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Typical Erin

Stories too true to be made up.

Will someone make me a mixed tape? We’re leaving Auburndale.

November 20, 2015

Hey guys.

How’re you doing out there?

I, am cold.

I’ve been cleaning out my closet in an effort to downsize my belongings lately and realized I really only have one sweater – and then a slew of short sleeve and/or sheer shirts.  How this is possible when I am a 37 year-old woman that has only lived in cold weather climates is beyond me.  One possibility is that I was just born with a bone-deep resistance to cold weather.

Another, more likely possibility is that I’ve been really cold for about 25 of the last 37 years.  

I’ve been accused of sacrificing being well-dressed for warmth in order to be, well – well-dressed, but in truth (TRUTH, you guys) while that might have been the case in 7th grade, in the adult years, I just haven’t put much thought and effort into purchasing warm clothes.  So while I am in the process of packing clothes into bags for goodwill – I am making room for a potential legitimate warm winter coat and sweaters that were made for New Hampshire women.

Or Maine ones.

Because that’s where we’re headed.

For good – or at least, for the next 9 years.  (When do kids graduate, again?)

So, formal updates for you, as, for now at least – in this chapter of our lives (Soon to be over, of course) I wouldn’t want to stray too far from what you’ve come to expect.

We yard-saled: Some would say yard sale season is over, and y’know what guys?  Those people are TOTALLY RIGHT.  Most of the 3 hours of my poor little yard sale were spent making sure things were not blowing away.  The other part of it was spent adding more layers of clothing to my body while telling people that everything had been reduced to 25 cents.  When even that didn’t clear out the lot, my friend and I pushed everything to the curb, walked in the house with warm coffee, and magically – about 45 minutes later, it was all gone.

We apartment-hunted: You could say we have different goals in mind when we’re walking into a new house.  Like, I’m all, “How do you heat the place” and Anna’s all, “How is this place going to fit CHICKENS MAMA?”  I’m all, “How much is it again?” and Anna’s all, “If this is a FARMHOUSE does that mean I get a HORSE?”

I’m all “This is the perfect size for us” and Anna’s all, “I CANNOT FIT IN THIS TINY HOUSE!”

In the end, unfortunately for Anna, since I am the ultimate decision-maker, we are not living in a farmhouse.  We’re not buying chickens, or a horse, or even another cat, because the pets already outnumber the people, and I can’t have more babies without more adults.

All of this because, our building sold: like, in a secret way.  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

Just kidding.

It FELT like that, though, since I didn’t know it was coming, or at least in the middle of the school year, and I didn’t really want to leave, and I couldn’t really process the messaging, because really – in the middle of the unexpected conversation about the unexpected sale of our house I was having one of those moments where I DO expect a soundtrack to kick in to soften the moment.

It’s really, really good though, guys.  Like, if there was a montage to be put together – it would be all mixed up with happy and sad, but you would leave it feeling good.  Because while my heart is ripping apart at the thought of leaving, what we’re moving to is where I wanted us to be, eventually – the timing just wasn’t necessarily what I’d planned.

In the meantime, in the absence of an appropriate soundtrack, this song is playing repeatedly in my head and in my house, while I pack.

Will someone make me a mixed tape?

 

 

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Traffic is pretty, the floor is cozy, and when all else fails, there’s always masturbation.

November 5, 2015

Hey guys.

How was your weekend?

We’re in transition over at the Laplante house.  One of my friends tells me to just trust everything – like – whatever is happening is what’s supposed to happen – and while I trust him, trusting everything is SUPER HARD you guys.  At night, when Anna is sleeping, and I put my book down (read: turn off the marathon of Girls I’m watching) because my eyes cannot stay open for one minute longer, and I turn off the lights, that’s when it hits me.  Whatever it is.  The crushing weight of whatever decision is circling around me, and it feels absolutely unmanageable and I am all of a sudden WIDE AWAKE and signing over the adoption papers and running away, only to emerge waiting tables in a small city in the midwest somewhere under a new name, like Josie.  In the after-the-lights-are-out-world, my hair is messy in a pretty way and I smoke cigarettes.

I could totally be a Josie you guys.

Anyway, in the midst of the crushing weight of reality, as always, even though sometimes (not all times), my instinct is to crawl all the way under the covers, never to come out, I can’t.  Because when I retreat, I am followed, thank goodness, by my favorite human.  So updates from Anna, who someday soon, it seems, will read this blog, and likely kill me.

Anna, on traffic: Last week, we were in traffic, and I was quickly losing patience with everything.  The radio, my phone, Anna.  While I was complaining – loudly – frustrated – Anna said, ‘Look at all the cars Mama’ – to which I responded I KNOW ANNA WE’RE STUCK IN TRAFFIC.  To which she responded, ‘No no – the lights – they stretch so far, you can’t see the end.  It’s so pretty.’

Sigh.

Anna, on support: I got stressed a few weeks back (it was just the *one* time) in the middle of making dinner, and dropped to the floor in tears.  Anna came in the kitchen and dropped next to me, and I told her I was sorry, I just didn’t feel good.  And she told me it was okay, she would just hold my hand and sit with me while I cried.  And we were able to talk about how it was okay to cry, and okay to feel sad, and also that everything would be okay too.

And then I got up and finished making dinner.

Anna, on female empowerment: We got home this weekend from an excursion, and one of Anna’s – and mine – favorite new songs came on – Hailee Steinfelds Love Myself.  Anna had just gotten out of the car, and was on her way into the house – so I stayed in the car, and blasted the music.  She turned around and ran up to the car, and for the entire 4 minutes of the song, danced around the car like a crazy person.  I was laughing so hard I was crying, it was one of those moments that felt perfect – when I could stop and realize the miracle that is my daughter.

When I had a small moment of trust, in everything.

Also, though, for the first time, I listened to the lyrics.  And like – paid attention.  And while Anna was dancing, and I was singing along with her, as loud as I possibly could, I quickly googled them, and then realized that our new favorite song was about masturbation, and Hailee’s excitement about how she can touch the pain away anytime she likes.

So, lessons from future Anna – who can’t yet articulate in her own blog what she’s teaching – when you’re in the middle of traffic, or some other equally frustrating situation, look for the art and beauty surrounding you to calm yourself down.  When stress feels overwhelming and the floor seems like a good place to drop, hold hands with your favorite human to remind yourself that everything will most definitely be okay.

And when all else fails, and you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, and you turn off the lights, you can always listen to Hailee.

 

 

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Keep your head up going in, or you’ll end up backing out bent at the waist (of the men’s room, that is). OR: I’ll always be 22.

October 15, 2015

Hey guys.

Guess what?

I found out this weekend that I’m middle-aged.  Did you guys know that?  I did NOT know that.  I think there are certain situations where I feel it – like, when the store clerk calls me ma’am, or when I’m confronted with someone that guesses I’m in my mid-forties rather than my late thirties, but most of the time, I still feel like I’m 22.  Does that ever change?

People in your mid-fifties – do you feel like you’re 22, too?  

When I turned 22, I made my best friend drive me to the beach in the freezing cold and watch me go in with all my clothes on.  I remember worrying that there would be a time that I would think something like that would be too crazy to do, and I wanted to solidify the moment in my head – what it felt like to stand in the ocean and not give a fuck that I had all my clothes on and it was freezing.  Did I already tell you guys that story?  I can’t remember.  Probably because I’m middle-aged.

Other discoveries that were made over the past week – 

I discovered Anna’s parakeets are cunning escape artists and my survival instincts outweigh my mothering instincts.  Because I took this picture:

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because the parakeets were talking to each other and looked very sweet.  And I was all “Oh, the birds!”.  MOMENTS LATER, however, they FLEW OFF Anna’s shoulder in opposite directions in a cunning attempt to escape.  I immediately DOVE into the other room, hitting the floor, and leaving Anna to manage ALL THE ANIMALS. Butterball pounced towards the yellow one, and Anna immediately started yelling BUTTERBALL NO!  I GOT ‘EM MOM!  DON’T WORRY!  NO BUTTERBALL!  I GOT ‘EM MOM!  DON’T WORRY!

I discovered the men’s room.  In an effort to get more steps in my day, I decided to go to the ladies room on the complete opposite side of my office building, which, turns out, is set up a little differently than the one outside my office. I walked in, threw my phone and my keys on the shelf near the door, and looked up, and realized I was standing in front of a man that had just zipped up from one of the urinals to the left of me where there were normally stalls.

And instead of just backing out quietly, I said:

OH! OH!  OH!  OH!  OH!

in that voice that only seems to come out in these situations (the one that sounds like I’m a church lady that’s seen a mouse and jumped on the nearest chair.)

The one that sounds middle-aged.

And then I tried to grab my keys but they fell on the ground.  So I grabbed them off the floor.  And then I tried to grab my phone – still, unfortunately saying OH! and inserting SORRY! a few times, and my phone hit the floor too.

By the end of what was likely a 10 second but felt like a 10 minute exchange, I was backing out of the bathroom, bent at the waist, barely clutching my keys and phone, and of course, still saying OH!  OH! and opening the door with my rear-end.  (I actually can’t decide in this moment if saying ‘rear-end’ is MORE or LESS middle-aged than saying ‘behind’.  That must make me SUPER MIDDLE AGED.  For some reason I’m now feeling like I need to insert things like GOOD GRAVY in this post somewhere.)

I discovered this view, over and over, sometimes over coffee:

fall

I had an escape this weekend, and part of that led me to this view, which was an air bnb find.  It was lovely – just the right distance away from the city, and just close enough to still be in proximity to incredible food, culture, music and most importantly – coffee.  If all of that weren’t enough to make the weekend perfection – we were invited over to the main house for a glass of wine the night we arrived – and accepted – and ended up being treated to the owner’s mother playing the piano for us.  Watching her play instantly made me long for my own grandmother sitting at our piano, so gracefully moving her fingers over the keys and her feet over the pedals – and after a few notes, I realized she was playing one of my grandfather’s favorite songs.  I could have curled up on the couch and listened to her all night.

Sigh.

So.  If you too, are middle-aged, some lessons for you.

Watch out for the parakeets, because they could fly off your daughter’s shoulder, and you can’t handle that kind of excitement.  And for Pete’s sake (eh? eh?)  keep your head up when you’re heading into the restroom, so you don’t end up backing out of it bent at the waist. And if you can’t avoid any of that and need a little respite in the country from the stress of your everyday life, I’ll set you up with an airbnb recommendation.

I promise, with the right company, host and surroundings, even in your middle-aged body, you’ll feel 22.

 

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Hide the Elf, keep the door open, and meet me in Hampton. Or: I’m sorry, Mom.

October 2, 2015

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.

 

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Come over: I’ll put down a blanket, tie you up and talk to you all breathy-like. Or: goodbye summer.

September 23, 2015

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:

River

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:

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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.)

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Put on your red dress, turn on the love songs, and embrace the crazy.

August 12, 2015

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.

18s14nyc9awhrjpg 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.

 

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Let’s hop on goats and dance. Or, parakeets. Or, best summer ever.

July 27, 2015

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:

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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:

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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:

tweety-cage

Or, more appropriately, this:

Capture

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:

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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:

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

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

Capture

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: 
BG

(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:

Capture

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.

 

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If you cry, I’ll drop $50 on an emoji, or: Happy Summer.

July 14, 2015

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.  

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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.  Capture

FullSizeRender

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.

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If you need me, I’ll be drinking wine and watching Lifetime. Because I’m 37.

June 24, 2015

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.

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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.

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You might not have meant to make Erin K. Laplante my new best friend, but you did it anyway. But not in like, a ‘greatest love of all’ kind of way.

May 27, 2015

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:

Capture
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:

Butterball

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.

 

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not all quitting is bad

not all quitting is bad

FOR F***’S SAKE, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS BEFORE YOU GET UNDRESSED. OR: WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION.

PIZZA, PREGNANCY AND PORN, OR: WHY I'VE NEVER REALLY BEEN A SINGLE MOTHER

TRIP-UPS AND MAXI PADS AND VIBRATORS: GOODBYE TYPICAL ERIN.

Hey, I’m Erin.

Hey, I’m Erin.

In a previous life, I was clumsy, and somewhat prone to mishaps.

Today, I am moving through life with an intense amount of grace, but still prone to mishaps, something I credit to a huge effort to take care of myself, and my incredible baby girl. This blog is a place to record stories of our adventures (and mishaps) together.

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