I rode in an ambulance with the sirens on, our destination was the emergency department at Rady Children’s Hospital.

We just can’t quit you, Rady’s!

Roux had an episode where he was struggling for breath, and it was severe enough that his dad and I both thought it necessary to call 911. I’ve never made a call like that in my life, and I never hope to do so again.

First of all, I am certain that Huckleberry of mine is the bravest five year old on the planet. He was so calm, and he didn’t panic at all when he rode in the back of the ambulance, strapped to a gurney, without either of his parents, surrounded by strangers who were caring for him. I rode in the front seat with the driver. I just sat there, listening to the sounds of my tiny guy laboring for each and every breath he took.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, it had been just under an hour since the whole thing began. Roux had been asleep, and I was sort of half asleep next to him, having dozed off as I was putting him to bed, when he suddenly began to choke. I sat up immediately and sat him up on my lap. His dad heard the commotion and came into the room and scooped Roux into his arms. Roux still wasn’t quite awake yet, and he had yet to catch a full breath. His mouth was full of saliva and mucus, his body was limp, and his eyes were not open. This is when I made the phone call.

While we waited for a room at the hospital, I realized it had been several hours since I’d heard Roux speak. By now, he was fully awake, and he’d received two different doses of steroids in the ambulance – one given as a shot and one as a breathing treatment. He also had an IV ready to go on his right arm, which was secured to a board and wrapped with gauze from his wrist to his bicep. His eyes were open, but he was kind of in a daze. I had yet to hear his voice, though I’d been holding his hand since the moment we left the ambulance.

Finally, I bent down to his ear and told him that I had never ever ridden in an ambulance before, and without even pausing he said, “Me too!” What a guy.

We were discharged a few hours later, after a final dose of steroids and an uneventful period of observation. We’d nearly made it two full years without any sort of medical catastrophe involving one Roux Huckleberry Baker, which is a lifetime record. I’m grateful his prognosis is excellent and we have nothing serious over which to be worried. He’s on a few homeopathic remedies and we’ll follow up with his doctor next week for further evaluation.

While we were in the hospital, I promised Roux that I would take him to the zoo as soon as he was feeling better. He’d never been to the zoo, and kept asking whether the animals would be real or statues. He was very matter-of-fact about it. His favorite game to play at school is “Cheetahs” which is where they run around and be a family of cheetahs, a very elaborate and adorable charade, and Roux was adamant that we see the cheetahs.

Today, that is precisely what we did. We became members of the zoo and made our way to the cheetah habitat to find one proudly lounging with his best friend, a yellow lab. It was super special. As was the teeny tiny baby baboon being cradled by his mother and guarded by his father. It reminded me a lot of when Roux was brand new, and I wore him all day, every day.

We’ve lived in San Diego nearly seven years (minus our stint in Asheville, but really, did we ever leave?) and we had yet to visit the zoo. Nevermind that we literally walk by it multiple times a week due our frequent visits to Balboa Park for dance classes. Now that Jade is committing to even more lessons per week, it seemed like a great opportunity to take advantage of one of this city’s biggest attractions. I’ve been anti-zoo for a long, long time, and for the most part this is valid, but the San Diego Zoo is one of the very, very best and today confirmed for me that it has earned it’s formidable reputation.

The sun is out today, and for the first time, it’s really starting to feel like the weather is shifting. The school year is beginning to end; we teachers are already making our summer renewal plans, preparations for both May Faire and the Gala are underway, and the Eurythmy concert is just a little over two weeks away. All of these things point to first Spring, and then Summer, and it makes me very, very happy.

I’ve been very dedicated to the gym and to the Whole 30, and I have so many more thoughts to share, but for now I will say that making my own health and fitness a priority is never a bad idea.

I’m still working on making writing a priority, clearly. Progress, not perfection. Repeat it with me.

I’m totally distracted by Roux and his dad coming up with different rhymes and numbers for “Hickory Dickory Dock” in the other room. Our apartment is tiny, and I’m over here quietly laughing at the sweetness that is getting to overhear this little interaction.

Childhood is funny like that, the things you want to hold onto and remember. One of my children has definitely firmly left his childhood behind as he now stands very proudly in his adolescence. It’s a remarkable transition to behold, gradual and then sudden in its progression, and it magnifies the rapidity with which we have all grown and changed over the years. Little voices do not last forever!

I totally forgot that today was the first part of a two-day training for all the faculty at our school, and, as such, I found myself ill-prepared and under nourished as I finally succumbed to my hunger with a plateful of guacamole and half a baguette. Alas, there are still thirty more days left in March and therefore just enough time for me to complete the Whole 30 on time.

Besides, not only did I join the gym today, I actually worked out at said gym and broke a sweat doing so. This is good, very good.

Again, I am reminded of the idea of progress over perfection and it is helpful in both recognizing the ways I am successful and also reducing the need to get caught up on the instances where I fall short of my desired objective. I slipped a little in my quest to dramatically alter my eating habits, but I did exercise at an actual health club facility. It all balances out, and I am just fine with that.

Tomorrow there is more training, but I’ve got an alarm clock set early enough for me to prepare and pack myself plenty of snacks. Then afterward, I’ll drive over to the gym for the second day in a row.

At least, that is the goal.

So, I blacked out on New Year’s Eve.

It was meant to be a quiet evening spent at home – alcohol, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary. We’d purchased a nice bottle of champagne to toast the new year, and planned to make a few rounds of margaritas while we enjoyed high quality family time playing games and listening to music.

That’s pretty much exactly what happened, except I can’t remember much past 9:30 PM, which is saying a lot because there is video evidence of me being (barely) awake past midnight.

Have I mentioned nothing like this has happened to me before?

And it’s not like I’m a heavy drinker, or am overly intoxicated on a regular basis. Which made the whole thing all the more strange.

I’ll spare you – and myself – the details, but the point is that it was the kind of experience that makes me consider why I drink alcohol in the first place.

To be honest, I don’t really have a good answer other than I like it and I think it tastes good. Especially high alcohol kombucha and good champagne. Or prosecco, or cava, let’s be honest. Still, it was not difficult for me to realize two things: that there are far better things I could be drinking, and that I probably don’t need to drink alcohol as much or as often as is my habit to do.

A little over a month ago, I decided to take a break from drinking alcohol. I definitely sleep better. I am more productive. I think I’m more present in general, but I can’t tell if that is because of the not drinking, or because of this writing practice. (True story!)

I like where this challenge has taken me. This morning, I hiked up a mountain and it’s been a long time since I’ve done that. Also, I didn’t actually intend to hike up the mountain this morning, but that story is for another time.

It has been ages since I truly felt anywhere close to my best, and I used to feel great all of the time. There have been many reasons, many opportunities, many excuses for me to ignore my own well being. In this manner, I have become stagnant. My acupuncturist back in Asheville used that term all the time, and I’m finally understanding what he meant.

Tomorrow, a new month begins. And in a way, another kind of a new year. I’m celebrating with a nice, long reset. A very good friend swears by the Whole30 program, so that’s what I’m gonna try.

Here is my logic: if this is how I feel after only giving up alcohol, I’m very curious as to how I will feel after giving up literally everything else. I’ve never done a cleanse like this before, and there is a good possibility I will develop a new set of habits as a result. I mean, there is a lot of forethought required in the kind of eating that does not include any dairy, sugar, grains, legumes, or alcohol. If nothing else, I will get good at packing my own lunch for school, something which I fail to do on an almost daily basis.

All of this to say, it’s been an odd time. I’m hoping to shake things up by radically shifting what and how I eat. Let’s see where this goes.

I went to the Target yesterday to buy a new car seat. I’ve been meaning to replace the one we have, and finally got around to doing so. As I was browsing the selection of various convertible booster seats, I was reminded of the last time I was shopping the the Target for a car seat.

Exactly five years ago.

Roux had spent eight full days in the NICU, and was unable to pass the oxygen saturation test. He was barely over four pounds, and the weight requirement for the seat we had purchased during pregnancy had a five pound minimum. I was so frustrated, and sat up half the night frantically searching for a car seat that accommodated a premature infant.

I came upon a Graco seat, I can’t remember the model, but I remember that it was one of the least expensive options, but the only one that would fit our four pound baby. We were at the Target the minute it opened buying that car seat.

Roux passed the oxygen test, and a few hours later, sat in the car for the very first time snug as a bug in his brand new Graco car seat.

Today, he sat in a different, brand new Graco car seat. This will probably be the last car seat he needs.

His first and his last, like bookends.

The multitudes these five years have contained. I cannot begin to form into sentences what this time has meant, what has been gained and lost, all the many different experiences that have been wrapped up in the five times this planet has circled the sun between that day and this.

A lifetime.

His lifetime.

But also, our lifetime. The lifetime of this family.

Five years ago today was the first time all five of us were in a room together. That moment will forever be one of the most golden tiles in the mosaic of my memory.

So much has changed since then.

I was tidying up around my house yesterday, a typical Sunday activity. Earlier in the week, I had purchased a wall calendar for my daughter. It had come inside a protective envelope of sorts, made of a linen cardstock. The envelope featured an enlarged image from the calendar, and Jade had put it with the recycling. It caught my eye as I gathered the piles to take to take out to our trash bins.

In the span of about five minutes, I had turned the sturdy illustration into the front and back cover of a small paper notebook, which I had stitched blank pages into with a bit of scrap pearled cotton, much to the delight of my little big girl.

For as long as I can remember, I have had an affinity toward making things with my hands. I taught myself how to cross stitch when I was seven years old by requesting supples and a book of patterns for Christmas and taking it from there. A self-guided chef, I prefer to make as much as I can from scratch. Tonight’s dinner included homemade salad dressing, garlic honey butter, and soup made with the stock I’ve been simmering since yesterday. (The honey came from my son’s beehive!) One of my goals for this year is to learn to make my own clothing by attempting to create one new garment a month. Last month, I made a pair of pants which I have worn at least twice a week since snipping the last threads from my sewing machine.

I’m insanely fortunate that my day-job is centered around working with my hands, and inspiring young children to work with theirs. When I became the full-time Handwork teacher, a part of me was worried that because I’d be working on so many school-related projects throughout the year, I would not have enough time or energy to devote to my own personal projects. In reality, the opposite is true. I have been more prolific in the eight months since assuming this new position than I have in years.

Earlier today, as I was preparing for my first class of the day – soft sculpture sewing with sixth grade students – it occurred to me that maybe this is what it feels like to have a career. Not just a job, or work, but a profession which is also a passion. It’s a sweet, sweet gig and I’m loving every single second.

I just learned that there is a very good chance all the writing I have accumulated online since 2011 is no longer accessible.  There is a huge sinking feeling in my gut.  So many memories, so many words. 

Fingers crossed those archives can be recovered.

At least half a dozen times a day, I think to myself this is something I should write about.

And then?  When the blank screen is in front of me?  I can’t think of anything.

Crickets, I tell you.  Chirp, chirp.

Alas, this is precisely the predicament I am trying to work through – to somehow make writing a daily ritual.  There have been other instances where I have attempted this very thing, and while I might manage to be committed for a period of time, the practice never seems to stick.

This is a theme with most things in my life, ahem.  I’m very good at starting projects, and not so good at completing them.  This isn’t always the case, but it happens more frequently than I care to admit.  I’d like to think that consistency is something that can be cultivated, and that success in one area can evolve into success in other areas when it comes to nurturing better habits.  Here’s hoping, anyway.

One thing I have managed to do every single day in 2019 (so far!) is to shoot little video clips.  My goal is to have at least one second of footage per day which I will mash into a video scrapbook for the year.  There is a fantastic app that makes the process so easy, and I am absolutely loving the way this little project is coming together.  Full disclosure, this is my third attempt and I’m further along than ever before.

Progress, not perfection.  (Wise words from a gal I admire, someone who’s super good at setting goals and even better at documenting her journey.)

I bought a domain today.  Let’s go.

I’ve  been knitting a lot lately, I notice I like to keep my fingers especially occupied when my brain is overcrowded.  Luckily, knitting is part of my job, so I call it research.

Also, I spent more than ninety minutes in traffic today and if nothing else it has further cemented my decision to reclaim myself as a commuter cyclist.  Those were the days.

The busy train came rumbling through town these past few days and I was powerless to stop it, the kind of busy where it’s all go go go without a single moment to stop and think, let alone sit and type.  I wasn’t even just ignoring this little writing project, I was ignoring my computer altogether.

However.  The point of this whole thing was to try and write daily.  As in, everyday. So.

One week from today, my Huckleberry will celebrate five trips around the sun!  (I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

There is a new episode of This is Us, as well as an extremely comfortable bed made all that more alluring courtesy of this delicious linen duvet cover, just patiently waiting for me to enjoy.  And sometimes, it’s best to give in to temptation.

Seriously, that duvet cover is worth every single penny.  Highly recommend.