Month: November 2025

A Present to My Future Self

I am a procrastinator at my very basic core. My friends can attest that I spent my college years doing everything last minute. I even wrote the speech I gave at graduation 2 hours before I was to deliver it, nearly giving my roommate, Karri, a coronary in the meantime. Somehow I never had any natural consequences because it always amazingly got done. 

This habit followed me into adulthood, through my marriage, divorce, raising kids, and finally meeting The Mayor. My procrastination techniques did not sit well with him, as The Mayor lives by a “future you will thank you” philosophy. He is the first to get the worst chores out of the way, rarely putting off til tomorrow what can be done this instant.

Now, although we had vastly different philosophies, he never lectured me to be more responsible. Instead he led by example. It started benignly with Christmas shopping. I grew up shopping and wrapping up until the 24th. The Mayor’s family celebrates on Christmas Eve, so we had to start earlier. Over the years, I have morphed into the one buying gifts months in advance and socking them away. This allows me to spread out the damage and shop the sales. Plus the kids always end up getting more on Christmas morning in the long run. I also never have to worry about stores running out of what I want and can enjoy the holiday season relatively stress free.

The Mayor has infected me with this philosophy in other areas of my life as well. Putting off a phone call? He’ll mute the Spotify and say “get it over with then it won’t be hanging over your head.” And he is always right. The temporary pain is minor compared to the stress of dragging something out.

Yesterday when Ez got into the car, they told me how they wished they weren’t such a procrastinator, as they stayed up past 10 the previous night to finish a presentation. I told them they come by it naturally, but they also have no natural repercussions, because they aced their presentation and the only downside to doing it so late was they were tired and grumpy during school. A boba tea and lunch at Bibibop after school straightened that attitude right up, and I gave them an example of how The Mayor’s philosophy has helped me and might help them.

I told them that earlier that day I was feeling puny and I didn’t feel like working out even though I haven’t worked out since last week. Instead of thinking of excuses I picked up my weights and told myself I was only going to do my bicep curls and then I would be done. Once I finished my reps, I thought “since I have my weights out, I might as well do my shoulder press …” which led to a couple of sets of triceps and finally abs and obliques. What started as me making deals with myself to stop sooner ended up with me saying just one more and a full workout. 

Oftentimes what I say as their mother goes in one ear and out the other, but maybe, just maybe, they will put more credence in The Mayor as the voice of reason. It’s a hard habit to break, and there is something to be said for brilliance under pressure, but I have learned that just getting started is half the battle. Once you write the first few words, make the first few presentation slides, do the first rep, you gain traction and momentum that carries through to a superior result.

 I still fight myself to not put off what should be done now, but I have trained my brain to override those foreboding thoughts by repeating, “Future you will thank you.” I know Ez has to learn that lesson themselves, but I hope as they make their way through the deadlines and projects of life, they will remember our conversation and relieve some stress by starting a bit earlier. Even if it’s one slide at a time. Future Ez will thank them, and that is one of the best presents I could give.

Seven Sentences for Someday: The Snowy Monday Edition

  1. When I am super hungry, I get highly irrational. Adam will ask me how many squares of pizza I want and I respond “Eighteen” and he says, “Hmmm. How about we start with three.” And of course he is always right. I hope we never lose this type of interaction. 
  2. Ez killed their senior pictures. We got proofs and they are outstanding. 
  3. R turned 19. The last year of her teens. I know so many good things are going to happen for her this year and she is going to go into her 20s soaring.
  4. The Mayor and I had early dinner out on Friday at one of our old haunts, Dos Amigos. I was thrilled the waiter checked out my cleavage and smiled, only for me to realize it’s because I had already spilled salsa down my top in the 25 seconds between him dropping off the chips and coming back to take our order. I’m 48 and still hopeless. 😩
  5. Today is our first day of snow. I love how peaceful and quiet it is, but only because I don’t have to be anywhere. 
  6. I accidentally dipped my thumb into a 460 degree water bath that I was pulling out of the oven when I made homemade baguettes. My entire thumb is one big blister now, which makes texting and typing a very surreal experience. 
  7. I finished and submitted my 1% Club application this morning. I don’t know if I could make it to the 100k, but it sure would be fun trying!! For my video I sang a made up song to the tune of Seasons of Love from Rent. Fingers crossed they like me enough to cast me!

I love you all, some more than others. 💜🌻

Proper Punctuation

The idea came to me the other day that not only is my career ruled by proper punctuation as an editor, but my adult life stages can be defined by punctuation marks as well. 

My first decade of adulthood started off with some certainty, as I married early at 21, but the rest of my life was a big fat question mark. After I decided not to go to medical school, I began down a path that would have many detours toward different careers. I spent a lot of time in nonprofit land, working with an adoption agency, the Girl Scouts, and an art museum. In my mid-twenties,  I would spend hours on the phone with my college roommate, Karri, wondering what I was meant to do with my life. We both had big aspirations and knew we were meant for “more,” we just weren’t sure what. Motherhood at almost 27 solidified a little for me, as I started a new job both as a mother and as a science editor. I pondered going back to grad school, but two quick pregnancies followed and I had 3 kids under 4 by age 30. Grad school would have to wait.

My thirties brought a divorce, a mental breakdown, several years of instability, and navigating single parenthood. A semicolon, signifying a pause in your life’s path, defined this decade. Being in and out of mental hospitals in my early thirties, finally stabilizing in my late thirties when The Mayor became a fixture in my life, marked a decade of tumultuousness with frequent “time-outs” and pauses. I was glad to make it through my thirties without the finality of a period, full stop. 

I spent the majority of my forties raising three teenage girls and growing my relationship with The Mayor, so I choose the ampersand for my forties. My forties weren’t about Just Destiny anymore, but rather Destiny and…I still have two years left of this decade, and though I am still working through the ampersand years, with adding projects AND hobbies AND work AND helping teens become adults, I anticipate the next decade will reap the rewards of all of my addition of my forties. The way it is going, I can already determine that my fifties will be marked by an exclamation point. Will it be a book deal? Grad school, finally? Eloping with The Mayor? Who knows, but whatever happens, I welcome the next decade with open arms. But only after I tie up the loose ends of my late forties.

I hope to revisit these ideas as the decades progress and I gain wisdom and insight into this raw and beautiful journey I have been so fortunate to live. I hope I am in my 80s writing about my 90s being the ellipses as I fade into the universe. But for now, this editor is still leaving her mark. Here’s to fresh red pens and track changes on…

I love you all, some more than others. 💜🌻

The Ultimate Extravagance

It was the day before my 10th birthday. Double digits this year. The stores were already decorating for Thanksgiving, with hints of Christmas peeking out of the aisles.

 “We’re here just for necessities,” my mom said, leading me toward the cake mixes. I loved this tradition of picking out my cake flavor. Mom made my cake every year and she always used a Duncan Hines cake mix as a base, but then added her extra secret ingredients to make it taste better. And homemade frosting. Always homemade frosting. Because the cake mix itself didn’t matter so much, but the canned frosting didn’t hold a candle to her homemade icing. I looked over the options, mulling a carrot cake versus devil’s food cake. And, oh, there’s the German chocolate cake too, but that icing meant getting pecans and coconut as well, and mom made it clear that her paycheck was late so I tried to be mindful of the extra expense. Finally I settled on devil’s food cake and asked for chocolate chip buttercream icing. Mom added the red and yellow box to the basket and said, “we need more eggs, too. I only have one left at home.” 

We made our way to the dairy, saying hello to the lobsters in the seafood case on the way. In front of the egg cooler, there was an end cap with individual butter sculptures carved like turkeys. Mom paused and gasped when she saw them. “Aren’t these just the most extravagant thing ever?” She ran her fingers over the box, as if she wanted to poke at the waddle of the butter turkey to see if it would gobble. She lingered a little longer, sighing that it was an unnecessary expense, but boy wouldn’t that be cool on the Thanksgiving table, before turning to the egg cooler and retrieving a dozen large. The way my mom said “extravagant” with a hint of longing, a smidgen of preposterousness, and a touch of regret made me want to experience that butter sculpture. I wondered if it would taste different, being carved up to look like a turkey. Surely it had to, if rich people were buying it. I determined right then and there that I would get one of those butter turkey sculptures on our Thanksgiving table somehow.

Mom made my birthday cake while I was at school the next day, and I opened my presents when I got home after I blew out my candles. I hadn’t stopped thinking about that butter sculpture we had seen, so when I opened my card from Papa and there was a crisp $20 bill with a note that said, “Buy yourself something extravagant…” I knew what I had to do. 

That Saturday, I asked mom if I could walk down to Kroger by myself; now that I was 10 I felt I was old enough. She agreed, but insisted on following me down and back in the car. I felt so free and grown walking down the big hill and in through the double doors. I thought to myself, “ten is old enough to walk to the grocery store by myself. It’s also old enough to start contributing to the house.”

I quickly weaved my way to the back corner of the store, praying the whole way that nobody had bought all the turkeys, and was rewarded with a whole selection of butter sculptures in the dairy. I picked one up, purchased it, and went back outside to let mom know I had made it out okay. I handed her the bag with the butter turkey in it and said, “I bought this for Thanksgiving because I wanted you to have something special.” Mom immediately started crying when she looked in the bag and said I shouldn’t have, but that it would look perfect on our Thanksgiving table. She’s always good about being grateful for gifts, even if she thinks I wasted my money. I asked if she would drive me up the big hill so I didn’t have to walk it by myself and she said of course.

At Thanksgiving, I helped set the table and put the butter turkey on a little plate in the center of the table next to mom’s yeast rolls. We said grace and loaded our plates. It was just the two of us so when we went to butter our rolls, we looked at the turkey sculpture and then at each other. It seemed a shame to cut into something so beautiful, we didn’t even know where to start. Finally mom said, “aw hell, I’m just gonna go for it” and cut that butter turkey’s head clean off and smeared it in the roll’s crevice. I started laughing at the headless butter carcass that remained and said, “I’m going to go for its butt” and took the tail feathers right off. Mom giggled and watched me as I took a bite of the roll with the fancy butter. I felt the creaminess and saltiness of the butter on my tongue and lips and pressed the excess to the roof of my mouth. I wanted to taste the indulgence that wealthy people thought nothing of and let my whole body feel its richness. Mom smiled at me and said, “I’m so thankful for you, turkey butt. I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too, mama. Happy Thanksgiving” and we devoured our dinners with the headless, buttless butter turkey between us, both of us realizing that the ultimate extravagance was spending the holiday together with a home cooked meal.