinach bites and maple sausage for her, steam some corn and wash a tray of blackberries. Jake boils brats in onions and Michelob and it makes the house smell like lager steam. The sun gains weight and lowers to the horizon. It’s change in color illuminates the nearly bursting cherry blossoms outside so they turn dark. Lila notices trees for the first time in months because they’re finally green.

When her dinner is nearly ready, I hear Jake chopping logs in the corner, readying for our new fence he has to install. Lila is yelling “Good JOB DADA!!” And clapping from her post about 30-feet away, watching his work like it’s a finger-puppet play. Then, Lila eats dinner and corn gets everywhere. She goes back outside and cheers dad on as he chops wood. Jake and I eat dinner on the deck and Lila tends to her baby and steals all of Jake’s garden salsa Sun Chips. She gives him a toddler lecture about sharing and Jake and I laugh and laugh. I had given her a kind talking about “taking turns with toys” that morning and we are tickled by her desire to school us.

She takes a dump behind our big oak tree (in her diaper) and I don’t even fret about potty training. Jake and I are too busy chuckling and eating our cheesy brats from the grill. Jake gets up to tidy the yard. I clean the kitchen. Playoff hockey is on. The neighborhood is lovely and spry. I had mowed the lawn earlier that day. I admire its luscious lines.

I can hear Lila and Jake as I draw the bath. Ten pumps of Aveeda bath soap, warm but not hot water. I check the temp with my finger and open the bathroom window so I can hear them both. Lila’s pants are off from a diaper change and she’s barreling through lush spring grass, her bare ass in the wind. I am quickly out of breath by the wildness of how that must feel: an unapologetic fearlessness for being naked and touching the earth with open toes.

When Lila’s ready to come in, she’s red-faced, full of boogers, and smells like a garden. Her cheeks are sticky and the color of the cherry blossom tree. The bath burns her skin just a bit and she settles with a rainbow Johnny Pop. Jake cleans the yard while I tidy up around the house; and prep her bed. I spray lavender spray and make a tiny note in my head that she might need more soon. “You good, Miss Lila?” I inquire from across the hall. “Yep!” I hear her slurping. “I good.”

I get her an ice water (because nothing is better paired with a hot bath) and pour a little more wine for myself. I think, instantly and quickly, about when she was very small — maybe five months — and recall thinking of this very moment, us in the future; and how effortless it would be. Things were so hard for me then, when she was that young. And I would imagine a day like this, nearly three years in our future, to get myself through the day.

I could feel the burning desire of my past self. The yearn was an inception of my own thoughts, the old fantasy becoming real. And my current self said, “See? Isn’t this beautiful? This is the evening you always dreamt of. Your little family on a Wednesday night.”

I always knew it would be beautiful.

And my god, the romance in realizing that truth. The sheer beauty of a simple dream. It took my breath away. Then, Lila handed me her empty Johnny Pop stick. And I thought again: this is the best day ever.

In the most normal motions of our lives was the masterpiece.

Sent (with thumbs) from my iPhone

1. How it felt to write this post BTW. (via concoctionary)

   

2. My plan is to make this personalized stepping stone with my little girl this summer. 💗

3. I really enjoyed this post about the secret to better weekends. The trick? Hanging out with other families! I’ve found this to be so true. We have a family we always hang out with that has a toddler and being with them is true bliss in so many (chaotic) ways.

4. Outdoor summer activity ideas for toddlers. Making a bead chime and using a wood pallet to make an outdoor easel. 🎨

5. Saw another great tip on Instagram today: Use an old wooden spice rack as a bathroom shelf for perfume, hair products, and a hand towel.

6. I’ve been thinking about getting a ceramic water fountain for my cat’s patio (wild sentence I just wrote there). As it turns out, Etsy has a quite the collection of them!

7. Need a gift idea for a pre-tween? I saved this this little magic box by Baublebar buy my niece for her birthday or Christmas. I also secretly want it for myself.

8. After Noah Kahan’s last tour, he considered mundane jobs to shake off the overwhelming feeling of fame. While listening to his interview with Zach Sane, he shared he considered becoming a groundskeeper at a golf course, repairing divots. I really love Kahan’s new album (I got tickets to his concert in August) and hearing about his relationship with stardom it oddly refreshing.

9. Going to have Jake do this with Lila this weekend (and I wish we would have done it sooner!)

10. If you read anything today (aside from this post, of course), read this, “choose the life you already have” by . Her perspective on writing a book:

    “For the first time in my life, I hadn’t needed anything outside of myself to feel alive. I had generated that aliveness from within, then poured it into something that now existed independent of me. A self-contained universe that other people could enter, play around in, maybe even return to. Before that, I hadn’t fully understood the gravity of creation—that the same force that wrote that book could build a life.”

Inspired by ’ list she shared (below), I wanted to create my list of random motherhood moments that give me warmth.

The best thing about this [list] is that happiness as a practice requires mindful vigilance, because what reliably brings us joy is what’s right in front of us. So, we should be labeling those things on a daily basis.

For example, Alvin Chang crowd-sourced, then mapped real people’s real moments of happiness and called it the “Happy Map” (placing happy moments in respective “geographical” quadrants/categories, like Hobbies and Creation, Sensory Pleasure, Family, Career and Work, or Material Acquisition).

Visit to the map and do a little exploring yourself, but here are some of the responses I liked the most:

• I’m happy my child had fun at prom and came home early

• I went for a satisfying and fast run on a beautiful cool spring evening

• I didn’t have insomnia last night

• I did my laundry and got clean sheets on the bed and loved the way they felt

• I ordered a rare and hard-to-find beer

• I made someone dinner

In short, “romanticizing motherhood” = a “happy map” exercise.

Let’s go.

Random moments of motherhood that are deeply fulfilling to me:

• Smelling fresh cut grass together.

• Picking dandelions.

• The smell of DREFT on her clothes.

• Refreshing her water bottle with new ice and water, sometimes with a splash of strawberry lemonade.

• Watching her play in the yard by herself.

• Laying out fresh pajamas for post-bath.

• Planning her birthday parties.

• Creating little traditions (i.e., a picture in the same spot every year, a holiday ritual, the way we say ‘I love you’).

• When we’re driving home from daycare, both tired from a long day of getting through it, and “Eldest Daughter” by Taylor Swift comes on shuffle. My daughter knows the entire bridge. We sing sloppily, gazing at each other in the mirror.

• Hearing her wake up and quietly sing a rendition of the ABC’s through the rusty, crackling monitor microphone.

• Finding her stuffed animals in random places.

• Whenever she is with me and my husband and decides to announce, “this is my family.”

• Seeing baby dolls tucked in/eating dinner/sleeping/placed indiscreetly on chairs.

• The smell of her natural-dirty, wind-blown hair.

• Drawing a warm bath for her.

• Setting her bed up for night time (placing all of her stuffed animals in the right places, laying out her blankets, fluffing her pillow, lavender pillow spray).

• Still, even at nearly three, warming up milk for her morning and night.

• Buying her a batch of fresh new hair ties.

• When she reaches up and says “I carry you,” when she really means “Carry me.”

• Hanging up her clothes on miniature hangers.

• Making her foamed milk and calling it “coffee.”

• When I sneeze and she says, “MAMA, YOU OKAY?”

• Buying her something from a store I think that she’ll like, specifically a treat for when I pick her up from daycare.

• Refreshing her stack of books that we read every night. We call it our “nightly book rotation.”

• When I see something I tried to teach her come out so naturally in her personality. For example, I’ve been trying so hard to give her the tools to deal with all her emotions and for her to understand that every emotion is okay. The other day, she did something naughty and ran crying to her room. I heard her give herself a soft, gentle pep-talk and say “just do this!” before she came waltzing out of her room with a book for me to read her. I’ve never felt so gratified in my life.

• Setting up her fairy garden come spring.

• Cutting her a fresh pink orange.

• Cutting her grapes into fourths.

• Cutting the crust off her grilled cheese.

• Sunday eggs and pancakes.

• Buying her a new book, based on her current interests (unicorns, dinosaurs, flip books, music).

• Singing to her every night.

Your turn! Share (in the comments) the random things about motherhood that feel fulfilling to you. ❤️

1. I was moved by this Bob Odenkirk interview, specifically where he talks about parenthood (it’s around the 9-minute mark). In short, Odenkirk talks about parenthood as one of the few forces that reliably pulls him out of his own head. He describes being a parent as grounding, in a practical way. (New York Times)

2. Wow:

3. Kelly Meehan Brown invented the term spirit baby medium. According to , for over a decade, Kelly has been speaking to babies before they come, in conception, in miscarriage, in IVF, in pregnancy, and in all the in-between spaces we don’t have a real language for yet. I'm SO into this. It’s on my list to listen to her podcast Spirit Baby Radio.

4. Some mother’s day gift ideas! I really want a new bird feeder. Personally, I asked my husband if we could visit a Wild Birds Unlimited. If you share pictures of your yard with them, they can show you the best place for a setup.

   1. Other [practical] mother’s day gift ideas: This stoneware berry strainer is adorable. A birthday month printed flower glass is a cutesy option. Or a personal wine glass chiller for a porch companion come summer. This swiveling tea organizer is also delightful.

5. If you haven’t watched “Jury Duty Presents: Company Retreat,” you should. And then read ’s delightful Substack write up about “heartwarming surveillance.”

6. I read something the other day (I wish I remember where, but it stuck with me). It was: “It’s springtime and I feel like myself again.” And that’s the best way to describe how I feel about spring.

7. A Baylor University study found that people who spent just five minutes writing out tomorrow’s tasks before bed fell asleep an average of nine minutes faster. The physical act of offloading the list from your mind to paper is genuinely one of the most effective sleep tools there is. (via )

8. An important and beautiful list:

9. Okay, another great Mother’s Day gift idea: this herb tray paired with a pack of seeds. 🌱

10. (haha)

I have been deeply nostalgic about giving birth lately. I had my little girl almost three years ago now and I can’t stop traveling back into that hospital room, specifically into its late-night shadows, where the constant hums and beeping and nurse check-ins live.

I want to have one more baby, and I’d be lying if I told you I was surprised by how nostalgic I have felt lately about being in that hospital; and being 39-weeks pregnant. I was so uncomfortable and nervous. The entire experience at the hospital still feels fabricated from my own imagination. And I could spend days, long stretches of hours, thinking about what was true/not true about that experience.

Those two days post-baby felt like a dream. Did I sleep? Did Lila cry a lot? Did I change a single diaper? How much did I hold her? Was I cold? Was I warm? What did Jake and I talk about? What did we watch on TV? When did we eat?

I thought I was so present while we lurched into the first few days of parenthood, but I really don’t remember much at all. I remember Lila having trouble latching, and the discomforting pressure of a tired, impatient nurse trying to push Lila into my nipple. I remember giving up and letting them wheel her away for formula. I remember feeling bad about that, but not moved to the point of mourning. I barely remember Lila’s grunts and gurgles, or how much she did or didn’t cry. I remember my back pain. I don’t remember how long or short the days felt, or what Jake brought for lunch from the outside world.

For how much I didn’t remember, I’m deeply and sensually craving those moments again, to relive them. I want to be in a quiet, dark room, with my baby in a plastic bassinet beside me, as she swims in the milk of gauzy newborn sleep. I want to feel that hybrid feeling of elated joy, sweetened with the honey of accomplishment. The moments after having a baby felt a lot like the moments after a good run, or a marathon. “Look what my body did,” met with “I have never felt such a high.”

Post-birth had a flavor of pride, accomplishment and deservingness. I deserved a beer. I deserved a good sleep. I deserved a vacation. I deserved a medal of honor. The best part? I felt deserving of those things. I felt huge. I suddenly had so much space to fill. The pride bloated my lungs like a balloon made of steel. I didn’t realize it then, but this would become a high I’d always want to reach back into. I felt an exhaustion that was rewarding, accounted for, colorful.

I want to feel that again. I want to feel the post-birth high. I want to admire something I made from scratch, with tears, with urgency, with an unnamed passion. I want to sit inside that hospital room, in a comforting haze. Nothing could phase me in those moments: not the amount of blood I saw on the ground, not the primal hunger I had to feed my baby, not the relaxed and sensational physical deficiency I was enduring with no complaints. The entire world moved outside of that room, and my galaxy was stunted into a swirl of monitors, swaddle blankets, and grippy hospital socks.

I’m not discounting the “baby blues.” I felt them for many weeks after having Lila. They are very real and, from what I remember, such barren territory. In my iPhone notes, I wrote that the baby blues felt uncertain. I could never articulate why I was so sad. Because of that mis-labeled sadness, I couldn’t crawl out of the haze. I compared the feeling to a torrential rainstorm after a long drought. My body couldn’t absorb all of the water. I still can’t watch a "Modern Family” episode without feeling as if my lungs are going to collapse from postpartum PTSD (that’s all I watched on TV when breastfeeding in those early days). The entire month of June, smoky skies and peonies, still give me a postpartum pain in my gut, like a fragrant mourning or deeply rooted FOMO.

In this case, I’m writing about the first 48 hours in the hospital post-baby because I want that calm feeling you get after an adrenaline rush. I’m a nostalgia junkie. I want to go back to those two days because I crave the sweetness of new life so badly suddenly. I want to crawl into that pocket again, the liminal space between finding myself and losing myself, of being reborn. I want all the bad stuff, the pain, the baby blues, the uncertainty, because the aftermath of said turmoil is the most godly feeling.

What is this called? While I felt this feeling right after giving birth, why am I feeling it again now? Is it because I want another baby so bad? Am I going to feel this feeling my entire life?

Upon doing some research, I stumbled upon the term “baby pinks,” the less coined term of it’s counterpart, “the baby blues.” As of yet, the condition is not well defined or understood, according to this article. “It is more of a [layman’s] term, as opposed to a medical diagnosis,” says Lee Beers, MD, medical director for community health and advocacy and a professor of pediatrics at Children’s National Hospital.

People refer to this phenomenon as a “burst of energy” post birth, supported by a sudden flow of oxytocin. Others refer to this as a hypomanic episode, a period of elevated feelings because the postpartum intensity of emotional shifts from one high to the other.

I’m not sure if I would clarify the *feeling* post-birth as energy or a hypomanic mood. I was deeply tired in that state, but ignorantly blissed-out, without even realizing it then. Yes, I felt in an “elevated” state, but it didn’t feel manic or possessive. My self-esteem was high and gracious, and I did feel as if I wanted to shout something gleeful off the hospital rooftops: “I did it!! I had a baby!!”

Even though everyone knew we were having a baby, I felt like Lila was our little secret and the hospital was this tiny heaven we were existing in. We were all being cared for, and the people we loved flooded in and out. The pain of being 40-weeks pregnant simmered away right in front of my eyes like a flip-book, and I was ushered slowly into motherhood.

It has taken three years postpartum for me to realize this truth: the strength and fervor of the memories, the pink delight those following days in the hospital offered in the moment.

And I can’t reiterate it enough. I want to go back there. I want to go back to that room.

I’m visualizing it: A dim-lit room at midnight, my thin hospital gown and bedsheets barely keeping me warm. I’m always cold, in fact. The room is an impeccable blue and black, peppered with red and green monitor lights, some blinking, some yellow. The presence of my partner nearby, awake too. We’re both pretending to sleep of course. Because, we want to. But there is this new human existing between us, swaddled and warm. Every gurgle or peep startles me into awareness, stark awareness, one I hadn’t been familiar with until this moment. And yet, it’s still and quiet. There’s not a single ripple in the room. When the morning comes, it starts as a deep periwinkle and softens into light lavender. The hospital wakes up a bit too. The stillness turns into a rhythm, and we can hear doors and people humming.

It’s a little romantic place that I go in my head. It feels good to be there. And it feels safe. Lately, I’ve been trying to manifest the reality that I will go back there again. One day, I will be in that hospital room, holding another baby. And this time, my oldest daughter’s shoes will softly squeak and shuffle. She will be much more grown, and filling the room with her own color.

1. Bookmark all of these (of the ones I’ve actually seen, this is a brilliant list). Especially if you’re like me and always nostalgic for a early 2000s romcom.

   Nostalgicedit

   10 Criminally Underrated Romcoms You've Probably Never Seen

   Picture this: it’s a cold and rainy night. You cancel the plans you have in favour of a much needed everything shower, takeout and evening of uninterrupted entertainment. You settle into your favourite spot on the couch, remote in hand, clicking through one of the million streamers you pay for. Time’s running out: your food is getting cold, panic sets i…

   Read more

   5 months ago · 1160 likes · 121 comments · nostalgicedit

2. Hot random tip to spice up your iced tea: Many people swear by brewing a good, strong, black tea; and then adding a drop of rose water to it (or a drop of vanilla!). You can get culinary-grade rose water at a Middle Eastern or Indian grocery store.

3. Two (slightly obscure) shows I have on my list to start watching (thanks to Nick Offerman during Amy Poehler’s podcast interview for these recos). The first one, “Colin from Accounts,” and the second, “Such Brave Girls.” Both have great Rotten Tomatoes scores.

4. I’m finally reading “The Covenant of Water” by Abraham Verghese and, as expected, it’s pretty stunning thus far. This quote sent me reeling (especially when I compared it to waiting for a second baby).

   

5. This entire curation of items is what I think people should spend a lot of money on (black blazer, poplin shirt, faded pair of jeans, suede shoes, chelsea boots, etc., etc.,) (Air Mail)

6. I want to do this in my house!

7. I need this in my kitchen (we’re always looking for scrap paper for grocery lists).

8. To say I GOBBLED this article up. Wow. This quote: “i think friendship is one of the greatest things we’ve lost while trying to optimize. we sacrifice community in our attempt to focus on our individual. striving to be more healed. more protected. we’ve gotten very good at managing our energy. i’m not sure we are still good at spending it on each other.”

   Mind Meets Media

   wellness culture is killing college life

   gen z is the most health-conscious generation in history. we don’t drink as much, we sleep track, we know what cortisol is, we go to therapy, we protect our peace. by every wellness metric, we are doing great…

   Read more

   5 months ago · 3124 likes · 149 comments · samantha gavi

9. We are all listening to the new Noah Kahan album on repeat right? While we walk through a forest? I am only four songs deep and so completely in love with it already. What a masterpiece.

10. I’m so truly obsessed with Jennifer Lawrence’s mom style, it hurts. Photo originally shared by . Aye, those pants though.

    

In today’s special edition of bathmilk, I sit down with someone I admire from afar (storytellers, horse girls, comedians, podcasters, therapists, mothers, dreamers, gorgeous fail-artists and more) and ask them a series of personal questions.

I connected with Mycah through a good friend of mine, Helen — who also happened to help design my bathmilk branding. Helen told me that she thought we’d click, and Mycah most certainly has that passionate presence I adore. One that is sure-footed and cozy with herself. I love people that LOVE things deeply and with color. Mycah has that, too.

Mycah is a Minneapolis-based videographer and photographer, who works with humans and the brands built by those humans. She also has a wedding and senior photos account on Instagram, if you’re looking for a photographer for graduation or celebrating a couple.

Her photos are full of life and movement. And her Instagram is incredibly narrative and helpful. She helps other photographers with tips to keep clients, what it’s like to book a brand session, and what it means to step away from the work. “I became a photographer because I love telling stories,” she writes. “Stories of love and connection and joy.”

Also, I just really love having this little segment where I can get to know people I admire, the work they do, and what makes them tick. When I was connected with Mycah, I wanted to learn more about her and what fuels her day by day. I know you’ll enjoy getting to know her, too.

Without further ado here are …

BATHMILK: I always love starting with this question. The thing that you do, regularly, that’s hard as shit but worth it.

MYCAH: Showing up for my family. I’m the oldest of six, and my dad died this past year from cancer, and that has been devastating for all of us in different ways. My siblings and I are so wildly different from each other. It’s almost hard to believe six people this different share the same parents. And yet, showing up for them regularly, having the hard conversations, setting my own stuff aside … that’s the work.

A few weeks ago, one of my siblings was honestly getting on my nerves. I called anyway, just to check in. Then just the other day, my brother and his wife had just lost their two-year-old goddaughter. I changed my plans, dropped everything, and went to their house that morning with their favorite pastries in hand. I walked through the whole place and picked up every piece of dirty laundry I could find … a family of five’s worth. I took it all home, and spent the day doing their laundry in between work, then brought it back that night so my mom and sister and I could fold it and put it away and clean their house.

I almost didn’t tell anyone about that. But I casually mentioned it to one friend, and she shared it with someone else, and my sister-in-law told another person, and that person did the same thing for their neighbor. This morning, a friend called me to say she was inspired by how I show up, so she went out of her way to bring a friend coffee for her birthday. That ripple effect or showing up for community, in the good, the bad, and the ordinary times, I think about it a lot. So that’s why I’m sharing here, to remind you that doing laundry, dropping off a pastry or coffee, sending a voice memo, sending a note … these things are SO doable and matter so much.

“So that’s why I’m sharing here, to remind you that doing laundry, dropping off a pastry or coffee, sending a voice memo, sending a note … these things are SO doable and matter so much.”

But honestly? The harder, more ongoing version of this answer is showing up for myself. I’ve been in some form of therapy or coaching on and off for many years, and the more I do that inner work, and lean into feeling my feelings (BYEEE sadness, I would prefer all joy and hype all day), doing the uncomfortable personal stuff, then the more capacity I have to show up for the people I love. I’ve built a business that supports my life not just so I can travel, but so that when something hard happens, I can be present for it. When it’s easy to show up, sure. But especially when it’s not. That’s the stuff that matters. Celebrating with people. Crying with them. Cleaning the bathroom that has toddler boy pee on it. This is real life. And I do it because I love my people, I want every single one of my siblings to know I’m here for them, and I want to continue showing up for my friends and community every day.

BATHMILK: If you could retire now and maintain your current lifestyle without work but no further, would you? So, the rules are: you’re retired and you receive a paycheck that is the exact same as you’re currently making for the rest of your life. There is no way for you to make more money than you currently make. Would you do it? And why?

MYCAH: Honestly? Yes. And I want to be clear … I’m not trying to run away from my life. I love my work. I love what I do. But I also just have this insatiable desire to live, and there is so much more to life than work.

I’ve been to over fifty countries. I want to wake up and put my feet in the sand and surf and try things I’ve never tried. I want to sip tea with strangers and figure out who they are and why they think the way they think. I want to take art classes and dance more and learn from people who are completely different from me. The colors, the textures, the music, the sound of a new place … I could spend a lifetime chasing that and still want to continue learning and exploring and growing and squeezing all the juice out of life.

That said, the work I do feels genuinely important to me. I fully believe the world is a better place when money is in the hands of women. When women have financial independence, they’re not stuck. They have options. Freedom. And when women have money, they’re the ones pouring it back into their kids, their communities, education … the things that actually move the needle. That’s why I’m so passionate about coaching women business owners, and about doing brand photography for women-led businesses. I love elevating those stories and these voices matters.

BATHMILK: What is something you love that you wouldn’t recommend to others?

MYCAH: TikTok. I know, I know. I actually deleted it a few months ago when our country kept going further downhill (and continues to, but I digress) and I needed a break. But I genuinely miss it. My algorithm was SO good. We’re talking travel videos, incredible international fashion, genuinely funny things. No self-improvement content. No one I know in real life. Just pure, beautifully curated entertainment. I built that algorithm from scratch and I was proud of it. I miss it every day and I refuse to feel bad about that.

BATHMILK: What thing or [things] are we doing today that will be laughed at in 25 years?

MYCAH: Well, the irony of this moment is not lost on me. Right now, I’m voice recording this on my phone (I’m more of a talker than a writer) while riding my Peloton with two computer screens next to me because I’m about to jump back into another work project the second I’m done. So I think hyper-productivity culture — this obsession with doing six things at once all the time — is something I personally will laugh at in twenty-five years (and am actually laughing at now).

In 25 years I’ll be 61. God willing, I’ll have many more decades ahead of me. And when I picture 61-year-old Mycah, I see her barefoot in a garden. Long, wild hair. Fun, funky jewelry collected from all over the world. Bright lipstick. Maybe glitter on her face, sharing all of it with my niece and nephews, hypothetical kids and grandkids.

I think the stuff I treat as so serious right now is probably not the serious stuff. And the things that actually matter … the quiet moments, the people, the presence, those are the things I sometimes don’t prioritize enough. I don’t want to wait until sixty-one to learn that. I’m working on it now.

BATHMILK: Let’s do a quick round of five things: 1 thing you’re consuming (could be food OR television), 1 thing you couldn’t live without, 1 thing you learned last year, 1 thing you hate, 1 thing you want to do this year, and 1 thing in your iPhone notes.

MYCAH:

• One thing you’re consuming: Spindrift. I’m completely addicted. I can’t get enough. If someone wants to ship a flat of it to my house, I wouldn’t oppose 😉

• One thing you couldn’t live without: My passport.

• One thing you learned last year: This is a big one. I did some really transformative relationship coaching with my partner. We’re very different people from different backgrounds, different personalities and different relationship histories. And while the goal was to understand each other better, what I actually walked away with was a MUCH better understanding of myself. I learned the practice of validating another person’s feelings and experience instead of just nodding along. On one hand, this is like a preschool-level skill that somehow I made it into my thirties without mastering. On the other hand, I think it’s a PhD-level skill that will take me a lifetime to fully learn. Alongside that, doing this intensive coaching while also watching my dad die and navigating grief for myself and my family — all of it together cracked something open around control. We don’t have it. I hoped I’d have many more decades with my dad. I can’t control what tomorrow holds. I can’t control what other people do. What I can control is how I respond, and how I show up in this moment. That’s it. And that’s how I want to live.

• One thing you dislike: People who try to put other people in a box. Anyone who doesn’t support the fullness of someone else’s humanity — whether that’s related to women’s rights, identity, representation, any of it. The voices that need to be heard and elevated are the ones that aren’t in the most powerful positions. I have no patience for people at the top using their position to push everyone else down.

• One thing in your iPhone notes: Last night I sat down and really tried to narrow in on my purpose in my business which was a great exercise. But most of the time? My notes are full of people’s first names with little identifying details next to them. Like: “Sarah, blue shirt.” When I’m on a photo shoot or out meeting people, it’s really important to me to learn everyone’s name and actually use it. Since I’m a visual person, the second I have a free moment I’ll pull up my notes and jot it down. Highly recommend.

BATHMILK: A three part question about photography: When I think about photography, I think about preservation. What’s your goal when you’re taking photos to tell an impactful story? Where do you find inspiration (examples: specific books, music, nature)? Is there a common bit of photography advice you disagree with?

MYCAH: My goal, no matter what kind of session it is, is to hold up a mirror and to show people who they are. Their own beauty, their own strength, their own confidence and capability. For brand clients, women-led businesses especially, I want to capture all the different dimensions of who they are. Not just what they do, but how they do it, and why. That’s the stuff that actually connects.

For inspiration, I go to nature and I go to travel. Light and shadow. Color and texture. Latin America in particular always makes me feel deeply creative. That’s probably top of mind right now since I just got back from almost a month in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. It’s not like I see a certain color and think “I want to recreate that in a photo.” It’s more that being in those places helps me step into my creative self. It wakes something up.

As for advice I disagree with, I’d reframe it as business advice more than photography advice. After fifteen years, the most important thing I’ve learned is to always be willing to try new things and fail. I want to fail every day. If I’m only having wins, that means I’m not swinging big enough. Every failure has built my character and sharpened my vision. Playing it safe is the actual failure.

“I can’t control what tomorrow holds. I can’t control what other people do. What I can control is how I respond, and how I show up in this moment. That’s it. And that’s how I want to live.”

BATHMILK: What are arbitrary rules you have for yourself? Something like: I don’t keep my phone in my bed, or I will never ask someone their political views.

MYCAH: My primary operating principle is: add pizzazz. That shows up in a lot of ways. I love clothes and fashion, so it might mean dressing up for no reason other than the fact that it’s a Tuesday and life is short. It also means using the nice stuff which is something my mom really taught me. Use the China dishes. Spray the good perfume. Light the nice candle. Don’t save things for a special occasion that never comes. And if you ever think something might be too much … it’s not. Just do it anyway. Add the glitter. Why not?

“Use the China dishes. Spray the good perfume. Light the nice candle. Don’t save things for a special occasion that never comes. And if you ever think something might be too much … it’s not. Just do it anyway.”

Another rule I live by: Other people’s emergencies are not my emergencies. That’s been a hard one to actually practice, but an important one.

I’m also really into habit stacking, especially right now when I’m trying to become more fluent in Spanish. I can get by, but fluent would be a stretch. So I take Peloton classes in Spanish, listen to a lot of Spanish music, and have conversations in Spanish whenever I can. I love building something quietly in the background of everything else.

And every single morning, I go out on my front lawn barefoot, do three sun salutations, take three deep breaths, and say three prayers. That’s non-negotiable. It sets everything.

BATHMILK: Invent a word for a feeling you’ve never been able to name.

MYCAH: There’s this feeling I keep coming back to — especially this past year — where grief and joy exist at exactly the same time. Where the loss of something, or someone, somehow sharpens your ability to feel the beauty of everything else. It reminds me of Kintsugi … the Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery with gold, so the cracks become the most beautiful part.

Glennon Doyle talks about something similar and she calls it “brutiful.” Brutal and beautiful at once. I didn’t invent that, but it’s the closest thing I’ve found to the word I’m looking for. So I’ll borrow it: breutiful. That’s how so much of life feels to me right now. So brutal. So beautiful. At the exact same time.

BATHMILK: Okay, I’ve been so intrigued by people’s sleep routines/rituals. What do you take for sleep? What temperature is your room? Blanket/pajama scenario? Sounds? Non-negotiables? Give me all the details!!

MYCAH: I’m super lucky because I am an easy sleeper, and I genuinely try not to take that for granted. I can fall asleep almost anywhere. On group trips I’m always the last one to care about who gets which bed.

That said, my ideal setup: bamboo sheets, room at 63 - 65 degrees, windows open is the best, a weighted blanket over my knees, and a fan running for light background noise (but not blowing directly on me). I have a lovely pair of silk pajamas that I sometimes wear, but usually I wear nothing. Lights off, but no blackout curtains. I like waking up naturally with the light coming in slowly, and to no alarm. That is total freedom in my world. 🔮

Read more interviews like this:

My sister and I talk about time a lot. We talk about her daughter, who’s already eleven, and how we could swear she was born yesterday. We’ve become obsessed with accounting for a how fast time is passing, especially now that we have kids.

In fact, I write about time quite incessantly. Below are three of the most recent essays I’ve written about the odd shape of its passing:

Anyway.

In a text thread with my mom and sister, we were talking about our childhood(s). I think one of us asked her something like, “what do you miss most about those days? When we were little?” I expected a well thought out description of a Tuesday evening in the kitchen (sepia-tinted of course), cooking dinner, picking up toys, watching us dance in circles at our kitchen island while we ate vanilla ice cream right out of the container. I imagined her lusting over the past like a singsongy poet, describing our childlike features in whimsical detail.

Her response was much more (pun intended) vanilla than that: “the simplicity,” she said. I wondered what she meant by that. Did she mean the simplicity of the tech-lacking nineties? Shoebox sized televisions in the kitchen that could get three channels? She couldn’t have meant the “simplicity” of raising children? Could she?

Parenting is surely more complicated than that?

My sister has a refreshing and hopeful parenting outlook. She appreciates every moment. If I had to describe my sister’s philosophy in one Instagram quote, it would be: “The mess means they’re here. They’re little and you’re living the life you once dreamed of. What a gift.” She always tells us that she will want it all back someday, the crushed up cheese puffs on the floor, the chaos, the noise. And when she’s feeling overwhelmed by the heaviness of that daily grind, she tries to imagine missing it one day; and it brings her back to center. “I know I’m going to want it all back,” she tells me.

I think about future me, and what I’m going to want back all the time. It’s hard not to. In all honesty, the sentiment of “living a full, appreciative life” is drilled mindlessly into our heads. Especially as mothers. You’re going to miss this! Don’t blink! One day, they’re going to be teenagers! We’re force-fed the expectation of present bliss and enjoyment all over social media, advertising, and buzzy influencer poetry books. We’re expected to find ways to slow time down; and appreciate every moment.

I recently watched “Hamnet” (um, holy shit by the way). In its wholeness, the movie is about experiencing deep grief and focusing on the transformative impact of losing a child. The message about savoring time with our children is [also] a central theme of the movie — so much so, it felt like a threat, or a warning. Mary (Shakespeare’s mother), played by Emily Watson, gives an emotional monologue to one of the children, while their 11-year-old brother suffers with the plague.

It goes:

Mary: “Your mother’s trying to... keep a grip on her child. It won’t work. What is given may be taken away at any time. We must never let our guard down. Never take for granted... that our children’s hearts beat, that they draw breath, that they walk and speak and... smile, argue, play. Never forget for a moment that they may be gone.”

During the scene, I was crying so hard I was GASPING for air. The movie gets a lot of flack for being labeled as “grief porn,” and rightfully so. I don’t have the energy to write a think piece about the symbols and themes and how the storyline attempts to alchemize grief, but I actually did love the film. I just haven’t cried so hard during a movie since watching “Marly and Me” with my dad.

Mostly, I was startled by the prominency of the movie’s theme. It was a throbbing, incessant warning: Remember each moment and remember it poignantly. You’re going to want it back before its gone.

Olivia Munn recently talked about this exact sentiment on the CBS News “Sunday Morning.”

“In that same vein, life happens on a Tuesday … these are the moments. This is what life ... all these tiny moments … for me all I wanted were the little moments.”

If Olivia Munn said it, society sprinkles it on our daily offering like warning signals. Appreciate your time now. Appreciate the small moments. You’re going to miss this. We are constantly pretending that we’re inside of a moment we’re given back. A moment we’re going to want back one day. Life happens on a Tuesday, they warn. We are going to want it all back.

But … are we going to “want it all back?”Was Trace Atkins right when he sang “we’re going to miss this” and it turned into an Instagram reel trend? Is that the real truth? Or is there another narrative we’re not talking about?

That’s not the entire truth. And yes, there’s another narrative we’re not hearing today.

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When I asked my mom on the phone about whether or not she missed those times when my sister and I were little, she said,“I don’t mean to say that I don’t appreciate those times. I just love my life now, as a grandparent. I don’t miss it.”

I needed to know more. “What do you wish you could have back?” I asked. “What would you re-live? If you could have one day to go back to, what day would it be?”

And her answer surprised me.

She wouldn’t go back.

Here’s what she said:

“People say that [don’t miss out on these moments] because they don’t want to miss something they did or didn’t do. They’re trying to protect themselves from the guilt. If you do everything the best you can, you won’t have to worry about whether you did or didn’t do something. I don’t want to look back and think, ‘Wow I screwed up as a mother, I wish they were little again.’”

What surprised me the most about this was that her answer was centered on the guilt. Guilt is the exact feeling I have when I think about how quickly time passes with Lila around. I constantly feel this culpable tug. So, why do people want mothers to feel so guilty? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe the pressure is a distraction from other, more meaningful things. We’re expected to be sentimental, emotional, and commit our entire lives to our children.

And then there’s that other thing: That guilt feeds the capitalism beast. Guilt sells. Especially to mothers. That’s where the kin work lives. We make holidays magical. We order photos, albums. We keep journals of “the darndest things our kids say” and scrapbook their artwork. We collect traditions and turn every day moments into a ritual. We save “firsts” like a first haircut curl, lost tooth, or pairs of shoes. It’s not that we’re trying to capture everything. It’s that we hoard moments, because we know we’re going to lose them.

Moreover, guilt forces mothers to 1) Stay out of the workplace, 2) Second guess pursuing dreams that feel selfish, and 3) Prioritize everything else over themselves.

Patriarchy 🤝 Mom guilt.

But that’s an essay for another day.

“When I talk to you and your sister now,” my mom said, “I think you’re my best friends! I wouldn’t want to go back to when you were little. I loved when you were five, and I loved all those times of course. But I love this now.”

In truth, there’s no way of protecting yourself from regret. That’s an impossible task. We are only human, after all. In my mom’s point of view, she doesn’t want to spend a life filled with remorse. So, she has to look at life in another way.

“I’m enjoying these moments and they’re fun, but you should embrace every new moment,” she tells me on the phone, as I feverishly type out her answers. “You can’t think ‘ohhhh, my kids aren’t going to be this small forever!’ Because life is so gradual, it’s gracious that way.”

That’s it! That’s the nugget! Life can be a gracious thing. “Kids lives go in phases,” she tells me softly. “They’re not suddenly in college one day after they’re five. You’ll be ready. You’ll cry when they go. But it’s a gradual thing, it’s not something any one should be freaking out over.”

We both agreed that life, indeed, does go by fast. There’s no escaping that truth. But, we shouldn’t lose sleep over it. It’s not a cause for worry. “It’s a beautiful dance if you do it right.” That’s my mom again. Speaking her gospel.

“So, how do we slow time down? How do you not regret?”

This is what I ask her next.

“Don’t waste time wondering what’s going to happen in the future. Look at the moment right in front of you. That’s how you don’t forget,” she said.

Amen.

One more thing…

I discussed this topic, in length, with my mother on the phone (hence this article).

As homework, I asked her to sit down while she was flying (she’s been a flight attendant for 35 years) and scribble down some advice for me to remember; and share here. So, she took the homework very seriously and sat down with her best friend on the jump seat, who’s also a flight attendant, and wrote what feels like poetry:

1. I enjoyed reading this entire post about how joy is inflammatory (and that it’s probably time to throw your Oura ring in the ocean). Zoey Brown of wrote about how she chases her spring bliss in San Fransisco. I’m going to try her below tip! (Feed Me)

   • Pick up some bitter greens, Chrysanthemum tea (TCM’s answer to itchy eyes and allergies), bee pollen, and sour flavors (California pomelos, lemons, limes).

2. Apparently, there’s a wine bar awakening in New York City. And the next time I’m inside of that messy, righteous city — I want to try Stars, a little wine bar on East 12th Street. Here is ’s poetic telling of the space:

   “Stars is small. It’s the perfect size. There are 12 seats oriented around a U-shaped bar, and space with ledges for ten people to stand and drink and wait for a seat. There’s something about the lighting at Stars where it feels like that sunset hour or that moment just after a sunset perpetually. There’s a distinct post-McNallyian luminous glow, a light temperature that feels like it was created inside of a Fujifilm X100VI. The sound design in the space really drives home that you’re in a self-contained ecosystem, your own little planet, or on a boat adrift. You have nowhere else to be, nowhere else you want to be.”

3. This was quite the delightful read:

   The Nap Trap

   A Super Chill Day in the Life of a Stay-at-Home Mom

   I’ve been a stay-at-home-mom for nearly a year now and I can say it’s a super easy, chill gig. I don’t really do much all day. I remember running into an old neighbor of mine right after having my baby. We were catching up about her job and she said, “you’re so lucky, do you just get to hang out and watch Netflix with the baby all day?” Yep, totally. Th…

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   5 months ago · 176 likes · 88 comments · Marina Mofford

4. Free snack idea from !

   “… a Trader Joe’s seedy flatbread cracker with cottage cheese, garlic powder, pepperoncini and dill. An ideal snack in every way.”

5. I bought these PERFECT overalls last weekend and I have to tell someone about them. They're from Sorted Boutiques.

   

6. My friend , who is a gorgeous writer and person, decided to write the most beautiful Substack collection of paragraphs (yet again). I can just feel the joy of her words, even despite bad news. And that is my favorite kind of writing.

   Jillosophies: Thoughts on Life and Love

   It’s all good.

   I know Monday isn’t my usual day to show up in your inbox, and I’m going to confuse the algorithm but I have news that didn’t feel quite right for Easter Sunday morning which is that I have cancer…

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   5 months ago · 20 likes · 11 comments · JILL PALMQUIST

7. I honestly DID expect photos of Artemis II’s moon flyby to make me super emotional — and astronaut Christina Koch’s touching message was the cherry on top.

8. If I made all the money in the world, I would buy this pillowcase.

9. Have I talked enough about how perfect “Jury Duty Presents: The Company Retreat” is? I won’t spoil anything for you, but you need to watch this show. It’s the most endearing, hilarious, and tender season of anything I’ve ever watched. I didn’t expect this season to be as deeply heartwarming as it was.

10. This image is living rent free in my head via . The entire post is delicious. I love her recommendation to also buy HonestBaby Wash Cloths for face and body washing. They really are the softest, most luxurious lil’ things (and I never thought to use them for myself!)

    

11. I’m truly boring as hell. I clicked on this link so fast: the ultimate method to keep your baseboards clean. Dryer sheets and Magic Eraser FTW.

12. Every single thing on this list (hosted by ).

    The Dream Baby Press Substack

    Sasha Spielberg's Love/Hate List

    PLEASE READ: We do The Love/Hate Lists because we genuinely love learning more about the artists we ask to do them. I don’t want to paywall the lists but it does take a lot of work and time so if you can afford it, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. It really makes a difference…

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    6 months ago · 9 likes · Dream Baby Press

My mother, wearing the sharpest high-rise dark denim jeans and a peach tank, a slight mix of grunge and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy-style minimalism, is posting about the entire vacation on her tiny little computer that she cradles in her palm at the pool. The one she uses behind our backs to dissociate, while she smokes a Newport Menthol under the porte-cochère. Strangers comment on a photo of our family crouched together on a giant rock during a break of mini-golf: “Darla!! Hot mama!” and “Priceless…”

She scrolls her feed with her french manicure. There’s a picture of Uma Thurman wearing a billowy two-piece Chanel dress with sparkly bicep cuffs at the Oscars. Goldie Hawn too, 53 and stunning, showed off her curves in a hip-hugging Versace gown. Her and Kurt Russell…so righteously hot. Double tap. Everyone’s talking about “Shakespeare in Love,” because it won Best Picture. Ugh, Darla didn’t have an appetite for Gwyneth Paltrow. She keeps scrolling. The endless algorithm opens up a gaping hole of opinions and news: the era of large families continues to decline, women are increasingly working outside of the home, the Melissa macro computer virus was still attacking Microsoft, her friend Cathy was vacationing Las Vegas. God, was everyone vacationing in Las Vegas?!?

She’s on her phone while we play in the pool all afternoon, playing PacMan. She has a book open in her lap, “The Weatherman” by Steve Thayer, but she looks at it only on occasion. I do a cool handstand in the shallow end and look up to see if she’s watching me. “Mom! Take a video!” I yell. She doesn’t hear me. I want to see a video of my handstand. I want to see a video of my splash if I do a cannon ball. I want to see a video of how fast I can swim from one side of the pool to the other. I want to see a video of myself breaching the water like an orca. I want to see a video of how long I can stay underwater. I want to Google the record of how long someone has been underwater. “Mom!! Can I see your phone?!”

She doesn’t want me to use her phone. She’s using it. I have a bit of a hissy fit on the edge of the pool. “I want you to take a video of me doing a headstand underwater!!” I shout. She’s reading about Bill Clinton’s impeachment proceedings on her phone. “One second, sweetheart,” she says. But I’m outraged by her divided attention. I want her to look at me. I want to see my headstand on video. I want so much all at once, instantaneously.

Finally, she puts her phone in her purse and slides her sunglasses down on the bridge of her tanned nose. “Take a video of me!!! Please!!” I scream. She sighs and takes her phone out of her purse again. “Okay, go jump in. I’ll take a video.”

I’m in the water, satisfied that I’ve finally snatched her attention. I point my hands at the pool’s bottom, reach for the blue tiles, and shoot my toes into the cool air. I feel airborne and precise, a singular, beautiful feeling. When I come up, my mom is distracted, on her phone looking at email again. The phone isn’t pointed in my direction, and I realize I’ve lost her attention for a second time.

Outside of the hotel on a bright sunny afternoon, the sand so bright we can’t be on the beach without sunglasses, there’s a sign that says you can stand with an exotic parrot for $5. “Hold on!” It’s my mom again, telling us to please wait while she gets her phone out. We can’t hold the parrot until her phone is expertly pointed at the subject, which takes a few awkward seconds. She fumbles with it; and shoves the tiny lens near our faces. The phone blocks her face and I can’t see her smiling at me holding a real, live parrot. We all want to see the photo so bad after she takes it, we forget we’re on a beach at all. But, I’m also obsessed with seeing everything she documents the minute she documents it. I’m eleven, and starting to get bashful about how my boobs look inside my loose teeshirts.

While we’re getting ready in the hotel room for dinner, my mom is spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I can hear her talking over an episode of “Rugrats,” so I peek my head into the room. She’s putting a makeup and talking to her phone, which is propped up on the counter with a selfie light bathing her face. She’s talking about her mauve lipstick and dark lip liner; and her favorite brand, Bobbi Brown Essentials. Especially the “brown-based lipstick.” I think its kind of annoying, that she has to be spending her time in there. But this is my favorite Rugrats episode, “Tommy’s First Birthday.”

At the restaurant when we get our food, mom pulls her phone out take a picture of her salmon. She shows my dad a meme of Bill Clinton sinking with the “Titanic” with Monica Lewinsky’s head pasted on top of Kate Winslet’s head. We are at a fancy restaurant and my sunburn hurts under my dress straps. She takes a picture of me and my sister sitting together. She takes a picture of the sunset and the clouds. My burger tastes so delicious. I ask if I can take a picture of my burger. She lets me take a video of the restaurant, the mariachi band. I also take a picture of my burger. She wants the phone back so she can take a picture of the sunset, which has graduated to a luscious fuchsia. We are taking photos of everything, I realize. Everything must be documented. I want to see every result of a click: every photo, video, message from Grandma. It makes me feel artistic and connected. But most of the time, I feel like I can’t focus on anything. In fact, I don’t remember much about dinner at all.

The next day, during breakfast, mom is checking the weather on her phone. There’s a snowstorm back at home. It will likely delay our flight. She spends the entire day there, on her screen: Rebooking, calling Grandma, fretting about the storm, writing emails for work, watching a livestream of Bertrand Piccard and Brian Jones circumnavigating the Earth in a hot air balloon. We’re at the zoo most of the day, but she’s in the shade under trees tapping at that little computer on her palm.

I am only eleven, but I wish she would notice the giraffes. They are so funky looking and chill. I notice they move as if they’re underwater, like I move when I try to walk in the shallow end to do a handstand. I read on the sign that giraffes sleep only 10 minutes to 2 hours daily while standing. And their tongues are 21-inches long!! I want to take a picture of one of them eating a tree. But, my mom is too far away with the phone, tapping incessantly, hunched over behind a bush — eternally reachable and connected to anywhere but here.

1. I recently discovered this kitchen brand and I LOVE the simple quality. I’m salivating over the coated pan, the resting stone, and every single cutting board.

2. This made my day.

   

3. I will not buy every outfit from Milkteeth. I will not buy every outfit from Milkteeth. I will not buy every outfit from Milkteeth. I will ...

4. A good, simple recommendation by : “My only advice for surviving a winter of this magnitude is to have a Luxe Tea Drawer. Drawers > cupboards.”

5. Holy shit, these words by .

Broke But Moisturized

To be beautiful, to be memorable

“Women want to be loved like roses. They spend hours perfecting their eyebrows and toes and inventing irresistible curls that fall by accident down the back of their necks from otherwise austere hair-dos. They want their lover to remember the way they held a glass. They want to haunt…

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6 months ago · 1443 likes · 78 comments · Dia Lupo

1. Random tip: At a book club meeting with some barn friends the other day, my incredibly cool Gen Z friend had bedazzled her book (gems the same color as the romantic-novel pink and white text). It was an incredibly delightful little thing I realized we all can just … do. Bedazzle more things!!

2. Gabby Bernstein on Instagram posted one of these word games, “The First 3 Words You See Are What’s Coming Your Way Soon.” I just quickly tried this exercise for myself and came up with: Elevate, Selected, Heart. My office has a huge bookshelf so that helped. I’m not sure what this means yet, but I hope it has something to do with my heart getting what it manifests.

3. What I want to listen to: Brené Brown and Adam Grant started a new podcast. I don’t know a lot about Adam Grant but apparently him and Brene had a feud in the past. And I love Brene Brown so much. The podcast covers things from vulnerability to authenticity (and) some solid advice on apologizing.

4. This insight about body transformation from this Getting Sticky interview with Claire Holt: “Pregnancy and postpartum can feel foreign because it is a foreign body. It’s not the body you’ve known for all of these years, and it can be a challenge to work through that.”

5. (haha) YEA

   

6. Timely information for me: the water temperature you use to wash your clothes matters. In short: cold water = more gentle, no stains. Hot water = sanitizer.

7. This is the purest and most tender brilliance, the way jewelry designer Brent Neale translates children’s drawings and treasured stuffed animals into jewelry heirlooms.

8. Unfortunately, I read this article and now I can’t stop thinking about how technology and AI are compressing time. This blurb has me trippin out a bit:

   “That is essentially the job of all technology: to compress time.

   I’m not talking physics, I’m talking about our subjective experience of time. Not that hours are shorter, but the distance between desire and fulfillment is collapsing. And our nervous systems were not build to handle it.

   As my friend, Richard Banfield at Second Harvest, just put succinctly:

   ‘Technology shrinks the time between what you want to happen to it actually happening.’

   In sci-fi movies, we’ve always been obsessed with time travel. Turns out humans have been time travelers since our first inventions.

   Take something as rudimentary as a small wooden raft that one of our ancestors used to float across a raging river. In one reality, his clan could not risk the cross so they took two days to walk around the river. But in the new reality, they crossed on the raft in twenty minutes. They just time travelled forward one day, eleven hours and forty minutes. We’ve been obsessed with accelerating time since the very beginning.”

9. I'm looking for a pair of new riding boots because I blew a hole in my last pair and Ariat honestly has the nicest, most stylish boots. They don't always have to be used for the barn!

10. Ending with this: (New Yorker)