Returning home isn’t always just for the holidays. Sometimes it’s on a Tuesday night, when you got outta work late and you don’t feel like driving home to your house that has two more showings the next day to just eat-shower-clean repeat. It’s not digging through old pictures and finding wrapping papers in your parents vinyl from 1970 and listening to the ‘dirty’ version of “me so horny” on the reverse side of the album. Sometimes it’s ordering a pizza and drinking prosecco with your mom and sister with a baby on your lap. And then a super bubbly bathtub that’s overflowing with suds but now your mom doesn’t yell at you because you really are old enough to know better but you have said baby in your lap for everything, so a full bathtub with jets and lots of bubbles is just so much more fun.

Truth be told, I needed a night at my mom’s, (even though it’s my dad’s house too, he is rarely ever home when I visit 😩) to unwind, and soul search, and come down from life. I needed to laugh with my mom and sister, have less privacy (yes it’s possible, Allie was in the bathroom with us snapping pics, and I loved it) and sleep in my old room with my baby by my side. And wake up to the stillness of my childhood neighborhood outside the window, and hear the sound of quiet cars driving by, and hear the rain pitter patter on an old familiar roof. I needed this. It was a breath into my heart. It was like shaking out my soul. 

I woke up and didn’t know how to work the new tv that has taken over the top of my old furniture so it was downstairs to turn on the coffee pot, since it doesn’t go off for another few hours. (That Rita the night owl! Honestly, even the dogs are still asleep 😂) So I turned on my moms coffee pot, yes I said my mom’s, because she has an old fashioned coffee pot while on the other side of the counter sits my father’s Keurig. I don’t ask questions because they’ve been married for over thirty years so whatever they’re doing is clearly working for them! So I sit and drink a warm cup of coffee in an oversized mug blogging about the comfort that I find here. Stars align in my mind when I sit here and really soak it up. My parents have taken such good care of me for so long, and for me to be able to always come home whenever I need to is a treasure that I can’t explain. So I did what any good middle child does, and I spent my morning dusting and sweeping and cleaning the downstairs, because now I know what it’s like to be a parent. And to be a little tired. And to not feel like dusting. Hell I only do it because strangers are walking through my house on a regular basis these days.

So my takeaway, my silver lining is this; be good to your parents. And be good to yourself. Cry if you must. Throw a tantrum if you have to. But pick yourself up and march yourself back to where you came from and understand it’s not that bad. If you have a sanctuary somewhere in this world, or if someone in this world is your sanctuary, you’re lucky. You are blessed. And I bet your someone could use a hug. I bet your someone would love it if you picked up the bottle of Windex and cleaned a few surfaces in their home. I bet that someone would love it if you heated up her coffee when she wakes up around 11:30. If you’re lucky enough to still have your mother walking the face of this earth, go hug her tight today. Like, hold on a little longer because who doesn’t love a hug like that?

  

So I started a new phase of life this week. A calorie counting, Fitbit wearing, wholesome lunches and what I thought would be stingy-dinners-type of new phase. To my surprise I have already lost 4lbs in one week! Hello progress! This post has nothing to do with my diet, but more so why I’m choosing a new way to take care of myself. 

Blog, meet formally, my reason for breathing: Mr. Maverick John. 

  
And lunging, and laughing, and sleeping, squatting, and waking up. Meet my reason I want to be healthy. For once it’s not because all my friends are in smaller pants than me. It’s because I want to live for my son, and be so vigilant with my choices in health that only fate can decide if all my efforts were in vain. 

About two months ago I tried to return to the gym, Mav absolutely hated the daycare there and it resulted in the sweet girls having to come and get me off a machine and out of my personal training session before I realized I wasn’t going to terrorize my child at the peak of his stranger danger/separation anxiety so I could drop 15lbs. Nope, not that girl. Not ever. So I chose something that fit into my life, my wallet, and my husband’s crazy schedule a little bit better, and opted for clean eating, new sneakers (thanks babe) and a plum colored Fitbit. 

I want Mav to learn how to make healthy choices for his body, and his brain. And most importantly, for his soul. I want him to learn by example. IIII want to do the speed limit, eat healthy, not curse, rarely raise my voice, give him a childhood rich in stimulating the left and right side of the brain. And I want to give him a big fat vat of memories thick in love, laughter, experience, family bonds and values. I want to do things that make his heart dance and his memory burst with flavor. I want his experiences to pack a punch for him later in life. I want him to look up to me and his father and the people who surround us. I hope for him and pray for him every second I can. I spend my time and my money on being Mav’s mom. When I was young, I based my career choice on the fact that I so badly longed to become a mother.

I don’t say it enough, how thankful I am. Thankful that God let me get pregnant with the man I chose, only one short month after we married. I’m thankful God chose this perfectly concocted child to be my son. I know how blessed I am that I was allowed by only the grace of God to carry a baby with my body, while he developed inside my womb, and the love for him gathered inside my heart space. I know how hard it’s been, and how difficult the road can be for a wonderful pregnancy, and so my heart always goes out to the women who struggle to make and carry their own babes. 

So here is what I know. It’s taken me 9 months of pregnancy and almost 19 months of motherhood to formulate the perfect mix of emotions to be able to explain motherhood. 

It’s hard and so rewarding. It’s taxing. It fucks with your relationships, like, all of them. It bonds you to your husband. It makes you cry. It makes you laugh. It makes you cry a lot, and then once your baby is old enough to understand a little better, you absolutely can never cry in front of him. Not even when you need to. It makes you stronger than you ever were. You get the biggest set of brass balls when you become a mother and you know when to use them. You become softer and harder. You’re a cheerleader, a coach, a teacher, but mostly you’re a student. I’ve never learned more than once I became a mother. You’ll lose yourself and find yourself approximately 100 times in the first few months. Balance is a word you will soon not recognize, as there isn’t one. A poopy diaper, at times, is cause for celebration. When your child is at the top of his curve, you can’t help but brag. Every. Picture. Is a frameable. Ugh, it’s just the best. The single hardest thing I’ve ever done. The greatest thing I’ll ever do. It’s all I ever talk about. It feels like sometimes, it’s all I know. 

So. For me. Motherhood has been a roller coaster and I certainly don’t expect it to slow down any time soon. Hanging upside down, wanting to throw up, laughing so hard, wishing it would go in reverse, and sometimes praying out loud to God to stop this roller coaster dead in its tracks if even for a minute to soak it all up. To smile through the tears. To hold tight to a little 30 pound body. To try so hard and remember how he’s saying tractor, or pumpkin, or Stella, or doggie. (Dacduh, poh-keeng, deah-duh, goggie) To try so hard to be my best self, for him. For his memories. For me and mine. So when he looks back on this time we are sharing together, when he’s a little older, I hope he craves these memories. For a moment of comfort, for an idea, for a favorite song of his, a special dinner, a favorite color. And this is the reason I live. This is the reason I love. 

  

So the fun thing about mah-new-blog is: I have a place to put things that are important to me. Not a shoebox under the bed where I hide my cash. Not a baby book with milestones that Mav crushed. Almost like an online memory box with notes from ex boyfriends, and stages and phases of my life. I call this post: MySpace, because that’s how long I’ve had these words, since the days of MySpace. So I share with you, my 7-8+ year old “about me” section of what my father all knowingly referred to once as “Brianna if I find out yaw on that my place site, I sweahtagod I’ll delete yaw screen name” (little did he know I lived for the chatrooms of AOL (age sex location anyone?) and MySpace was the first place I learned how to “online date” 😂😂😂 can you believe I admit this shit to you?! Omg. My father will have his own blogpost one day. He always told my sister and I that we were “aging him in dawg yeahs” and to “not act like little whoo-ahhs” and the one story about “not understanding hawn beeps” or how he puts an R on the end of my name when he’s really pissed off; yes all for another time. 
Anywho, back to my point. I was probably 21-25 during the collaboration of putting all these words together. I’ve had them copied and pasted into others peoples “about them” sections and would repeat one of my fav mantras while reading familiar words:

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

((Thinking, how can you like all the things I like? Knowing that everything I write is inspired by a specific someone or something, it irks me still.))
Needless to say, I did make a few edits tonight to bring this lovely arrangement of words into my present day mom/wife life. 

I believe that truly great friends are far and few between, so I hold onto who I’ve got. I know the people I love hard, love me back hard, and I know I’m lucky to be able to say that. I know that when you are wonderful to life, life will be wonderful back to you, 100 times over. My friends are my family and my family, my friends – this means something so big to me, however words are never enough. I love anything that moves me, be it a song lyric or a pair of shoes, or a great hair day. I will take constructive criticism any day of the week, but people who are directly negative and/or miserable to me due to their own shortcomings/skeletons/insecurities/what-have-yous will not have any control over my feelings and in turn my life and future. I pray for people like this. There are too many beautiful people in my world to make room for ones that don’t belong. It’s nice to know that someone on this planet is doing the same exact thing as me at the same exact time, and not by any other chance aside from the fact that they’re like me, and I’m like them. Things like that make my heart smile 🙂 
I believe in true friends, in romance, in advice from my parents, in taking too long to get over things, that a Friday night spent around the kitchen table, is a Friday night well spent, in the truth, in girl power, in forgetting without forgiving, in a killer set of white teeth, that candy or shopping can instantly cure any bad mood of mine, that my friends are the greatest people on the planet, in thinking before I speak, in the power of peep-toes in the spring, in sex appeal, in miracles and prayers, in karma, that a day wasted in sweats, isn’t really a day wasted at all, in dressing a little bit above accordingly, in sick hair, in total forgiveness, that doing anything with a pair of foxy shoes on is immediately more fun, that everyone deserves a second chance, but not a third and fourth, in surrounding myself with lovely people, in the power of loving and being loved, in the value of a great conversation, that laughter is contagious, in crying so hard it hurts. I truly believe in love and all it’s cracked up to be and I owe that to my real life angel, my husband. I believe that a sector of the love book I thought I knew so well, was rewritten the day I met my son. And I know what trust and loyalty mean because I have a sister who inspires me to be good. 

Funny how the more things c h a n g e, the more they stay the same eh?

  
Your circle gets smaller. Your friends move away, and your happy hours with two-for-one wines at Wheatfields are rare and few between and sometimes skipped over completely. For like, months. (Kellie. I miss you every time I leave work on a Thursday). Your expectations drop to a lower grade when dealing with the general population and you hold higher expectations to the people who’ve proven true, all in the same breath. This is tough, but the sooner you can drive this one into your brain space (and heart space), the better off you will be. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve been learning. People in this world are sick, and mean, and judgmental, and always have something to say. What ever did happen to the golden rule?

Treat others as you would like to be treated.

So simple, yet we learn how to complicate things when we earn more wisdom, or think our opinion really matters. I’ll be honest, 9 times out of 10, nobody wants your advice. Advice is the hardest thing to take. So really, just listen and keep your comments, specifically the snarky ones to yourself… especially in matters with family. Isn’t family a funny thing? We can talk all the shit we want but when somebody says one slanted word about your mother/brother/sister/cousin, they’re dead to us.

Which brings me to learning loyalty. Your heart is easily filled up by a little special group of people. Only so many people on your call log, and text messages are mostly business dealings; but you still find that you save, forever the special ones, the ones that count. Only so many people deserve your loyalty. Only so many people would do the same for you. I’m trying to live my life where if someone did speak poorly of me, 1, nobody would believe them, and 2, my loyal pal would fill up with fire defending my character. Trust is paramount to me, so is loyalty, but you don’t find me constantly saying #imaloyalperson because that’s the shit you don’t say, you show. I’ve encountered many people who dress themselves perfectly as friends and sometimes even fans of me doing good, only to find out they were celebrating when I’ve struggled. #bitchbye
You talk to more souls in heaven than you care to count. You fight to remember the memories you’ve had to clear out, to hold onto new ones. You ask lots more questions and learn to keep your mouth shut. You can find more peace in a single silent thought than you ever thought possible. You care less about the appearance someone shows and more about the quality of conversation they can hold. Is there anything worse than pouring your heart out to someone only to hear a generic “that’s craaaazy” on the other end? And you’re over there on the other line in your slippers changing a shitty diaper like “no I just asked you a question, so now I’m done with you forever because you can’t even give me 5 minutes?” But you can’t, because you’re not rude so…
Your learn how to manifest hurt. The days of exploding at the end of a very long fuse are over. You listen to it, read it, transfer it through your mind, let it pull on your heartstrings and it becomes a place in your bones. But somehow, in your gentle and evolving soul, you can always find the silver lining now. You make eye contact with people. You send packages and letters to your dear friends. You keep more to yourself. You love like it’s the last thing you can do on this earth. You learn that silence is deafening. You know when to pray for others. You discover that when people push you away, they’re the ones who end up lonely.

You hope for them.

You put others first. You’re g r o w i n g…. this is growing up. This is where you plant your seed. You sew it, and you watch that baby bloom.

  

All I know is this autumn spin on my wine selection is a pretty pleasant surprise. Also a pleasant surprise was that we had everything we needed in our pantry/liquor stash to make such a marvelous mix. 

Miscellaneous red wine from my bridal shower, raspberry Gingerale, peach schnapps, oranges, pears, ice. 

Repeat.

Yes I’m on my second. And both the dudes are tucked away in bed and I’m enjoying blogging to you in between my favorite non-reality tv show, Nashville.

And in honor of the season before the season, I’m starting a fun blog tradition. 

My current obsessions.

Now I hate to make such a commitment to you guys, because I’m kind of a fly by the seat of my pants type of girl, but since I’ve already committed to this blog, why not really get romantic and promise to bring you something to look forward to, say maybe once a month? 

I’m not sure how else to say this: but I’m kind of flaky. Or maybe that’s not the word, maybe it’s whimsy or eclectic with my thoughts. And my appearances and, well the commitments I make. Between having a husband and a son, my family, a set of special in laws, a career, a stay-at-home-4-days a week gig, and a fur daughter, I’ve finally understood what my mother meant all those years by “MY JOB NEVER ENDS!” I mean I find myself really identifying with the notion that sometimes cancelled plans are the best plans… And I truly believe in stopping to smell the fucking flowers. Hey, I even taught my son this in his short time so far here on earth. 

  
So. Without further ado. I present to you my current obsessions. #MCO, lets hashtag through life together, shall we? I say current because like the winds, my tastes do change. 

1. The color BURGUNDY. How hideous right? But what a great fall color. To driiiiink, to wear on your body, to wear on your lips. My God, what a color. It goes with gold and silver. Black and brown. It looks great with light hair and dark hair, I could go on. But whatever derivative, be it raspberry, currant, (say that one with me, curr-ONT, ah feels nice) merlot, I wanna wear it every day. American Eagle, Express I see you showing up since late August, and for that, I am forever grateful. 

2. Festiveness. Aside from the Fourth of July, Christmas, and my birthday, is there anything better than being festive in the fall? Pumpkins adorning your porch and the porches around you, craft beers with juuuust the craftiest (see what I did there) names, candy in the prettiest colors, chili and beers on Sunday’s, themed dinners, table scapes and blah. Pumpkin carving, picking apples, pumpkin pie, candles, bonfires, even my Pinterest board I created is like “chill.” Ahhhh. It’s so fulfilling, it’s everywhere we turn which makes it so accessible. But seriously, candles are the best way to flood your house with a smell that will forever be locked into time as a memory.

3. The New York Yankees. Is there any better team to watch in any other month!? #no. #nufsaid #jeterwemissyou #rememberwhenyouweremisternovember?

4. Whipped cream on my coffee in the morning. But only at home. Because when anyone at Starbucks or DD asks I’m all like “oh God no, just half a pump of pumpkin AND SKIM” (had my whipped cream in the privacy of my own home betch)

5. The Voice. I mean, Blake Shelton. You are the dreamiest denim wearing whisky slugging crooner that ever did live. I have the biggest crush on you. 

…..I mean the voice!! I love this show SO MUCH. It’s so relevant. I’m obsessed with the talent but the banter between the coaches and the contestants is so rich with originality and hilarity I laugh my ass off out loud every time it’s on. 

6. Opening my mind. It’s really quite spectacular. I like to talk about the bullshit just as much as the next girl, but to really have a conversation about the stuff you’re afraid to be judged on is really very liberating. We’re all sitting on a similar toilet at the end of the day. We all have hopes and dreams and faith and fears. I try really hard not to judge. I’m in a season of my life where instead of judging, I’m trying to open my mind to the who what why of others. I like to lock eyes with someone and feel like there’s a connection. I like to identify with people but also challenge them and hope to be challenged too. I like to read and absorb and attend every intuition I receive. I encourage my piers to do this, it’s really enlightening, although difficult at first.

And I’ll round this bad boy out with lucky number 7. A current obsession of mine is Italian food. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything except Italian since the weather has changed. Comfort food really is a thing in my world. My maiden name iiiiis #costanza and I am dangerous with this over abundance of yellow tomatoes and some garlic. If you could taste the golden tomato sauce with braciole I made tonight, you may just have put a ring on it too 😂💍✨

Have a fabulous weekend! I’ll be celebrating the anticipation of baby Jonathan with my in-laws this Sunday!