The pumpkin patches you hope they won't miss...

Today, after dropping off the Traverse for maintenance issues we have been putting off for months, I rode with Michael back to his work and cried.

Not at first, at first I snapped and picked a fight. I passive aggressively mentioned problems "he's" caused recently, I acted completely offended that he suggest I "take it easy" even though he genuinely meant I relax,  and I then I sat there angrily scribbling in my creepy little personal notebook in silence... a sure tell sign for Michael that I'm about to lose it.

He took a deep breath "I'm not trying to fight. I don't want to fight, I just don't know what's wrong and if I don't know, I can't help.  I want to help."

TEARS. (from me, not Michael)

Ugly crying and deep gasps for air. (again... not Michael)

And everything that has been bothering me, but I'm ashamed to admit, came out in two and half minutes.  I wanted to this fall break to be perfect; 3 house projects, fun activity each day for the kids, dentist visits for all, enjoy my mom, get to soccer practices and games on time (5 total), clean the house, visit the two newest babies boys in my life, fall family photos, and on and on and on...

But, on top of ALL of this (horror of all horrors) I didn't schedule a pumpkin patch visit. End of the World? No. But from my current view of the World, threw the rose colored glasses of Facebook and Instagram; I'd failed them!

Michael paused and then spoke "We don't need to entertain our kids all the time, they are happy and loved. I never carved a pumpkin that we didn't grow on our farms. I never went to a pumpkin festival, maybe a cider mill for donuts, but all our pumpkins came from what we'd grown."

Sometimes, I hate when people point out the obvious to me and sometimes, it makes me love them even more. 

And Michael had grown pumpkins with our kids, all spring and summer they visited those pumpkins and watched them grow.  We picked those pumpkins and rolled them to our front porch.  Why hadn't I realized THIS was our tradition and this was just as important and memorable?

Fall break wasn't a bust; Grandma loved on our babies and made them homemade costumes, projects were complete, cuddles were had, everyone made it to their 6 month check ups, movies and snuggles occurred, we indulged in Casa Bonita, we made it on time(ish) to soccer practices, and  I even got to visit with friends.

It was a damn good break, but I let my high expectations of what I "should" get done and my view of other people's fun visits to the pumpkin patches cloud my vision.

Before typing this, I memory popped up on Facebook; it was the boys and me at the pumpkin patch 4 years ago... and just as I was about to say "You know what, we can make this work," I stopped myself and remembered that visit. 

The pictures are adorable, but the pumpkin photo at the top of the page.... the one with the white pumpkin, that little white pumpkin was for our future Eliza Jane. I distinctly recall that day; after spending hours in the heat with a 2.5 year old, a 1.5 year old and a 5 week old in my belly I came home and collapsed from exhaustion (and much like today) I cried. 

I cried because we'd planned too much and we were pushing ourselves too hard.
I cried, questioning whether we could handle three babies, or worse, what if I'd pushed myself too hard and risked the life of this little one???

I still have things on my to-do-list. 
I still kind of wish we could make the pumpkin festival work (it won't). 
My chest still tightens when I think that my kids didn't enjoy every second of every day of fall break.

But as Michael told me, I need to stop making "To-Do" lists and start making lists of all the things I accomplished.

Every parent wants their kids to have fond memories of their weekends, breaks, and overall childhood, but sometimes there just isn't enough time or energy to get to all the events and activities. Sometimes, life isn't picture perfect... sometimes it's just about making sure everyone is seen, heard, and loved.

This year we skipped the pumpkin patch and I genuinely hope my kids won't miss it too much. Next year we'll try again, or maybe we won't. If there is one thing I've learned today, it's that throwing out your to-do-list, building a fort in the living room with the kids, cathartically typing for 35 minutes as the kids watch toons, and accepting that what you've already accomplished is enough, is just as important as checking off every item on that list.

The night my three year old daughter helped me deescalate from a panic attack

At 4:30, we walked in the door after a busy weekend and long road trip; the car was a mess, the house dirty, the kids were exhausted, and Michael needed to run into work for several hours.

I had to clean up, put away stuff from our night away, vacuum the car, and then feed and put the kids to bed... no big deal.

But then, like so many times before, all I could see was the mess that would never be cleaned, the car I've neglected to vacuum all summer, and kids that would never listen, and all I could do was sit and try to breath deeply to take away from my chest pain. 
I couldn't start.
I couldn't pick what needed to be done first.
I was emotionally incapable of prioritizing.
There was no point of entry into the messy abyss that stood before me,
everything was torn to shit and all over the place.

No one was in ear shot to hear the silent screams inside me.
I could feel the panic and anxiety start at my chest and slowly seep into my limbs, filling my body with an overwhelming feeling of fear.

So, like any logical person in this state; I pick the best possibly thing to do when it begins to rain outside... I decide I need to clean the car.

The kids and I headed to the car wash so I could vacuum out at least two dozen McDonald's toys, a Costco size bag of Pirate Booty, 2 lbs of dirt from our travels this summer, and about 15 school art projects that had been ripped and shredded all over the floor.

As we pulled out of the car wash, my chest lightened and I felt accomplished. The industrial sized vacuum and car wash served as amusement park games and rides for the kids; I not only got something done, but entertained at the same time! I was multi-tasking.

The house was still there, though, and entering those doors put me back at ground zero.

I talked to my sister on the phone, I tried to call my mom, I posted a cute picture of my kids on social media, I cleaned out my email inbox, I went through and unsubscribed to emails, I busied my brain and myself; to avoid.  And, until Michael came home from work and the presence of another adult allowed me to see the chaos once more, I sat on my couch and avoided.

Michael didn't ask me to pick up, he didn't ask what I'd been doing, he started in on what still needed to be done and got to work.  In these times, we don't talk; partially because Michael doesn't know where I am mentally or emotionally and he doesn't want to push if I'm not ready, but also because (after 18 years together) we both know what needs to be done and if it isn't, there is usually a good reason.

And no, to those thinking "Why didn't he stop to check in with her, why didn't he find what was wrong and help her," that isn't always an option.  In a family of 5, our priorities are the 3 little ones that depend on us and if Michael sees me seemingly losing control, other than asking if I need a break (which he does often, but he had been working and driving all day too), him stepping up and doing more work, is often much more important and helpful. 

But the panic attack that had started was still looming over me.  I could feel it, sitting there, heavy, waiting

The light at the end of the tunnel felt near, Michael was going to put the boys to bed and Lizie was ready to fall asleep, but then, Michael leaned over the railing on our stairs and randomly asked me a perfectly harmless question that sent me spinning.  No, I didn't scream or cry, I didn't lash out or react, rather I perseverated on this (again perfectly harmless) question. I'd almost made it to bedtime.

The muscles in my body felt like they were quivering.

I started roaming the house and cleaning, all the while having hypothetical fights and arguments with people in my head that surrounded the topic Michael asked about. I played out every scenario, every possible fight or disagreement.  My heart was racing and my chest was tightening by the second. I was angry with people, I was mad, I was jealous, I was not making sense, and I knew it.

My breath was fast and it hurt to inhale.

I knew that all of this was unreasonable. I knew these fights weren't going to happen, that the horrible outcomes I had running through my head weren't going to occur, I knew that (because of this harmless question) no one was going to die, yet I could not get that through to myself.

The tightening in my chest was so much, that I was walking and holding in my heart with my left hand.

Eliza started following me and I could hear her murmur to herself, like I was. I could see my mini-me rummage and pick up items and straighten things in a flustered and irrational manner. I tried to tell her mommy just needed her chapstick and then she would calm down, but she knew; better than I did, that no amount of chapstick would stop my shaking and labored breathing.

My ears were hot, my pals clammy, and my body temperature kept rising.

I hate that this trait is something I will most likely pass on to one of my children, and then, that became my obsession; seeing my kids' futures like this, and I started spiraling deeper.

I couldn't breath or reason or slow down.

Amid the, hypothetical, internal arguments I was having with people, I heard Lizie's voice, asking me to put her to bed. We brushed our teeth, climbed into her hot pink princess bed, and laid on our sides facing one another.

There were tears streaming down my face and I was taking as deep of breaths as I could... but then I noticed it. I noticed what my three year old daughter was doing for me; she had found my breath and was breathing deeply along with me and looking at me directly in the eyes. (Something I do to calm the kids)

My heart slowed and my chest pain lessened, and for a good 10 minutes we stared at each other, breathing in unison; until the most beautiful thing happened.  Eliza took her little arm, rapped it around my back and began patting my shoulder and whispered "You're a good momma, we love you so much."

The thought of ever being a burden to my children scares me, it is not their job to take care of their mom, but at the same time; I love that they know how to take care of people. The balance of showing your kids your struggles, but exposing them to too much, is a difficult one; one that weighs heavily on me.

Today is slow. I have two check lists, a dream list and a practical list.  I've apologized up front to my kids that I have little patience and that I might cry, but it's only because I'm tired and want to do a good job for them.
Beckett got his sister breakfast
Brooks cleaned the living room
Eliza keeps cuddling and stopping to check in with her me.

I've yelled, more that I would like to admit to and I've cried just a little less than yelled, but the kids are alright. Lizie is curled up between my legs, Brooks is sitting beside me, and Beckett is at the foot of our lounger.  We are watching movie number 2 and I could give a crap less if I'm going over on "screen time."

Last night was inevitable, change always causes my panic and anxiety to ramp up. We've spent our summer going and going and going, because I was avoided a meltdown, but the irony is, that it most likely caused it.

I'm an imperfect mom who has an imperfect marriage and imperfect kids, but I try very hard to continually better myself.  I have a husband who, although he isn't always the best at communication, knows that silence and putting the kids to bed without a question, is often what I need.  I have children who are compassionate and forgiving and nonjudgmental, kids who I know will be good humans. 

And, with any luck, hopefully by tonight I'll have a clean(ish) house.

The reason I posted pictures of my kids today.

The repair man was coming at 10 o'clock and at 9:55, just as I was rushing to clean the house and dress the kids, the door bell rings... I throw on the rest of my clothes and answer the door flustered.

10 minutes later, after several broken conversations, the repair man asks me something that needs my full attention. Just then, Eliza screams for help from the bathroom and the boys begin an all out brawl in the kitchen right next to the dish washer. I lost my temper, yelled at the boys to go to their room, and the repair man, softly and apologetically, asked "Do you want to call your husband so I can talk to him?"

And then, like any sane person who has their shit together, I began sobbing. I called Michael (from the bathroom because Eliza was now full on screaming for help) and told him that he needed to take care of this.

I should be able to watch my kids and talk to an adult. I should be able to have the house cleaned and ready if someone arrives. I should be able to control my emotions enough so that I don't make a repair man feel uncomfortable with my tears.

I should, but I don't

After he left, I didn't plan an outing or set up any events for the day.  I didn't play games or sit and read to my children. I didn't clean the bathrooms or wash laundry.

After he left; I sat and watched as my kids tore the house apart.

*I wanted to leave and go pick out fabric for the blankets I was going to make the kids, but the thought of loading up into the car seemed too daunting.

*I wanted to organize Eliza's new doll clothing and finish the loads of laundry that add up, but all I could focus on was that they would still be there (even bigger) tomorrow. 

*I wanted to take the kids out to lunch someplace with a play place, but thinking about talking to someone I don't know (even to order food) exhausted me. 

*I wanted to go to Target to get some groceries for an exciting new dinner I'd come up with a few days ago for the family, but I just didn't have it in me to move from the couch.

The day drug on and I grew angrier with myself for wasting a day.  As a person who's always suffered from depression and anxiety, when something goes wrong... I can't always turn the situation around. And then, I dig myself an even deeper hole with self loathing.

The kids ate food, they played non-stop, they laughed, and overall will most likely sit at our dinner table tonight and tell dad they had fun; however, I won't recall that day, my day was very different. And the thought of a wasted day with my children, upsets me deep in my gut.

As 2 o'clock approached I stood up and announced we'd go for a walk. I checked that my yoga pants were presentable enough, put on Michael's hoodie, and helped each kid put on their tennis shoes.  I was going to leave this house.

As we walked and the kids played, I snapped a few pictures, because it was a moment I needed to be reminded of. And yes, I did post my photos, because I needed to share my win moment.  Today, after 4 hours, I won and got up and got out of my house. In years past, these moments were few and far between; so if posting on social media, and looking at my memories serves as a reminder to me, then I'll keep on doing it. When old posts pop up on my feed, not only do I get nostalgic, but I'm reminded of events and times that I had and gave myself reasons to get up and get moving.

I have three giant reasons to get up and be present every.single.day

In truth, we don't need to entertain our kids or drive them all over to be good parents. The skills my kids learn, when left to their own devices, are greater than half the stuff I can teach them. While I wasn't fully engaged or interacting with my kids at the level I generally deem as "being a great mom," I wasn't a bad mom.  I was there, not my best, but I was there. While I didn't play games with them or read to them, I sat and watched as they made up their own games and listened to Beckett as he read to his brother and sister.

I know my mental health should be something I'm constantly working on, and it is. Six summers back, I would have sat there for hours and then days; not watching TV, not playing on my phone, but contemplating what I should do and then convincing myself not to. Then, evening would approach and the guilt of my wasted time would get to me and I'd hate myself.

I work on myself now, more than ever. I work on myself for my babies. I acknowledge when I'm dipping deep into an emotional state that is best avoided and I find my outlets. I write. I run. I take deep breaths and count the beautiful living souls I've created.

I try to give myself rest days and I make sure to connect with people who lift me up. Above all, I forgive myself for days like today and I acknowledge the me that is deep inside. The me that wants to melt into her bed and grow forever stagnate. Because, she too is apart of me. And, though I fight with her daily, she is what makes me the compassionate person that I am.

So, I post pictures of my kids hiking, walking, playing at the museum, and running around the zoo because I wear those activities like a badge of honor. I'm not just proud that I get all three out of the house, I'm proud that I get out of the house and that I am able to be present in their lives.

On being married to the boy from senior year

Over the course of our marriage I've heard multiple comments on the fact that I married the same boy I dated in high school, ranging from "You two must be so in love," all the way to "Hmmm I think I'd have tried to killed my high school boyfriend by now."

Both of these comments, are true.  

From the outside looking in (i.e. Facebook/Instagram posts and photos) I'm relatively confident that our life looks pretty good; while mostly true, being with someone through those crazy teens/twenties/early thirties, is far from easy.

We fight like we're teenagers.  

When I'm mad, I'm still that girl that, quite literally, kicked him out of my car on the edge of a cornfield and made him walk home... because, like 18 year old Megan, I don't want to deal with stuff when I'm so frustrated I could scream.

When we argue, Michael is still that 19 year old who lied about going to a strip club, but wouldn't admit that he did anything wrong... because, like 19 year old Michael, he can find justification and expects all to be forgiven with not explanation. 

It's taken us a long time (as far as our relationship is concerned) to grow as better partners.

Neither Michael nor I experienced much dating beyond each other. We haven't had failed relationships where we learn from our mistakes, rather, we've powered through these mistakes and accepted them as character flaws. While this can be good, it also has its downsides.

It took until our 30s, 12 years into our relationship together, for me to learn that issues between us are best to think on and discuss at a later date, rather than losing my shit in the moment. For Michael, he's just now learning the significance of me feeling loved and needed.

It's not like we had a world wind encounter in high school, the "romance" that started this whole thing, was a campfire after a football game and a couple of Busch lights. The relationship began because, senior year I thought the running back was cute (and his best friend was dating my best friend), so I decided we should date, and we did.

Things find a way of working out and people find their way to others that bring out the best in them. 

 We've changed and changed and changed 

When I've been asked, what's been difficult about dating my high school boyfriend? I answer that: We aren't the same kids we were in high school, the two that dated in college, the ones who lived outside Philly for a bit, those crazies who packed it up and headed to CO, the couple that decided to have babies, or even the two that decided to have a third. We have changed over and over again. Lucky for us, we've change together and in the same direction.

And in those times of change, there have been moments that confirm we are on the right path; like when our little Lizie was born with a liver that wasn't functioning and the doctors spent close to 3 weeks trying to come up with an answer. Michael, who had just started a new job, was there every second of every minute to talk to the doctors and ask the difficult questions. Michael was there as our 6lb baby was loaded up in flight for life and sent across town to doctors who could hopefully help her. Michael was strong when I couldn't be.

And when, 2 days after Beckett was born 6 weeks premature, Michael went through (to date) the greatest loss in his family. I stayed with our little man on oxygen and feeding tubes, so that Michael could be with the family that needed him.

In times of need, we always show up.

The night before Eliza was transferred, Michael held and walked her for hours in the hospital

We don't prioritize "us"

Our big struggle these days: Learning to find time for each other. For a couple that has been together for 16 years, 11 without kids, it's difficult to put ourselves first over our family.

I love the idea that you should "always date your spouse," really I do, but guess what? That isn't always a possibility.  We live 1300 miles from our families and we have 3 kids.  Sitters and childcare are expensive, so expendable income is tough to find.

Should we find a way to date, maybe, but when it comes to spending money; we choose our kids.  We choose skiing in the mountains, soccer teams and private swim lessons, traveling throughout the summer, and flying to Michigan and Texas. When money is tight we choose to spend it on our family.

I know that, without Michael and me, this family doesn't work, that we should be a priority. But, maybe this is just part of this phase in our marriage.  We love each other, we have since we were 18, so hopefully, the time we spent working on us and growing as one can help us through these crazy times of babies, bills, and little alone time.  

As much as we've grown and changed and learned, our teenage selves still creep in.

Last week Michael was on a 4 night trip.  The day before he left we argued, not loud or in front of the kids, but teenage Michael came out with words that cut me to my core and teenage Megan came out full of pride and passive aggressiveness . We didn't speak his entire trip.

We go to bed mad.
We travel apart from each other mad.
We leave for work mad.
But mad, is NOT, not loving someone.

The love, is always there. 

We keep going, because we know we are there... somewhere. 

This past September marked 10 years of marriage and we were finally able to spend a few nights way together, for the first time in over 5 years. And, for those few days, everything was perfect. A few weeks later though, reality sets in again and those two high-schoolers in love, that young married couple in love, and the fun loving anniversary goers in love, can feel like a distant memory.

But, we are there; sometimes hidden behind bills, dishes, kids, and dirty laundry, we are there.

Honeymooners... 

I'm a teacher's kid

I'm a teacher's kid. From day one of school, I got on the bus with my two sisters, well after our mother left for work. If I wanted cold lunch, I had to pack it myself. I grew up hearing my mother call other kids "her kids." My sisters and I spent countless hours running around our mom's school during the summer. And, while I could count on my mother being there all summer long, I also grew up knowing that my busiest times of the year were also my mother's. None of these things hurt or harmed me, instead, they shaped me into the person I am.

15 years later I find myself in my mother's shoes. My babies playfully roam the halls of my work place (and obviously lock themselves in the lockers from time to time). We are able to spend our summers together and I get to enjoy a job I care about; I really feel like I get the best of both worlds.

Times; however, have changed. Social media is a monster and I feel there is this unspoken expectation that I need to be present at every drop off, every pick up, each meet and great, volunteering in the classroom, and helping out at every practice and school function in between. But, as a teacher, who works the same hours my kids are in school (in a different building) and has her busiest times of the year coincide with her children's, this is next to impossible.

Bad mom confession: I didn't drop my son off at his first day of Kindergarten. It wasn't because I don't love him or because it would be to difficult emotionally, but because I was working.  I had 120 little 6th graders waiting for me. I had 120 little 6th graders whose only smiling face they might remember, was mine.  I had 120 little 6th graders with multiple parents each, expecting that I would be there for their little one as they walked through the doors of middle school for the first time.

To those mothers, and families, who were present on the first day of school, I applaud you in your ability to plan and make things happen, I genuinely liked each of your posts. My post; however, was of Beckett in my backyard. So that I could have a little moment, I made the poor kid get up and dressed an hour before he needed to.  On top of that, I had to text the photo to my husband because on everyone's first week of school, he was traveling in Mexico for work.

But you know what was amazing about that day? For the first time, my mom got to take someone to their first day of school. My mom, who selflessly came to visit for a week to help out, was able to help pack my son's backpack, pay for his hot lunch ticket, and greet him at the door after school was let out.

For many, those are moments that they may never get back, but for me, those are moments I'm okay with hearing about. I know my son was in good hands and I love that he is growing and moving forward. Not to mention, after years of riding the bus and not being dropped off, I'm no worse for the wear.

I've never been the type of mom to say "slow down" or "stop growing so fast," not because I want my kids to grow up and leave, but because each step is a gift.  I love that my first born is taking on kindergarten like a champ; when he came home telling me all about what an eclipse was, I beamed with pride.  As my baby girl pieces together full sentences and is able to express herself, I hold my breath because it is so amazing to watch.  When our middle stepped out on his own for the first time in pre-school and made his own friends, I cheered.

I'm fortunate to be here for everything, maybe there are a few moments here and there that I miss, but overall, I get to be on this journey with my kids.  I get to see them grow, hear their stories, and hopefully continue to be apart of their lives.

I'm a teacher's kid. I was raised knowing that education, learning to be independent, and growing up, are not only parts of life, but gifts.  

I didn't drop my first born off on the first day of school, but as a teacher's kid, I think he'll get it.

Today

Today, my kids ate frozen waffles, actual frozen waffles, for breakfast. I told them to give it time and "they'll warm up."

Today, I winced after getting out of the shower with Eliza, as I saw her walk over and step on my scale, as if that's supposed to be part of my routine. I put the scale away in the linen closet. I hate that I don't have the courage to throw it out.

Today, after yelling at Beckett, I apologized and then broke into tears as I was driving home from swim lessons. Brooks, my heart, said "Mamma, you always cry when you think you're a bad mamma, but your not. I always think you're a good mamma." To which Beckett followed with "We always know you love us, and we always love you.  Don't cry mamma."

Today, we had fast food for lunch and I played on my phone the entire time they were in the playroom.

Today, as we walked across the parking lot, Beckett paused to hold his sister's hand and explain to her the rules of crossing busy roads. 

Today, I kept telling myself to slow down, breath, and take it easy; that everything would be fine if we were late and the house wasn't clean, but I couldn't.

Today, as I put Lizie down for her nap, she softly  whispered "sweep wis me mamma," so...

Today, I let my boys watch a Netflix show I'd normally say no to, so that I could get some rest and cuddle with Lizie.

Today, I lost my temper not once, not twice, but a hundred times.

Today, my littlest baby stood screaming "MAMMA take me!" at the door as I took off for a run. And although I normally try to take her, I couldn't bring myself to turn around, even though I knew what the next 40 minutes would be like for Michael.

Today, I didn't pause to listen to Michael or ask about his day because I was too consumed with mine.

Today, after my run, Brooks told me I looked strong.

Today, I wasn't at my best.

Today, I was exhausted and it showed.

But together, we made it through today. No one was irreparably damaged. No one was left behind or forgotten.  No one went without a million kisses and cuddles.  No one went through the day without love and being heard.

Tomorrow, I'll rise early and try to start the day on top of things. Tomorrow I'll take deep breaths before losing my temper. Tomorrow I'll make my babies breakfast and sit with them to talk. Tomorrow we will practice site words and numbers and the alphabet.

Or, maybe tomorrow will be just like today. Either way, I'll keep working on myself.  I won't always (if every) be the best mom or wife, but that isn't the goal.  The goal is to wake up each day, not only for my family, but myself.  The goal is to love, be honest, and work with them so we can all learn to be our best selves...and hopefully it gets a little easier.

Creating memories for the three little ones who ride in the backseat

I remember sitting in our blue Chevy van outside of my dad's plant at Steering Gear, waiting for him to get off of work.  He'd excitedly climb in, showing no signs of working (quite possibly) double overtime. In the back my sisters and I were hunkered down with blankets, pillows, and travel materials my mom had packed for us for our trip. Within minutes we had "hit the road," for camping. Somewhere along the way "Mike's Greatest Hits," came on and we'd sing along to George, Johnny, Jim, Hank, and Willie.  As we traveled my mom would tell us of everything we'd see and do on the trip, she would educated us from the front seat of the car about the national landmarks that lay ahead and even taught us poems about Lewis and Clark, that I can still recite to this day.

Camp was set up and we'd climb into the tiny home that would be ours for either a long weekend, or at times, upwards of a month.  We'd be lulled to sleep by Patsy Cline and dream of our adventures ahead.  As I look back now, our trips were magical...National Parks, State Parks, countless states across the country, faerie boat rides, and often up into Canada to visit several Providences. I loved the campground atmosphere that fostered kids running bear foot and roasting marshmallows at campfires.  And those times, when we'd find a campground in the middle of nowhere that no one was staying, seemed like a little peace of heaven just for us.

My parents created something, in my mind, that is beautiful and exciting and nostalgic. This is what I want for my kids... but as time moves on and Michael and I move into, not just the proverbial, but the literal driver's seat, the experience is definitely different.

How did they make it look so easy?  How did they plan everything so smoothly (and without the internet)? How did my mom do all the packing for 3 kids, herself, as well as all the food/towels/bathroom supplies/medical supplies for EVERYONE?!? How did I miss the exhaustion on my father's face as he walked out of the hot factory in July?  How did I not see when my parents disagreed on a plan of action? How did I not notice the deep breaths they must have taken when my sisters and I had them at their wits end?

Seven months ago Michael and I began planning our most recent trip. I like reservations, departure dates, and planning for what to expect; but one month ago Michael's work responsibilities changed and we had to quite literally flip our route and move our entire trip back a week. While I'd like to think I'm flexible, Michael felt my frustration and I felt pressure to continually change and update our plans.We pushed onward and were fortunate enough to still obtain reservations.

I promise, I work very hard to be understanding, but when the week to leave finally came and he had to go in early each day and return to work each night for a few hours, and then we had to push our departure back another day... I was exhausted and frustrated. Not mad, but frustrated. I'd been planning, packing, taking care of the kids, dreaming of magical moments as a family on vacation, and felt like I was the only one who wanted this vacation. (I realize how petty and self involved I sound at this point... don't worry, I improve)

Michael is an amazing father and husband, he works incredibly hard and is beyond dedicated to his responsibilities in all aspects of his life.  These are not things I say lightly nor that I say because a wife is supposed to; they are true. Logically and lovingly I say these things, but when vacation is just around the corner and plans change again; I know I'm not at my best as a wife. When you are in throws of life and kids and marriage and work and summer vacation, it's easy to feel like you're the one carry the weight of your family, even though it is far from true.

The thing is, we were both working towards the same goal; our family.  I was doing the day to day and Michael was doing the big picture.  I was dreaming of the moments I remembered as a child that I wanted to pass on and Michael was working so that we would always be able to provide our kids with those moments.

When Michael came home and we loaded in the car, we let it go.  The tension that had grown between us over the past weeks faded. No, I'm not going to lie, we didn't talk much the first few hours, but sitting quietly in the car together as the kids giggled and talked brought us back to who we are as a couple and reminded us of why we were heading down the roads that lay ahead.

We are two very different people, but what we have in common, are the three little ones that ride in the backseat. With all of our hearts, our goal as a couple, is to build experiences as a family and foster growth, individuality, and love.

95% of our photos look like this

I know now that my family vacations weren't all sunshine, waterfalls, and magic.  I know my mom stressed about having the right amount of outfits for her girls, enough food for the trip, whether or not we'd make our reservations, what toys and games to pack, and over the fact that sometimes her kids just wouldn't BE QUIET.  I know that my father worked tirelessly for our family so that we could have our long family vacations and that, although he was exhausted, he never carried his work stress over into the trip because that isn't what a dad is supposed to do.

Thanks to Nana, we were able to catch LOTS of moments as a family!

On our trip, Michael, whose favorite past time these past 10 years has become fly fishing, packed his fly rod; but instead of waking before the sun to hit the rivers of Yellowstone and Montana, he rose to call his boss and finalize work that he still left unfinished. And although I'm sure a little frustrated showed on my face when he ran off mid trip, I got it. I got that he was there for us and that he was leaving camp briefly to work for us; and I deeply appreciate, respect, and love him for that. (Also, I'm beyond thankful for my in-laws who were there to help out and keep me balanced)

This September marks 10 years of marriage (16 years together), and as much as I wish we were always a well oiled machine, we aren't.  We often disagree, hold anger, and are baffled by the other's career choice and work methods. I can be very needy and focused on what impacts me in the moment and Michael can be distant and pre-occupied with work, BUT we do hit our stride; we learn to barrel through our struggles and rise up for the other when necessary.  We see the good in the other person and work to bring out their best. Above all, we love each other as a spouse, partner, and parent.

The trip wasn't perfect, but to my kids, it was. Our babies will remember swimming in the rivers and lakes, having Uncle Brett watch them jump in and swim across the pool, driving through the mountains and taking pictures on the edges of cliffs, cuddling with Nana and Papa by the fire, sleeping in piles together in our pop up, biking through the campgrounds of Yellowstone, cruising around in a boat in Glacier, but most importantly; I hope they remember that mom and dad too, were happy!  I hope they remember that we worked together as a family to travel, that we live in the moments that make up the lasting memories, that we deeply love our family, and that we are always excited about the next stop along the way.