If you and I were to sit down and have coffee this morning, I’d totally order a PSL, because I’m basic like that and love pumpkin spice anything.
Other basic things about me: I love Britney Spears (always have always will). My closet is full of jeggings. Gilmore Girls is my favorite TV show ever. I drive a gray SUV. I’d make pretty much the worst hipster ever—I’m so mainstream. But you knew that about me, because we’re friends. And you like the same things I do. Gosh, you are just my favorite (well, right behind Britney and Lorelai, that is).
The first thing I’d do when I sat down is yawn. You aren’t boring, I promise. You’re actually super interesting and pretty and intelligent and delightful. It’s just that I’ve been getting up at 5am each morning to try to get a few uninterrupted hours of work in before the rest of the house wakes up. It’s been great for my business, but my body still is like “WTF. 5AM.” (even though I go to bed much earlier to compensate). If I could control the yawns, I would. Don’t blame me!
I’d ask you how work was going, and you’d tell me all about the super cool things you are doing at your job. You’re such an inspiration to me! I love hearing about other boss babes. Women who are kicking ass in their chosen life (no matter if that’s career, family, alpaca farming) give me such hope for my kid’s generation.
I know they always told us that we could be anything we wanted to be when we were growing up, but I feel like Juniper’s generation is maybe the first time that’s actually true. And awesome women like you are why. So thanks for that.
You’d then ask me about my job, and I’d tell you that I am so insanely happy in my career. I feel so fortunate to have stumbled into this weird, random, and totally crazy occupation that is just such a good fit for my skillset, personality, and lifestyle and actually pays my bills. I’d tell you that I’m thinking of starting a mentorship program because I want to help other people rock this awesome career. This is just too darn good to keep to myself.
Because my Midwestern roots don’t allow me to do anything that even resembles bragging for more than 30 seconds, I quickly change the subject and ask you if you have any fun plans coming up. You tell me that you are going apple picking this weekend. Can we go along, too? I’m jonesin’ for some fresh apple cider and those killer pumpkin donuts they have at the apple orchard. I normally don’t like donuts (I know, freak). But dude. I dream about those things.
Although, it can’t be Saturday, because we’re headed up to my alma mater to tailgate at the football game. Did I tell you my oldest niece is a Freshman there? I didn’t want to pressure her into going to any one school or another, but it makes me heart so happy that she chose my alma mater (although I’m 112% sure than me being an alumna had absolutely nothing to do with her decision). She’s actually living in the same dorm I did my Freshman year! She’s going to have such a blast. College was awesome. I’m so excited for her.
Speaking of sport-like endeavors, I’d then ask you how in the world you manage to fit in a regular exercise routine with your packed schedule? You are so healthy and strong and just such an inspiration. Regular exercise has always been a struggle for me—the fact is, I don’t like it, and I’m impressively lazy. I just can’t seem to get it locked down. I have a wonderful career. A beautiful home. A great marriage. An awesome kid. I eat really well. I get enough sleep (most of the time). But I just can’t seem to figure out the damn fitness thing. Teach me your ways, dear friend of mine!
Not to get all deep on you (okay, I totally am), but I’m sure it has something to do with putting myself last on my priority list. Exercise just never feels important enough to me to dedicate the time. Put another way, I am just never important enough to me to dedicate the time. Even though logically, I know that as fact, I can’t seem to put a solution into practice. The closest I’ve gotten to a regular exercise practice is yoga—and I don’t like to consider that exercise. It’s a whole different thing for me (and lately, I’ve even been slacking at that).
You’d tell me to be kind to myself. You’d tell me that life is seasonal, and just because I can’t figure out how to fit fitness in this current season of my life doesn’t mean I never will. You’d remind me to do what I can with what I have when I have it. And then you tell me that we’ll make our next coffee date a walking date. You’re such a positive force in my life.
We’d move on, and I’d ask you about your family. I’m so glad to hear they are doing so well! Craig and Juniper are both doing really well, too. I’d tell you that the children’s book that my amazing husband wrote and illustrated went on sale this week, and I honestly couldn’t be prouder of the guy. The book is BEAUTIFUL and INTELLIGENT and INSPIRING. I mean, how swoon-worthy is a father who MAKES a book for his daughter (and well, other kids everywhere)? He’s also donating copies to over 100 public libraries all across North America. He’s such a good person. Gosh, I could just gush about my husband for days.
You’d then ask me where you could grab a copy, and I’d whip out my phone and show you this page where you can buy a copy. Friends of mine (like you, babe) get a 10% discount by using the coupon: BACKTOHERROOTS. I tell you that I’ll probably post a whole thing about it later on my blog if you want to read more.
As far as Juni goes, I tell you that, I can say with 100% certainty that she is the smartest child ever in the history of ever. Not that I’m biased or anything. Mark my words: she’s going to change the world someday. You laugh because you think I’m being hyperbolic. I’m not. You just watch.
She’s super into Thomas and Friends right now—in particular, her collection of Thomas Minis. You look at me like you have no idea what I’m talking about—and I wouldn’t have either six months ago. Think of it like if Hot Wheels were trains. And they came in little surprise blind bags so you don’t know which one you are getting (although, us intense Thomas Mini collectors know there is a code system written on the outside of the bag that tells you what is inside).
She LOVES these trains. She plays with them for hours and hours each day. She takes them with her everywhere (the bath, the car, Nana and Grandpa’s house). She even snuggles with them for naps (well, as much as you can snuggle with a two-inch plastic train). She tells them “good morning” when she wakes up and “good night” before she goes to bed. She can name every single train. We have almost 40 of them, and we can literally pull a random one out, and she names it in a split second. I’m sure she’ll grow out of the train stage at some point, but for now, we’re having fun with it. I’m soaking up that it only takes a $1.49 train to make her really excited. Too soon it’ll be $800 smartphones that I have to buy to get her excited.
I’d tell you that, in general, my little baby is turning into a kid, and it’s super fun. She’s a full-of-personality, favorite-color-having, giggling, dancing, coloring KID. And it’s awesome. I mean, the baby stage was nice and cuddly, but being able to actually interact with my kid is awesome. I can hold conversations with her. She has likes and dislikes and opinions. We watch movies and eat popcorn. She helps me bake cookies (which reminds me I have a plate of Juni-baked cookies for you in the car—don’t let me leave without giving them to you). She’s just awesome. My kid is awesome.
I’d glance down at my watch and sigh. Look at me wasting another one of our coffee dates talking all about myself. I’m kinda the worst. Next time, I promise. Next time, we’ll talk about you and only you. I’ll tape my mouth shut. PROMISE. Now, follow me out to my car so I can pawn off some cookies on you.