You guys.

It’s that time of year again – when I decide I’m moving up North, wearing only red plaid wool jackets, jeans and Sorel’s, living in an old house, far enough from other houses that it’s easy to forget I’m not isolated, and making a trip to the market once a week where I put things on my tab.  I picture myself as that woman that people all talk about being kind of crazy – never marrying but not seeming lonely, showing up at the Town Hall meeting to disagree with the local conservatives, and writing books that are best-sellers under a pen name, so everyone in town wonders how I’m able to support myself.  Throwing fabulous dinner parties once in a while, and of course taking the occasional lover, submitting myself to the judgment of the townsfolk.

So y’know, living possibly in another century.  Or maybe in some combination of Field of Dreams, Beautiful Girls and my hometown.  Or all those things at once.

You guys totally want to be at my dinner parties don’t you?  I know.  You’re invited.

Also, in my fantasy I’m totally handy – I can build a fire, or that shed I’ll need to house all the tools (tools?) that people that own old houses need when something goes wrong.

In this moment, though, I’m staring at the portable grill my parents bought me with the 85 pages of directions and thinking I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than put this thing together.

In other news over here –

I locked Anna out of the house: No you guys, I really did.  I’m not going to tell you all of the specifics, because I feel horrible enough, but the end result was Anna, in front of the house, me miles away, nonethewiser.  And by nonethewiser of course, I mean, I should have been the wiser but am not all that wise.

If I was, I wouldn’t have locked Anna out of the house.

So Anna started knocking on neighbors doors, and finally scooted her way down to one that answered, who sent me a text that started with, “Erin, Anna is fine…” which caused me to say “Jesus FUCK I locked Anna out of the house..” to myself while also blessing my neighbor.

I told the truth: I couldn’t avoid it.  I was sitting at the dining room table and I could hear Anna rummaging around in the kitchen.  And although I assumed she was just getting a snack, what I didn’t know was that she’d climbed up to the baking cupboard – that is about 10 feet off the ground, that even I can’t reach without a chair.  That she’s never, ever, been in – the entire 4 years we’ve lived here.  And after a few minutes, she came out and said:

Red doesn’t fly around by himself does he?

But she was kind of half-smiling.  Like she was BUSTING me out for moving the Elf on the Shelf.  Like she knew, y’know?

So I said:

No, honey.  He doesn’t.

And then she BURST into tears.  Which of course made me burst into tears.

While secretly rejoicing that I don’t ever, ever, ever have the move that damn Elf again.

I got ready for this weekend: Because guess what, guys?  I’m running a half-marathon.  I’M SO EXCITED.  I’m running with women I love, and have the support of of other people I love, one of which is Anna, another of which is my mother (as long as the former isn’t taken away from me by the latter after she reads this post.)

Your granddaughter is FINE.  Geeez.  

Also – a kind of awesome woman I work with – to support me, from halfway across the country – is going to exercise for 2.5 hours on Sunday, while I run.  I don’t think there’s anything more awesome, guys.

So.

If you want to keep the magic of Christmas alive, don’t put the Elf in the baking cupboard.  If you want to keep your child safe, move to my neighborhood and befriend Meg.  (Or don’t lock her out of the house or whatever).  And if you want to run a half-marathon, come meet me at Hampton Beach Sunday at 8am.

 

Hey guys.

Did you miss me?

Totally, I know.

I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year.  Mostly, I love it.  Everything.  Sweatshirts and apples and more blankets on the bed with open windows at night.  Also, though – Anna’s a school-hater, so while I am on an ongoing high from September to whenever-I’m-over-the-snow, Anna moves into anxiety and depression and  and why-do-I-have-to-do-homework-I’m-an-ARTIST-Mama.

So while we settle into the year and I strategize, I’ll give you some highlights from what felt like a very short summer. The last of them, anyway.

We stayed up to watch the meteor shower: Because I think I’m continually trying to make up for the fact that I work (while to Anna, openly being okay with the fact that I work) – I attempt to make ridiculous things happen like – tell Anna we can of COURSE stay up all hours of the night to watch the meteor shower.  Or at least that I would wake her up for it.  So I laid blankets down and lit candles so we could see our way to the blankets (and got really, really excited) and then went in her room to wake her up (somewhere around 1am) – and shook her awake, and asked her if she was ready to come watch, and she said:

No thank you.

And went back to sleep.  And although that was kind of a bummer, I went out anyway, and put on Ray Lamontagne and stared at the sky for about an hour, and wished I lived somewhere far away from Boston where the city lights didn’t color the view so much.  And it was beautiful.

I tied Anna and her friends up and sent them down the river: We went camping in North Conway with some friends, and it was AMAZING.  I fell asleep and woke up to this outside my tent:

One of my friends told me that sleeping on the ground was supposed to re-calibrate you – something about grounding yourself with nature – the energy – I’m not sure I can find the words to say it as eloquently as he did, but I believe it.  I was exhausted after two nights of ground-sleeping, but mentally, felt amazing.  And then this happened:

which was just so awesome.  To watch Anna and 3 of her favorite friends float down the river without us – or with us watching them go, felt like a pretty cool thing to be able to do.  And it made them so happy.  I know this is just part of being a parent, and I know you all like GET it, but sometimes watching Anna happy is like the MOST AMAZING FEELING in the world.  And 5 minutes of that, is worth no sleep for two nights.

I hit on every runner in Newton: I decided to run a half marathon.

Do you guys want to run it with me?  

I actually think it’s going to be really fun.  And I’m not one of those crazy runners.  Honest.  But I’m also terrified, so any encouragement from anyone, really, is helpful.  Last week a random guy on the side of the street cheered me on, so I hugged him.  To be fair, I was on my last of 7 miles, the humidity was making it hard to breathe, and Will You Be There by Michael Jackson was on Pandora, so I couldn’t help my overwhelming emotion, but I don’t know if he really FELT it with me.  Then tonight when I was running, I remembered how awesome it was to have someone cheer me on, so when I was passing another runner on my last mile, I said ‘Looking good’ – only I was on my last mile, and pretty out of breath – which made it sound BREATH-Y.  Like, easy-listening-radio breathy.  And when you say ‘looking good’ all breath-y, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t sound like encouragement.  Unless you’re trying to encourage them to bed.

Y’know, like – your bed.

After that I decided I should just stick to winking, until I realized of course, that it was creepy – only because the woman I winked at kind of looked at me like – y’know, I was pretty creepy.

So, local-folk – if you want some company for the next meteor shower, come over.  I’ll lay down a blanket and light some candles.  If you want to up the fun, I’ll tie you up, and send you down the river.  And if it sounds unpleasant, no worries, I’ll run beside you and tell you how good you look.

All breathy-like.

(Goodbye, summer.)

Hey guys.

Today is the last day that Anna is on medication for her crazy-pain.  Hooray!  We are pain free, somewhat toothless and happy.  And, for the toothlessness: We have a  plan.  Which is awesome.

In other news:

I lost my gas tank cap.  Cover?  Whatever.  It’s gone.  I *believe*, after some detective work (i.e., thinking for a while, while getting gas this week, and realizing that it wasn’t there) that I left it in Center Ossipee about a week ago.  I also *believe*, very strongly, that I left it on top of my car. Even further, I believe, again strongly, that I left the pump in my car.  Because my gas tank cap broke a few years ago, so it’s not connected.  And it was one of those pumps that you can just hook up and walk away from.  So, again, I believe, or rather *believe*, I put the pump in my car, went in the store to get some water, got back into my car and pulled away.

And by *believe*, I mean, that totally happened.  Because like 2 or 3 months ago, I was at a gas station in Newton and tried to pull away with the pump in my car, but was stopped by a woman yelling really, really loudly at me, which made me think I had run something over.  Like her foot.

Unfortunately, that woman was not with me in Center Ossipee.

Do you think I’m leaking gas?

I lost my ability to listen to anything but 70’s and 80’s love songs.  Maybe it’s stress?  When I was little, I had a clock-radio (do those still exist?) and I used to listen to 94.9 WHOM when I went to bed – for two reasons – 1, it was one of only two stations in my  home town and 2, I could play it quietly and get away with it without getting in trouble, because it was easy listening.  I think it’s etched in my core somewhere because of that – it’s like instantly soothing to hear Atlantic Starr or Lionel Ritchie or REO Speedwagon.  It’s also highly disappointing though, because even though when I was a little girl I was 100% positive that if I bought a red dress when I grew up, someone would sing Chris de Burgh’s Lady in Red to me – it totally hasn’t happened.

And I totally have a red dress.

And it looks really good on me you guys!

*Sigh*

I lost everything else.  For some reason, it took me roughly 20 years to figure out that my period is directly related to my uncontrollable mood swings.  I think I grew up thinking that was something that men used to minimize women’s legitimate feelings on potentially controversial-relationship topics, like laundry, or infidelity.  Sure, the potential that I learned that from prime time television shows with highly traditional female/male roles is high, but still – it was there.

 Here’s the thing, though, guys:

PMS is totally, totally a real thing.

Who knew?  Not me.  I mean, I like *knew* it – but I didn’t think it pertained to me.

Because in the moment, my feelings always do feel legitimate.  And then later, I think about a conversation that happened, and realize it went something like this:

Innocent person, possibly smiling: Hi Erin.

Me: Why do you hate me?

And then crying. 

And in the very moment of the (in reality – much less crazy) conversation or difficult topic, I think to myself, “Am I blowing this out of proportion?” but then, almost immediately, I think no no no.  I am ON POINT.

And then we cut to a shot of me, waking up hours after the conversation, surrounded by empty plastic wrappers from Little Debbie Oatmeal Cookies  and a marathon of Gossip Girl on Netflix in the background.    

Just kidding.

Sorry, though, to the innocents.  I love you again and again.

So, in short, before you pull out of the gas station, make sure your gas cap’s on tight.  And before you lose it altogether, check the calendar.  And if, after that – if your feelings feel legitimate, you’ve reached the end of Gossip Girl and you’re all out of Little Debbie’s, put on your red dress, turn on the love songs and embrace the crazy.

 

Hey guys.

So, we made it through the second surgery (in case you guys were all, what happened?)  I took a pre-surgery shot here:

which very accurately portrays our optimism about how it would go.

There is no post-sugery shot.  

The only appropriate post-surgery shot is this one:

which is a lovely picture of the two new parakeets we have, as a result of post surgery.

We have two parakeets.

And a Butterball.

Which really just feels like this:

Or, more appropriately, this:

If you wanted a legitimate, accurate, portrayal of post-surgery, you can just imagine a screaming child along with an angry (at anyone in a white coat) mother – who, while waiting for the doctor to give her daughter more drugs, said something like,

“Is there anything I can possibly do to make it better while we wait for the doctor?”, which resulted in Anna yelling, at the top of her lungs:

CAN I PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE HAVE A PARAKEET MAMA?

And, although I realized that yes, I had been duped, and in that moment was being manipulated to the fullest extent, my response was still,

OF COURSE YOU CAN HAVE A PARAKEET!

Sucker.

They’re pretty cute, though.  For real.

Beyond the parakeets, and the doctor-visits, our summer has definitely moved to an upswing.  Because immediately after surgery, I realized we were out of apple juice, and reached out to some friends for a store trip, and one of them showed up with way more apple juice than we needed, and this:

which was made better because it was smuggled in her son’s lunch bag.  I mean, people.  Do you not want a friend that not only runs to the store for apple juice, but smuggles good beer along with it – in an LL Bean lunch pack?  This is a good friend.  (I mean, she only lives 3 minutes away.  The beer did not run much risk of getting warm.)  And other friends sent this to A, while she re-cooped, which is a combination of amazing coloring books and amazing markers and pencils to color them with:

And then another friend sent these guys, who haven’t left Anna’s side since the surgery:

and when we made it out of the Boston-area for some respite, this happened:

which was a spontaneous trip down the river behind my parents house to see what we’d see, accompanied by my sister and nephew, who are two things I haven’t seen much of this summer.

And, while Anna was partying at my folks this weekend, I ran.  And massaged.  And vintage-shopped.  And ate one of the most amazing dinners ever, at this place: 

(there could be a separate post about that dinner, it was so heavenly that I didn’t know what heavenly meant until I ate there)

And yes, there have been low moments, like when I yelled at the nurse in recovery.  And when nobody slept.  And when I yelled at Anna for spilling apple juice in the car, and then three seconds later, spilled the same apple juice.

And then cried and apologized.

And then didn’t sleep some more.

And, most recently, when I sent this text to someone I haven’t spoken to in 10 years:

Like- what am I trying to communicate?  I know we haven’t talked in years, but I love you enough to donate blood and raise the roof.  Also, let’s hop on goats and dance.

Still though – l think we’re gearing up for the best summer ever.

 

Hey guys.

How’s your summer going?

Ours has been notsogreat and great at the same time.  Here’s the big stuff on the list:

1) We went to a family reunion for a part of my family I haven’t spent much time with, and I fell in love with all of them, either for the first time, or again – through seeing pictures of them growing up, listening to stories from the older generation, and combing through artifacts our (awesome) host & hostess organized for us.  Through just being with them.  I sat on the hill of a banking that my grandfather walked on when he was younger, and watched Anna paint, surrounded by our family and their memories and felt it all soaking in for her – that the day would be one she’d remember later.  I stood in the driveway of a house that my family grew up in, that some of them still live in, and was able to see across the river to the house I grew up in.  The entire day felt like a big hug.

I didn’t want to see it end.  

2) We went to celebrate the 4th of July with some friends of ours, and Anna was bit by a dog when we were there.  It was the first time we were really exiting the house after the last surgery, so there was certainly a little, what the fuck happening in both of our minds – but we managed to make it back in time for the fireworks, and when we walked back in the house, my friend handed me a beer in that way that a friend hands you a beer they know you need.  Y’know how friends do that?  And after the fireworks we went back to their house and watched the kids light sparklers, and it felt – with all of us watching them – like one of those nights we’ll remember fondly later, (even though my poor child got bit by a dog) – the way our friends surrounded us with love & later, laughs.

3) We have round two of Anna’s surgery tomorrow at Boston Children’s.  This time Anna’s two front teeth will come out, leaving her without any for a week or so.  Then she’ll get fake ones.  Then she’ll get a puppy, or maybe a horse, a turtle or fish, a backyard circus?  Or perhaps all of those things because I’ve realized there’s actually nothing I’ll say no to when she’s in pain.  Which is why we ended up with a $50 stuffed animal version of an emoji called Pusheen Cat.  

The worst.  

Here’s the thing, guys, about this summer, ranking and lists aside.  We’ve gone to the beach and the park and to get ice cream.  We’ve stayed up and slept in late.  I’ve had coffee in bed, amazing dinners out, fun dates with friends.  We’ve been in and out of the hospital and slept zero hours as a result.  In short – I’ve laughed so hard I cried, and cried so hard I hyperventilated.  And while that, it would seem, is life in general, the way it’s all been smashed into this summer feels big.

My parents – and other parents I know – always talk about this time in their lives being the best time – when the kids were little.  I always thought that was because of some combination of the happiness of being young and that their lives likely not being too complicated – but when I remember what my mother was doing when she was my age – it was incredibly complicated, and exhausting.  And nothing for us is uncomplicated – and it is all exhausting.  It feels intense and scary and exciting and important and crazy.  Sparklers and bloody knees and tag and water-balloon fights – too much time in the ER, heartbreak and parents getting older and terminal illness and divorce and love and ice cream.  Just, life.  Really intensely.  I can feel it – these moments etching in to my permanent memory, and I know that’s happening for her too.  And I also know, it’s the happiest time in my life so far.

And maybe I’m not articulating it well enough for you to understand, because really, if I continue to list the things we’ve been through this summer, it will not feel like a happy list – but I am a happy girl.  And she is too.  And really – if the first half of the summer was that big, I can’t imagine that the rest of the summer will be anything but extraordinary.

Hey guys.

It was my birthday yesterday.  I’m 37.  You probably already knew this, because Facebook told you, but I thought I would tell you anyway so you could drop by sometime this week with morning coffee, or afternoon champagne.

I’ll be waiting.

Y’know who Facebook didn’t tell?

My parents.

Usually, they call me together and sing obnoxiously while I listen – and usually, this happens first thing in the morning.  Like, too early.  But yesterday morning, after I called my mom to talk through some scheduling stuff with Anna, this conversation happened:

Me: So, it’s my birthday.

Mom: No it’s not.

Me: OH. MY. GOD.  YOU FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY!

Mom: No I didn’t!

Me: YES YOU DID!

Mom: It’s NOT the 22nd Erin.

Me: YES.  IT.  IS!  I thought you guys were going to call me later,  but now I know you forgot!

Mom: We WERE going to call you later, of COURSE we were!

Me: MOM!

Mom: Oh shit.  I have to call your father.

Also, I got sick Sunday night.  Also, Anna kicked off my birthday by stomping around the house, angry that I wouldn’t let her drag her 6 foot long beanbag to school with her for reading day – making me finally say, ‘Can you pleeeeease be nice to me Anna?  It’s my BIRTHDAY.’

When I was in my early 20’s, I worked with a woman that was 37.  For about a hundred reasons, I felt bad for her.  Mostly, though, because she was 37.  I remember thinking that it must be really depressing to be 37 – how old it was, and how you were probably tired all the time and probably not that much fun.  I pictured her drinking white wine and watching Lifetime movies and petting her cat, or doing crosswords.

I am totally drinking white wine while watching Lifetime and petting Butterball.

Just kidding.

In reality, though – I am happy for 37.  Like, ridiculously happy.  In general, I’ve always felt like I was a lucky lady – Anna’s kind of awesome, my parents (outside of their terrible memory) & family are very supportive, and I have a caring & compassionate group of friends.  But the past 6 months – because of Anna-pain and other stuff, I sort of got wrapped up in feeling notsolucky.  And notsohappy.  And notsointo getting older.  

When the smoke cleared, though, and we had a set plan for Anna, and other things started to fall back into place, I realized that 37 is only old if you’re 22.  And that in the past 6 months – through the heartache and difficulty, I’ve grown and learned so much, about myself, my daughter, my family & my community.  About the people I love, and about who I want to be for them, in the way they’ve been for me.  And I’ve accepted the fact that everything I know now just took 36 years to learn, and that next year, when 38 hits, I’ll be in the same spot – grateful for the year of learning, grateful for the people in my life, and likely – more beautiful because of it.

Like, super super hot.

Just kidding.

I’m already super hot.  

So thank you for a life-changing year, and thank you for everyone that was part of giving me a wonderful kick-off to the new one.  Thank you for dinner and art and hugs and kisses, Facebook love,  stomping around ridiculousness, chocolate-covered espresso beans, cake, taffy, champagne and water balloon fights.  Most of all, thank you to my parents, who – instead of reminding me of all the times I forgot their special days, showered me with love and affection, because they’re awesome like that.

I don’t think it could have possibly been better.

If you need me, I’ll be drinking wine and watching Lifetime.

xo.

Hey guys.

Guess what.

You won’t even guess it.

You won’t.  even.  guess it.

This morning when I got to work, this was on my computer:

You guys!

MY NAME IS ERIN K. LAPLANTE!

I am not a store manager at Starbucks, though.

So first I thought maybe one of my tech/design/somethingorother savvy people WHIPPED something up as a result of my handicapped story from yesterday.  Because that’s something the (awesome & witty) people I work with would do.  See here from the great Butterball disappearance (and reappearance) of 2014:

But then I thought that was kind of crazy.  And then I realized that there was legitimate contact information on there – and it was the right address – and it’s also kind of crazy because I used to live in Conway, New Hampshire – and worked down the street from that Starbucks.

It’s like – WEIRD crazy, right?

So I emailed her.  And I told her this might be crazy but maybe the universe wanted us to meet for some reason. Erin K. Laplante to Erin K. Laplante.

And even though she’s currently on maternity leave, she replied, and we’re totally going to hang out when I head up North soon.  And – (and this is totally like us – the Erin K. Laplante’s) – she wants to know who left the card so she can follow up and hear about their experience at her Starbucks.

So, thank you, mysterious North Conway traveler – for uniting the Erin K. Laplante’s.  I’m almost positive your intention wasn’t to make Erin K. Laplante my new best friend, but you did it anyway.

 

Love,

Erin K. Laplante.