A (nacho) moment in time.

It's funny.  I don't really think about my ex-husband.  I mean, I do think about him.  He still exists.  I still have to see him almost every day because we don't think the kids should have to go without seeing us unless someone is out of town.  But I think about him as my kids' ride to school.  I think about him as the person who does homework when I'm not there.  He's the one I text when the kids are sick because he should be the one I text.  Not because he is the first one who comes to mind (Mom, Shannon), but because that's what I'm supposed to do.

I remember when we first got divorced, or even when we separated, there was a long list of movies I just couldn't watch.  It didn't matter that I hated a lot of those movies (Cabin Boy), or that he had made me watch them at least 10 million times (Captain Ron), but every time they cropped up on the movie channels, I couldn't change the station fast enough.  The same goes for any classic rock/deep tracks/Ozzy Osbourne station on XM, the Foo Fighters, AC/DC, Queens of the Stoneage...the list goes on and on.

But strangely, all of that fades with time.  Movies become enjoyable again (Overboard), hair bands sneak their way back into your heart (Poison, Cinderella, and Winger), and you find love again.

But tonight, after eating a very early dinner and writing reports way later than planned, I wandered into the kitchen for a snack.  The bag of Sour Patch Watermelon I confiscated from Teague tempted me.  I sincerely considered a bowl of Apple Jacks.  But ultimately, I noticed a stray bag of tortilla chips (not a staple in my house), sour cream, and shredded sharp cheddar.  I decided nachos were the way to go.

After shooing away the dogs and pouring a big ole glass of chicken wine, I arranged the chips in a single layer on the plate, taking care to make sure each chip wasn't covered by its neighbor.  I spooned a precise amount of sour cream onto each and every chip.  Then I sprinkled on a generous amount of cheese and shoved the plate in the microwave.  But somewhere in the middle of this process, I remembered standing in a kitchen somewhere in Florida or maybe even California, and Colin telling me that the key to good nachos was each chip getting equal treatment.  I can see him laughing and spooning sour cream onto each individual chip.  And then putting precisely the same amount of cheese on each one.  It was a science.  An art.  And though I thought it was silly, it stuck.

But unlike those old memories that used to dredge up pain and despair, I'm glad these little things linger.  It makes me happy that one day my kids might see me making nachos and say, "Hey!  That's exactly how Daddy does it!" 

Thirteen years is a long time to love someone.  Especially when it results in the creation of two someones that you love more than you could imagine and beyond any measure of time.

Here's to the silly things.  The events you don't even seem to notice.  The moments that pass without incident in your kitchen and you never imagine will be relevant.  Because those, those are the ones that stick.

Today.

Today, I woke up at 6:45 even though my kids were still asleep.

Today, as soon as I moved, my beautiful 9 year-old son was staring into my eyes and said, "I love a Saturday almost as much as I love you."


Today, I responded by pressing my face into Teague's neck and searched for that little baby smell I swore would never go away and that I could never possibly forget.

Today, that little baby smelled like a big boy who played hard last night and didn't take a bath.


Today, I rushed around handing out clothes, brushing hair, reminding to brush teeth, looking for shoes, looking for coats, promising Krispy Kreme if for the love of god we could just get out of the house by 7:45.

Today, I managed to leave the house by 7:49, but I forgot to brush my own teeth and I was wearing two vastly different socks underneath my 7th pair of UGGS.


Today, I was 21 minutes early to the school where my 5 year-old was testing for 1st grade admission.

Today, I walked my last child up to test for 1st grade admission.


Today, I repeatedly sat next to my ex-husband at multiple 1st grade presentations.

Today, we looked more like a couple than the other married parents because we were making polite conversation.


Today, I went to Pure Barre for 55 minutes.

Today, Pure Barre was the only 55 minutes I had to myself.


Today, I brought my best friend's kids to my house to entertain my kids.

Today, I spent 3 hours and 50 minutes scrubbing toilets, steaming floors, cleaning baseboards with a Magic Eraser, bleaching boy-pee out of tile grout, and oiling wood furniture while my best friend's kids entertained my kids.


Today, I had a fascinating conversation with my best friend's daughter about break-ups, make-ups, dumb boys, mean girls, fears of family illness, and ladybugs.

Today, I vacuumed up over 30 ladybugs in my bedroom while discussing these things with my best friend's daughter. (She does NOT like ladybugs).


Today, my kids and I had dinner with my best friend's family.

Today, I remembered why my kids and I have the same best friends.


Today, I took my kids to the grocery store at 7:20 pm to buy supplies for my Super Bowl party.

Today, I remembered why I hate the grocery store when you have kids and it is 7:20 pm.  And that being a JETS fan means you never really have to worry about it anyway.


Today, I put my kids in the cleanest bathtub known to man.

Today, when the kids exited the bathtub, it was no longer clean nor suited for man.


Today, we brushed teeth, searched for PJs, read 6.5 books, and got tucked in.

Today was a good day.


But, the best part of today?

Well, that would be tomorrow.  When they see that I finally remembered to sew a button nose on Green Fox and button eyes on Horsie.

Because yesterday, they both asked twice.

The sweetest surprise on an August Sunday evening.

With the kids settled in to watch Aladdin, and Koda scarfing up the remains of dinner, I wandered outside to check the status of my hanging plants on the back porch.  I was pleased to see that the windmill jasmine is finally wrapping around the railings and following my lead as I continually try to redirect its growth.  For the last few months, it has been about as manageable as my hair.

I then made my way over to what remains of my summer garden.  Though my basil is yellowing and looking rather puny, I was excited to see that my squash plant has come back to life and seems to be crawling out of the garden towards the pool.  I'm hoping I can at least snag a few blossoms to stuff for dinner one night before it kicks the bucket for winter.

I also noticed my chives are about to bloom.  I love that.

The banana peppers and jalapenos are still going strong, as usual.

And a trip over to the pond confirmed the sun would be setting soon.  I can always tell by the state of the swamp hibiscus blooms.

The plant I can never remember the name of  displayed its purple glory.

And everything was as it should be.

But then, then something extraordinary happened.

While walking by my apple tree, which I planted 5 years ago and has never once produced fruit, I saw this:

A pear.  A single pear.

I was so excited about it finally producing fruit that it took me 10 minutes to realize it was not in fact an apple.

So I have pear tree.  With one pear. 

And I was ecstatic.

But then, then something even more miraculous happened.

I wandered over to the pecan tree, which has never yielded a single nut, and noticed a vine.  An extremely thick, strong vine winding down from a relatively young live oak tree.  And on this vine was grapes.  TONS of grapes. 

And this is why these grapes are special:

Every year I've lived in this house, I have planted a grapevine.  And every year, it shrivels up and dies.  I have tried planting them along the fence.  In the shade.  In the sun.  In moist areas of the yard.  In dry areas of the yard.  Near the pond.  Far from the pond.  In my herb garden...  You get the point.  They never ever live.  And the last time I planted a grapevine was when I was married.  I gave up on ever growing grapes a couple years ago.  And I honestly haven't thought about it since.

But today, in an area of my yard I often patrol and explore, I noticed grapes.  At first, I thought they were surely some random, nonedible, poisonous berry.  But the closer I looked, I could trace the vine through the tree back to the spot I planted the last vine several years ago.  I have no clue how I've missed it growing, constantly getting stronger.  But there is something surreal about not knowing it was there until the fruit was ripe and ready to eat. 

I grabbed a handful and when I bit into the first one, it literally exploded.  Grape juice ran down my chin and dripped onto my shirt.  Usually, I would be annoyed about the shirt-juice incident, but I couldn't help but laugh.  And seriously, these just might be the best grapes I've ever tasted.

So I'm going to enjoy my "freedom grapes" as long as they hang around.  And every time I see that dense, twisted vine I'm going to remember that as soon as I let it be and it was no longer stifled, it thrived and flourished.  Just like me.

I hugged a stranger and she liked it.

I don't usually hug strangers, but I do often talk to them.  I find myself chatting with random people while waiting in lines.  I talk to other people who are with their kids.  I'll talk to just about anyone in a bar (a trait that often drives my friends a little bonkers).  And over the years, I have really gotten to know the people that work at my favorite grocery store. 

I never really noticed this until about 4 years ago when my mom was shopping with me and the kids at the Harris Teeter on James Island.  When we walked in, we were promptly greeted by Mr. Don the produce guy who asked what I would be cooking that night.  He talked to Teague, checked in with Crews who was still tiny, then introduced himself to my mom.  We chatted about his wife's recent surgery and his grandkids then we moved on to the meat section.  There, John called out and waved.  I mentioned I'd seen him mowing grass a few streets over the day before and he explained that the people in his neighborhood take turns grooming the sidewalk by the neighborhood entrance.  He gave me my steaks and we said goodbye.  Then at checkout, Ms. Wanda told me her daughter finally had her baby two days before and decided to move back from Columbia to Charleston.

As we walked through the parking lot to my car, my mom was looking at me strangely and I had no clue why.  As we loaded groceries she said, "How do you know all of those people?"  And I said, "I don't know.  I just talk to them when I shop and I cook a lot, so we're there a lot."  Her response: "I'm just kind of shocked.  You've always been so introverted and never wanted to talk to anyone."

It was true.  The key word being "was."  I'm not sure when I became such an extravert.  I suppose it happened gradually, starting in grad school.  But I love checking in with those people at the Teeter and I think it's cool that they've watched my kids grow, my family change, and genuinely want to know what I'm up to.  In fact, when I was going through the divorce, two of the people at the grocery store offered to write affidavits regarding what a good mom I was.  Ms. Wanda repeatedly said, "You are in here with both of those boys almost every other day.  You buy good food, cook homemade meals, and you're always so patient with them.  We'll tell everyone you're a great mom!"  And though I did not rely on the peeps from the grocery store to establish my character and vouch for my parental ability, it was nice to know they felt that way.  It was nice to know people noticed.

So today, I made my usual rounds through the Teeter saying hi while I shopped.  And when I went to check out, I noticed the young girl at the register was doing all she could not to cry.  I smiled and she really tried to smile back.  As I swiped my debit card, I noticed a tear rolling down her cheek and she worked quickly to wipe it away.  I couldn't help but ask if she was ok, and she made a gesture in response that was somewhere between yes, no, and I just want to collapse in a heap.  As she handed me my last bag, her tears started flowing.  I leaned in, gave her a big hug, and told her, "It will get better.  Probably not today.  But it will."  She looked a little shocked to be hugged by a stranger, but definitely not offended.  So I smiled and left.

On my way home, John the meat guy called my phone.  He has my number because he calls me whenever they get monkfish in at the store.  He said he saw me hug the cashier and went over to check on her after I left.  He asked, "Do you know Whitney?"  And pointed to me as I went out the door.  The girl responded, "The lady that just left?  No.  But she gave me a hug and I haven't been hugged in months.  I really needed that hug."  And John just wanted to let me know that hug was important.

So, no, I will not make a habit of hugging strangers.  But yes, I'm glad I did today.  Because sometimes all it takes is just knowing that one person might care, and none of us are really alone.

Amazing. Talented. And Blessed.

With a title like that, I really wish I was talking about myself.  But I can't take any credit for the sheer awesomeness of my friends.

Today was a great day.  Via Facebook and snail mail, I received some fascinating and exciting news about several people in my life.

First, I saw on Facebook that some amazing friends of mine are going to be featured on The Today Show tomorrow morning!

Monique and Chevalo Wilsondebriano are two of the sweetest, kindest, most endearing people I've ever met.  Teague was lucky enough to share a classroom with their youngest daughter last year, and I've been lucky enough to form a friendship with the family.  I have watched the entire family work together as a team for the last few years and I am consistently overwhelmed by their commitment to one another and the success of their product.  Not to mention, their marinade is flipping amazing! 

 

The Charleston Gourmet Burger Company can be accessed at charlestongourmetburger.com

 

 

Today, I also found out that Corie Hipp, a.k.a. my freshman and sophomore year roommate at C of C, and self-proclaimed "oldest friend" was selected for a very special honor!  And none of us should be surprised.  Honestly, I don't know anyone who works as hard as she does.  She is a stellar friend.  A committed philanthropist.  A brilliant graphic designer.  She cares more about the community and building lasting relationships than anyone I've met in my entire life.  And for some reason, she loves me.  She also shares my love of steak and cake, which means we're MFEO.  (If you don't know what that means, watch Sleepless in Seattle.).

 

 

Visit coriehipp.com for more information about The Corinne Company.





Finally, today I received a wedding invitation in the mail.  This invitation is so incredibly special to me because I really never expected to be invited, and would have completely understood.  At the end of my street exists a huge piece of property on the water.  I mean, acres upon acres, upon acres.  It has oaks that would make Scarlett O'Hara jealous.  It is absolutely magical.  And it just happens to house one of the most diversely amazing families I've ever met. 

Over the last 2 years, The Crumps have welcomed the boys and I onto their property and most importantly, made us a part of their home.  We can wander down to Jubilee anytime with any number of friends, and use their kayaks, floats, fire pit, trampoline, crab traps, fishing poles, beer coolers, wine supply...whatever we need at the moment, it's ours.  Even if it's just a hug.  (Robin has dispensed many of these since 2012).

So when I opened up my mailbox today and saw this:

My heart just leapt.  Not only will I get to be a spectator at what will probably go down as the most naturally gorgeous wedding on the planet, I get to make new memories at Jubilee.  AND THEN, I can even walk home!  It really is a blessing to watch this wonderful family expand.

So congratulations to these friends.  You are each growing and changing in different ways, and I couldn't be happier to have you in my life.  You set such great examples for my kids and inspire us to always being kind, considerate, and devoted.

I am so proud and honored to be your friend.  And I hope the whole world discovers just how inspiring you are!

Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.

The last year of my life has flown by.  I swear I blinked and now it's November again.  And even though things have been exponentially difficult since June, time has sped along at a marathon pace.

In a few short months, I have gone from a full-time, stay-at-home mom who wrote 3 books in 2 years, to someone who is arranging office space.  And I have to say: I've never felt more alive.

I don't necessarily like being 35.  I'm not really embracing this age.  But I do like the comfort of settling into who I am, but not at all settling for much of anything else.

If I've learned anything over the last few years, it's that I like what I like, I want what I want, and I just can't accept the bare minimum.  I don't want to adhere to what is basically acceptable.  I can't be satisfied with what is simply required.  And every day I find myself wanting to reach for the ideal and aspire to something bigger, deeper, more meaningful.

I'm excited about the new people who keep making their way into my life.  I'm grateful for the connections that keep miraculously being made.  And I LOVE that people keep telling me I'm absolutely glowing with happiness. 

I'm glad to see that my sheer joy is not being overshadowed by mounting stress.  It's nice to know that the whole really is greater than the sum of its parts.  And it's phenomenal to experience the growth and depth of existing friendships as they mature.

In other words: At times, I have been lucky.  More than once, I have felt blessed.  And once again, I'm seeing there is still a future filled with unlimited, glorious, super-fun possibilities.

Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.  It's also about accepting uncertainty and embracing the unknown.  It's about second chances.  Brand-new firsts.  Different stories.  New, shared realities.  Opportunities.  And of course, risks.

Here's to throwing caution to the wind, diving headfirst, and taking little leaps of faith.  All of which can be accomplished with good friends...and a little wine!

This is how we do it.

On Easter morning, some people like to see what the bunny brought.  Some head directly outside to look for eggs.  Some head to church.  Some throw a big ol' ham in the oven.  And some of us head to the airport to pick up our just-flown-in shipment of crawfish.

No, that's not the only bag.  Where do you think I was raised?!


Yeah, holidays are a little different around the Windham-Hendrickson home now.  But even before the earthquake, we did things a little bit different.  This was our 4th Annual Easter Crawfish Extravaganza.

Now, we DO check our Easter baskets.  We DO look for eggs.  But, we do it a day early with Mommy on odd-numbered years.

 

We're cool with it.  The "new" schedule is old hat.  We are officially split-house pros at this point.

 And we still share our goodies with Aunt Amanda because she is awesome and rules, and would do ANYTHING for us!  She might be the only person on the planet Teague would share his chocolate with.

Anyway...

We go to church sometimes.

We spend Easter with friends and family we love always.

But we do NOT have ham for Easter.

We murder our Easter food the good ole fashioned way.  We boil it.

Well, first we play with it...

 Then we pick out the ones who didn't survive the trip (aka the straight tails)

Then we prepare to purge them...

Then we teach our California brethren what purging is...

 Then we pick a favorite...

And pay our respects to the dead... (because they don't pinch and we can be much braver)

 Sometimes you just have to take a pic with the biggest dead one who is missing one claw...

Then it's officially time to purge... Which really is a foul process.

Now it's time to drop the first batch.

And when you pull em' out, you gotta season...

 After a few tastes of the first batch, (and maybe a beer) it's time for crawfish-posing time (If you haven't seen this before, I will be sure to post a pic from our first Easter extravaganza where a crawfish drove a pirate ship!).  Sorry dude, but you just look so good against that lemon backdrop!

Then grown-ups have to pick a favorite and take a picture with one of their besties.  Even if you STILL haven't made it to the shower because you just got back from Canada the night before.

 And he is threatening your crawfish with his crawfish.

Then he makes your crawfish try to battle.

But they mutually decide to play dead so we don't throw them in the pot.

 Then Ray decides to put on a crawfish puppet show, which kinda rules.

 But is not at all scary.

Then it's time for the table dump.

 And watching your truly Southern mom don plastic gloves so her manicure doesn't get messed up.

 Your best friend sucks the heads...

Your 7 and 4-year-old follow your lead...

Then you realize they are following Nana's lead and wearing gloves, which is slightly embarrassing...

But you remember that every year, Teague picks one crawfish to set free in the pond...

 Because he sincerely believes that "Even if you only save one, it's important."

And we eat.

 And eat.

 And eat.

 And celebrate.

 And toast.

 And we are grateful.

Because sometimes, when you don't get get your kids on Easter day, you get them the day before.  And that just happens to be the 30th of March.  Which happens to be the day you gave birth to your second son.

And even though you already threw an outrageous party with a homemade cake for him 2 weeks earlier, you get this...

 A Carvel cake...

 A beautiful, genuine, smile...

 Excitement...

 Joy....

 Bare feet...

Your lovely blond locks almost catching fire...

The realization that you are FINALLY 4!

 You can lick the whole cake if you want to.

Or bite it.

And you know that your Papa has given it his all to make this day special.  And actually, he gives it his all every day of your life to make it that way.