27 December 2019
red letter
It’s mid-December, and we’re a little behind. It took a while, but this weekend we brought home and decorated our second-tallest and arguably, homeliest Christmas tree yet. Tonight, Paul and I are just getting to this morning’s Seahawks game (go Hawks), and the kiddos are in their rooms behind closed doors. I’m back in this old familiar spot: reflecting on another year, staring at chipped toenail polish I haven’t found time yet to remove, and struggling to find the right words. To my left, Paul dozes. To my right, the wood stove creaks and a fire crackles. And just ahead, a giant Bonsai tree stands tall, smells sweet, and sparkles.
Twenty nineteen was full. It was punctuated by rich memories: ringing in the New Year in Palm Desert. Watching the Huskies play in the Rose Bowl. Sitting in the passenger seat while Maya (15) drove to her first job. Watching her play in countless tournaments with WVBA, her new volleyball club. Celebrating 18 years of marriage with the love of my life in Hood River. Answering the phone call I received that weekend informing me that I won $5000 in a raffle (true story). Hiking with David and SarahRose this Easter. Staring out my bedroom window at the planter boxes Paul and our friend Greg built for me on Mother’s Day. Watching Cole (14) run track, stand on a podium, graduate from 8th grade, then celebrate his birthday with 35 of his closest friends. Watching my garden grow. Traveling to Orlando to see Maya compete in a national volleyball tournament. RVing through CA and OR with not one, but two (!!) Tucker families. Spending summer afternoons on the lake and two weeks traveling apart. Hosting our college-professors-turned-friends and two of my parents here on Whidbey. Traveling to CA, TX, NC, and MT to spend time with family. Watching Cole play soccer and football on the same weekend—nearly every weekend—this fall. And then came Autumn, my brand-new baby niece who stole my heart and leveled me to sloppy tears when we met.
This year marked our tenth year on Whidbey and our fifth in this house. Maya was just about to start kindergarten and Cole, preschool, the summer when Paul and I began asking life-altering questions, felt compelled to simplify, and in an unexpected turn of events, drove northwest to try something new. Ten years later, we’re still works in progress. And those curly topped kiddos are now in high school. Our days are anchored by homework, laundry, school, kiteboarding, work, yoga, sports, and LOTS of driving. Some days there’s laughter, and just as many days, we have conflict. Some weeks we interact like a houseful of irritated roommates, and our exchanges are strictly transactional: “Whose dishes are in the sink? Are you getting the kids, or am I? Can I have money? Can I have a ride? What’s the plan for dinner?” And some nights Paul or the kiddos will linger a while longer. This is my cue to pull up a chair and listen.
Cole can pick me up like I’m his child, and he towers over me now. This same kid who recently went through an entire school day wearing only one shoe (long story, but also true) said to me recently, “Mom, you should never have to change who you are to fit in.” And I’ve seen Maya—who used the phrase “aesthetically pleasing” to describe multiple items on this year’s Christmas list—act like a grown up while my spouse behaved like a child. During a recent conversation, our kiddos called us out for not giving them space to make mistakes. My first thought: Are so many f-bombs necessary in one conversation? And my second: They’re right (ugh).
I love these three so much that it aches sometimes. Everything in me wants to jump in, speak up, hold on tight, and remove all obstacles. But when every teacher I respect on this planet points to their pain and struggles as their greatest teachers and the way through, I know that sometimes the most loving thing I can do is to back off and shut up. The tables are turning. And as our kiddos—who see and approach the world differently than we do—find their way, Paul and I must release our grip and begin to let go. It sucks.
Sure, this year’s highlights were great, but I think my favorite part of 2019 was the everyday car rides and bangers (translation: good music). And right now, there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than sitting here by the fire as my Love sleeps through a football game—listening to bangers and muffled laughter through the walls and smiling at the ugly/lovely Christmas tree we decorated together.
Wishing you happy holidays,
Abi, Paul, Cole, and Maya
Twenty nineteen was full. It was punctuated by rich memories: ringing in the New Year in Palm Desert. Watching the Huskies play in the Rose Bowl. Sitting in the passenger seat while Maya (15) drove to her first job. Watching her play in countless tournaments with WVBA, her new volleyball club. Celebrating 18 years of marriage with the love of my life in Hood River. Answering the phone call I received that weekend informing me that I won $5000 in a raffle (true story). Hiking with David and SarahRose this Easter. Staring out my bedroom window at the planter boxes Paul and our friend Greg built for me on Mother’s Day. Watching Cole (14) run track, stand on a podium, graduate from 8th grade, then celebrate his birthday with 35 of his closest friends. Watching my garden grow. Traveling to Orlando to see Maya compete in a national volleyball tournament. RVing through CA and OR with not one, but two (!!) Tucker families. Spending summer afternoons on the lake and two weeks traveling apart. Hosting our college-professors-turned-friends and two of my parents here on Whidbey. Traveling to CA, TX, NC, and MT to spend time with family. Watching Cole play soccer and football on the same weekend—nearly every weekend—this fall. And then came Autumn, my brand-new baby niece who stole my heart and leveled me to sloppy tears when we met.
This year marked our tenth year on Whidbey and our fifth in this house. Maya was just about to start kindergarten and Cole, preschool, the summer when Paul and I began asking life-altering questions, felt compelled to simplify, and in an unexpected turn of events, drove northwest to try something new. Ten years later, we’re still works in progress. And those curly topped kiddos are now in high school. Our days are anchored by homework, laundry, school, kiteboarding, work, yoga, sports, and LOTS of driving. Some days there’s laughter, and just as many days, we have conflict. Some weeks we interact like a houseful of irritated roommates, and our exchanges are strictly transactional: “Whose dishes are in the sink? Are you getting the kids, or am I? Can I have money? Can I have a ride? What’s the plan for dinner?” And some nights Paul or the kiddos will linger a while longer. This is my cue to pull up a chair and listen.
Cole can pick me up like I’m his child, and he towers over me now. This same kid who recently went through an entire school day wearing only one shoe (long story, but also true) said to me recently, “Mom, you should never have to change who you are to fit in.” And I’ve seen Maya—who used the phrase “aesthetically pleasing” to describe multiple items on this year’s Christmas list—act like a grown up while my spouse behaved like a child. During a recent conversation, our kiddos called us out for not giving them space to make mistakes. My first thought: Are so many f-bombs necessary in one conversation? And my second: They’re right (ugh).
I love these three so much that it aches sometimes. Everything in me wants to jump in, speak up, hold on tight, and remove all obstacles. But when every teacher I respect on this planet points to their pain and struggles as their greatest teachers and the way through, I know that sometimes the most loving thing I can do is to back off and shut up. The tables are turning. And as our kiddos—who see and approach the world differently than we do—find their way, Paul and I must release our grip and begin to let go. It sucks.
Sure, this year’s highlights were great, but I think my favorite part of 2019 was the everyday car rides and bangers (translation: good music). And right now, there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than sitting here by the fire as my Love sleeps through a football game—listening to bangers and muffled laughter through the walls and smiling at the ugly/lovely Christmas tree we decorated together.
Wishing you happy holidays,
Abi, Paul, Cole, and Maya
26 December 2019
10 November 2019
07 September 2019
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