What's Saving My Life: Winter 2023

February 2, 2023 Crystal Rowe

We’ve officially survived the first half of Winter! Twice a year, I like to make a list of the things that are bringing me joy, or in the words of Barbara Brown Taylor, “what’s saving my life.” Today, I’m linking up with Modern Mrs Darcy and pairing up with my friend Kim to take a look at the places in our lives that are lifting us up in the midst of what could be a very dark and dismal time of year. Although Kim lives in Missouri and I live in Massachusetts, it’s fun to see the similarities that arise, even in the midst of our different lives.

Soup

Today may be the official midpoint of Winter, but this weekend is going to bring the coldest temps in Boston since 2016 (our very first winter in New England!) Last week I made a list of more than thirty different soup recipes, most of which I can make with stuff I already have in my house. Soup is the easiest, cheapest, and quickest way to throw together a bunch of stuff and call it gourmet. In the last week, we’ve had Taco Soup, Minestrone Soup, Corn & Potato Chowder, White Bean, Rice, & Turmeric Soup, and a Lentil Sausage Stew that was practically gone in minutes. I used to hate soup, but I guess you could say I’m a soup convert.

Audiobooks

For the last two weeks, I’ve been outsourcing all of my homeschool reading to Audible and it is literally saving me right now. My kids and I passed around this weird cold at the beginning of January where everyone mostly lost their voice for a few days. My kids took it as a sign to just be quiet and rest, but being the Mom, I had a harder time doing that. After 8 days of having a weak voice, I self-diagnosed it as laryngitis and attempted to go on total vocal rest. Do you know how hard it is to run a house and not say a thing? It’s impossible, I tell you. Especially when a large part of your everyday tasks include reading out loud to your children. Seriously, thank God for Audible. Here we are, on February 2, and my voice is still not all the way back to normal. Yesterday, my youngest told me I should go to the mountains for a few days and do nothing but write so my voice can heal. I think she’s on to something.

Hot Tea

Hot tea is another thing I have grown to love since moving to New England. My mom got me a subscription for Plum Deluxe Tea Club for my birthday, and receiving my little packet in the mail every month is so much fun. I love tea so much more than coffee these days because no tea tastes exactly the same. While coffee has different nuances, the main flavor of coffee is … well … coffee. But teas can take so many other different forms. And if you don’t want caffeine, you aren’t limited to decaffeinated black tea. The herbal choices are endless. There’s just so much to love about tea.

A trip to NYC

Last week, we took our second trip to New York City and it did not disappoint. One of the beauties about homeschool is the ability to do school anywhere, and there’s no shortage of learning opportunities in NYC. We spent an entire morning at the NY Public Library looking at an exhibit filled with historical and literary treasures. I called it History and Literature Field Trip day. The next day we went to The Strand and went the wrong way on the Subway, so we had to use a map (and our common sense) to get back where we needed to be. I called it Life Lessons Day. The third day we went to the Museum of Natural History and learned all about whales, sharks, Serengeti, rocks, minerals, and so much more. I called it Science Day. The final day we explored Grand Central Terminal, had a glorious breakfast, and read books on the train ride home. I called it Transit and Manners Day. Getting out of our ordinary routine was exactly what we needed to help shake things up a bit.

Scrivener

I started a thirty day trial of Scrivener and after a long day of working hard at it, I have a new outline for my book. I was struggling to organize all of my documents in Google in a way that made sense, and wasn’t just one large document where I had to scroll endlessly. Scrivener allows me to drag and drop things into a different order, and forces me to organize things in a visual way. I haven’t had a chance to open it up and dig in again—luckily the thirty day trial is thirty days of use, not thirty calendar days—but I’m looking forward to getting back at it on my two Saturday write days this month.

Co-Writing Time

I started these Co-Writing Sessions last month and they have made a huge impact on how I feel about my writing life. Setting aside the time to write is a big deal in and of itself, but the ritual of setting an intention, focusing on it for a chunk of time, and doing it alongside other writers is a beautiful thing.

Spiritual Direction

Spiritual Direction is something I’ve been wanting to make a part of my life for a very long time, but it felt like too much work to find a Spiritual Director with the right fit. I didn’t even know where to start. So when I met Charlotte and learned that she did Spiritual Direction specifically for writers, I thought maybe God had just plopped it right into my lap. I had my first session with her last month, and it was the most beautiful time of sharing what was on my heart, and listening for God’s presence in the midst of that. I walked away with stronger confidence in knowing that I am walking the right path, that my writing projects matter—to me and to the world—and an appreciation of the way God is very active in all of it right now.

Our Dog Sitter

We adopted the puppy almost exactly a year ago, and my life has been chaotic ever since. Last summer, we found the most perfect dog sitter who will take our little Leo into her home for overnight care whenever we need her to. As gymnastics meet and dance competition season comes into full swing, she is saving my sanity (and the dog’s) at least twice a month. I seriously could not do life without her.

Public Libraries

There’s something magical about being surrounded by rooms full of books. Several times a week I end up away from home for hours while my kids are in activities. Public libraries have become my favorite place to wait out the time. Many times I write, but they also offer a great place to sit and read a book. Study rooms offer a decent place to connect with people over Zoom (as long as you reserve them first.) I can practically tell you about any library on the North Shore — who has the best hours, who has the best study rooms, who has the best relaxing chairs, and who has the best wifi hotspot to take with you on vacation.

My Book Club

The Woebegone Literary Society is the very best thing to happen in my life when it comes to female friendships. We read the most varied book selections. Last month we read Romeo & Juliet. This month we’re reading For the Love of the Bard. In a few months, we’re reading a graphic novel (but we don’t know which one yet — have a recommendation?) We’ve read Young Adult Fantasy, Contemporary Literature, Nonfiction, Poetry, a classic or two, and I’m sure I’m leaving something out. I am so stinkin’ grateful for a group of women who love books as much as I do and are willing to read out of their comfort zone. We get a little smarter, a little more empathetic, and a little more well read with every month that passes. Not to mention our friendships continue to grow over conversation about books, raising tweens, relationships, and everything else under the sun.

Do you have a list of what’s saving your life right now? If so, I’d love for you to share it in the comments below! Happy midpoint of Winter, friends. I’m off to read a book and drink a cup of hot tea!

Ten Best Things About 2022

January 3, 2023 Crystal Rowe

Last year, I claimed DEEP as my word of intention for 2022. While the year was true to that word in a lot of ways, if I had to sum up 2022 in one word, it would be TRANSITION. We tackled several different transitions this year: getting a pet, exploring school options, embracing my call to write, just to name a few. Of course, those are the transitions we chose—the world threw us several others to tackle as well. Here’s a look at what I think are the ten best things about 2022.

1—Bringing Home the Puppy

The puppy was the hardest transition of our year. There were times when I thought bringing home a puppy was the biggest mistake we had ever made. There was even a moment when I wasn’t sure my marriage would survive the puppy. I had no idea raising a puppy would be harder than raising a child, but in so many ways it is. That being said, once D found the right training program for this little stuffed animal of ours, we turned a new corner. Leonardo ‘dawg Vinci Rowe is the very best thing that has happened to our little family of four.

2—The World Mostly Went Back to Normal

2022 began with retreats being cancelled, masks still required, and all of us wondering if life would ever return to the way it once was. But, by August, the four of us had all had Covid, we left home without masks, and we had calendars that were more full than we knew how to handle. David has even gone back to the office—on the train—several times a month. For better or worse, the world is back in full force. It’s been hard at times, but it also feels really good to be in person for meetings, go to yoga twice a week, occasionally eat out at restaurants, and not worry about whether or not I have a mask in the car before I walk out the front door.

3—Reaffirming Our Commitment to Homeschool

In April of last year, we thought the girls would be attending a hybrid school beginning in the Fall. Just a few weeks before classes were to begin, the school closed. We were heartbroken. And shellshocked. All of the hours I spent researching options seemed like nothing but a waste of time. I pivoted and replanned our school year, and it’s been a fantastic experience for all of us. We’ve found a few ways for the girls to regularly connect with other kids and teachers outside the home, they’ve gotten over their desire to “go to school”, and I realized it is possible to balance homeschooling and writing at the same time.

4—The Kids Went to Camp Gramma

Until 2022, my kids have never slept away from home without me. This summer, they stayed an entire week with my parents. One kid was even sick the whole time she was there. They had a blast anyway, they had endless playdates with cousins, they kayaked in the local lake, and learned that Gramma and Grandpa are even cooler than Mom and Dad. We’re hoping to make it an annual event.

5—I Claimed My Calling as Writer

Twelve years ago, I dreamed of this day. So many great things happened for my writing life in 2022. I took three overnight trips alone, where I had a chance to sleep in, breathe deep, and think deep thoughts without getting interrupted. I started getting paid to write, from two external publications and also through Substack. I began the early stages of writing a book. Those early stages have looked like a ton of drafting, reading old material, typing old journals, and a lot of random musings. It took me all year, but I think I finally have a good idea about the narrative direction I want to take. But perhaps most importantly, 2023 was the year I actually called myself a Writer on all those forms you have to fill out asking what your occupation is. There’s no going back now.

6—My Breast Exams Came Back Clear

After some weird discharge out of my right breast, I saw a breast specialist this year. After a mammogram, several exams, and even an MRI, I received confirmation that there’s nothing to be concerned about. My doctors have been incredible at taking me seriously and listening to my fears. Because of my family history with breast cancer, I’ve been moved to the “higher-risk” category so they can keep a closer eye on me. Early prevention is key, and I’m so grateful to have an excellent team of doctors in my court.

7—My Book Club

I’ve written about my book club before. 2023 was the first year since 2019 that we met without interruption. It is the very best part of every single month. They challenge me to read books I wouldn’t otherwise read. They open my mind to perspectives I wouldn’t otherwise have. We share food together. We drink wine, cocktails, and tea together. And through conversation about books and life in general, we share life together. Everyone needs a book club like mine.

8—I Began Tracking my Menstrual Cycle

This may be the single most life-changing thing that happened last year. Well, next to the dog. Since coming off of birth control after the birth of my second child, I have tried to get better in tune with my body. I’ve been reading about creativity and the menstrual cycle for several years now, so when I discovered Nicole Gulotta’s Writing Cycle e-course, I eagerly jumped all in. By paying attention to the time of month, I learned how my energy shifts and changes throughout the month. When I take the time to plan at the beginning of my cycle, and give myself the grace to go where the energy is, I feel less scattered and more creative as the month goes on.

9—I Ran a 5K!

Last year, I shared a little about how I wanted to be a runner. I continued my training, at what felt like a snail’s pace throughout the winter. When I learned my mom would be visiting in June, I asked if she wanted to run a 5K with me. When she said yes, I knew I was locked in and couldn’t get out of it. She was in far better shape than I, but she pushed me to do it. She ran beside me every step of the way. When my calf felt like it was locking up, she slowed down with me and walked a bit. And when we crossed over that finish line, I felt like I could tackle anything. I injured my calf during that run, and haven’t gotten back out on the trail ever since, but I will forever remember the day I ran a 5K with my mom as being one of the very best days of my life.

10—I Didn’t Give Up

In the 42 years that I’ve lived on this earth, discipline has always been my weakness. When things got hard or frustrating, I tended to walk away and started something new instead. 2022 taught me that while sometimes walking away is the best thing we can do, often we need to dig our heels in and keep on keeping on. Even when it feels harder than we can bear. Through schedule changes, injured body parts, more sickness than we’ve had in many years, too many rejections to count, and edits that brought me to tears, I didn’t give up. I kept running. I kept writing. I kept homeschooling. I called doctors. I argued for better care. I called on people to help when I needed it. I demanded time for myself. I dug my heels in.

How to Prepare For Your First Mammogram [The Darling Files 001]

October 12, 2022 Crystal Rowe

*Photo by* *Pablo Heimplatz* on *Unsplash*.

Go to your physical appointment. “Now that you’re forty,” your doctor says, “let’s get you scheduled for a mammogram.” It’s okay to laugh at her choice of words. Let’s. She won’t go with you and hold your hand when your boobs are smashed.
When you get home, put the referral in your box of important papers. Immediately write “make mammogram appointment” on your to-do list. Then ignore it. Pretend you are too busy to pick up the phone. If you avoid it, it might go away. [But probably not]. Repeat this once a week. For three weeks. At least.
Text a friend. Ask her to check in to make sure you’ve made the appointment. When she texts you at 9am the next day, promise her you’ll make the call before dinner.
Dig through several piles of important papers to find the referral. Type in the number as your heart races. There’s no reason to be afraid.

You are put on hold and now have a decision to make: hang up and try again later? Or wait? Once you’ve hung up the phone you likely won’t call again. So you wait, hoping someone answers before a child [or husband] needs you.

You hear the same recording over and over again. When it finally rings, your heart skips a beat. A brute woman answers. Don’t let it jar you. The first available appointment at the office by your house is two months from now. You don’t want to wait that long. Tell her you are willing to drive twenty minutes for the one in two weeks. Get it over with.
Fill out the screening questionnaire. The first part is easy. Height. Weight. How many pregnancies have you had? The next question gets tricky. Who in your family has now, or has ever, had cancer? Race through the Maternal side. You’ve known these answers for years. Your mom’s battling cancer. Your Grandpa died of lung cancer.

You’ll get to the Paternal side and realize you don’t know. You vaguely remember your grandmother had cancer, but you haven’t spoken to that side of the family in years. Send a text to the only number you have on your dad’s side. An aunt.

When she replies, sit down. Your Granny died of recurrent breast cancer when she was sixty, first diagnosed in her early-fifties. Two great aunts also battled it. And several cousins.

You feel like someone has punched you in the gut.
Search Doctor Google for “breast cancer risk factors.” Mayo Clinic has a great list [and is a reliable source]. Out of fourteen factors listed, check six. Be glad you made the appointment. Wipe the tears gushing down your face.
On Mammogram Day, wear your sexiest black underwear [aka superhero cape]. The lace makes you feel invincible. If they find an evil villain, you’ll be confident it will be one you can fight.

This post is inspired by The Darling Files: a new project started by my friends Rachel Nevergall and Callie Feyen. You can read more about The Darling Files from Rachel here and from Callie here.

Ten Things Saving My Life Right Now: Fall 2022

October 9, 2022 Crystal Rowe

What’s Saving My Life Right Now?

It’s a question that floats through the internet several times a year. A question that helps ground me and helps me put a little perspective around what’s happening in our life (especially when things are feeling a little too hectic.) This weekend, inspired by latest episode of The Next Right Thing, I sat down and made my own list of what’s saving my life right now.

1—Fall in New England

When we first moved to New England, it was Summer that had me smitten; but the longer we live here, the more I fall in love with Fall. Fall in New England is more vibrant than I ever remember fall being in the south. I suspect it’s all the maple trees—the sugar maples really know how to show off.

The colors are just starting to change, but they always take my breath away. Here’s a close up of that beautiful tree:

In a week or so it will look as though it’s on fire.

2—The Farm

Every Friday, I get in my car and drive 40 miles to Springdell Farm to pick up our farm share for the week. It seems like a long drive, but every time I pull in the drive, I find a smile on my face. Farmer Jamie grows the best food we’ve ever eaten, but my love for Springdell is about more than just the food. The farm feels like home. I love talking to the men and women that work on the farm, hearing their stories and sharing recipes. They know I use every scrap of food I can and that I appreciate every single minute of their hard work. And I never leave without feeling loved and cared for.

3—Laughing at mistakes

I was ecstatic to make the first pumpkin pie of the season with our super sweet honeynut squash a few weeks ago. It was so late by the time I made it, that we had to save it for breakfast the next morning. My kids were giddy to find pumpkin pie on their breakfast plate. Until they took the first bite.

I knew right away something was off, but it took me a few bites to realize that I forgot the sugar. Oops. I could have gotten mad at myself. Someone could have cried that their breakfast was ruined. But thankfully, we just started laughing out loud. “Well, if there’s no sugar, that means Leo can eat it, right?” one of the kids said. So the dog got the first pumpkin pie of the season, and I made the youngest help me with the second (so as to not forget the sugar once again.)

4—Soup

My youngest has gymnastics three nights a week this year right during the dinner hour, so we’re eating a lot of dinners on the go. As soon as the weather turned cool, I swapped my salad for soups and am loving the variety filling my thermos each night. We’ve had Taco Soup, Minestrone Soup, Corn Chowder, Snowcap Bean & Sweet Potato Soup, and tomorrow we’ll have Broccoli Cheese Soup. There once was a time when I hated soup, but now it is a true life-saving grace.

5—Nail Polish

Painting my nails is one of my favorite ways to make time stop for an hour or so each week. When my nails are wet, I have an excuse to not do what someone asks of me. It’s my self-care secret weapon. About four times a year, I splurge on a new color. It’s always seasonal, and it’s almost always Essie. This weekend, David picked up the new Fall 2022 color “Off the Grid” and I am already in love. It reminds me a little of mud, which I know sounds weird, but is really the very best Fall color.

6—Yoga twice a week at the YMCA

Because my youngest goes to gymnastics 20+ minutes from our house, I try to stay in the area until she’s done rather than drive back and forth from our house. When I discovered the YMCA near her gym had yoga twice a week, I was thrilled. The classes I’ve been going to are slow and meditative, and I’m noticing a huge shift in not only my physical ability, but my mental health as well.

7—Hot Tea

The cooler weather brings a shift from iced cold brew coffee to endless cups of hot tea. I’ve been making a huge pot of hot tea each morning and sipping on it as the day goes by. I find making tea to be a more sensual experience than coffee—the smells are so different, depending on what type of tea is in your mug. I am loving anything with cinnamon right now.

8—Clever Fox Planner

I discovered Clever Fox Planners this year and it has been life changing. I know you’re probably thinking “but that planner is empty - how is it doing you any good?” This picture is from last week, when I neglected to do any goal setting until Thursday. But I usually do it on Sundays, and when I do, my week feels so productive. I love the chance to separate my writing to-dos from my personal ones, and I really like sitting down to think about how to balance all of the important things in my life each week. At the end of every week, there’s a wrap sheet, where I can reflect on what went well and what didn’t go so well. When I don’t do my weekly planning, I feel like I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Sitting down to make a plan for the week helps me prioritize, and helps me juggle all the balls just a tiny bit better.

9—Leonardo Dawg Vinci Rowe (aka Leo)

There was a time a couple of months ago when I thought getting the puppy was the biggest mistake we have ever made. When we got back from our hectic summer, his constant neediness caused a lot of strife in family relationships. None of us really knew what we were getting into when we got a brand new puppy. Like my children, he needs a lot of attention. Also like my children, he needs to use his brain a lot. And—also like my children (when they were younger)—he throws tantrums when he has to be away from his people. Unfortunately, unlike with my children, the world is not setup for you to take your puppy wherever you go.

So when we were all at our wit’s end (aka I told David something had to change), he found an online training program and began Homeschooling the Dog. And in the last 6 weeks, this dog has become the puppy we all wanted from the very beginning. But I don’t think it’s all because the puppy is different. I think the training program has changed all of us. We are better puppy parents (the kids too) when we realize he’s just a puppy and puppies have needs. The puppy, like our children, needs boundaries. The puppy, like our children, needs to be told what to do. The puppy, like our children, is so much better behaved when his brain has been exercised just as much as his body.

There’s probably a deeper essay here just waiting to be written, but today I’m simply giving thanks for this adorable little pup of ours.

10—Audiobooks

Between driving to gymnastics, taking the girls to their nature class, and driving to the farm, I’m spending quite a few hours in the car each week. My Audible App is getting used like never before. We’re listening to The Vanderbeekers Make A Wish on the way to gymnastics, The Chronicles of Narnia on the way to nature class, and I’m alternating between The Odyssey and Come As You Are when I’m in the car alone. If I can’t sit on the couch and read, at least I can listen to someone reading to me.

Now it’s your turn. Tell me in the comments below: what’s saving your life right now?

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All the Permission I Need

June 24, 2022 Crystal Rowe

*Photo by* *Alka Rautela* on *Unsplash*.

It’s Sunday morning. Father’s Day. My oldest has a dance recital at 3pm and I have the day planned out. She has to arrive at noon, with makeup and hair complete. At 9:30am, my Mom (who’s visiting from Georgia), my daughter, and I head to the local bookstore to grab a gift for her dance teachers. I know what I want, I just haven’t had time to shop this last week. I made homemade loose leaf tea, with dried strawberry tops, rose petals, tulsi basil, and mint and I want to include a tea strainer, a candle and a small bar of chocolate. After their busy year of teaching, the gift I most want to give is that of relaxation.

When I arrive home at 10:00, I find my youngest lying on the couch in front of the TV. Daniel Tiger is meeting Baby Margaret for the very first time. At almost eight-years-old, she only watches Daniel Tiger when she doesn’t feel well, so I know something’s up. “Are you okay?” I walk into the sunroom and feel her forehead. She doesn’t have a temperature, but I can tell from her eyes something is wrong.

“My ear hurts. Really bad,” she says, pushing tears away with her tiny fingers.

“On a scale of 1-10, how bad?” I ask. She raises her two hands and shows me eight fingers. This is my kid with high pain tolerance, so if she’s saying eight I know it must be bad. “I’ll call the doctor,” I say, grateful that our pediatrician has weekend hours. “Maybe they can see you before they close at noon.”

The nurse tells me they have an opening at 11:00. I glance at the clock. It’s 10:20 now. One hour to get her sister ready and feed her lunch before we leave to get to the theater on time. “Can Daddy take you to the doctor?” She shakes her head no. Sobs start heaving from her chest. “Okay,” I say gently, before calling to her sister in the other room. “Let’s do your hair and makeup real fast; I need to take your sister to the doctor.”

I race up the stairs with her trailing close behind. She wets her hair in the shower. I hastily grab her hair and makeup supplies. When I start brushing her hair, she says, “Don’t rush, Mama!” reminding me that trying to make a perfect bun in a rush never turns out well. I take a deep breath and try to slow my spinning mind. I finish her bun and check the time. 10:45. It takes 5 minutes to get to the doctor’s office.

“I can start your makeup, but can Gramma do your eyes?” I’m grateful my Mom is here today; happy to let her take on some responsibilities. I rub foundation into her ivory cheeks and notice huge crocodile tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Can’t Daddy take her?” she quietly asks. Hair and makeup has become a sacred ritual between us on dance performance days. She’s promised she’ll always let me help her, no matter how old she gets. I’m heartbroken to be pulled in two today.

“Would you want Daddy to take you to the doctor if you didn’t feel well?” Doing my best to keep my voice steady, I put my finger under her chin and tilt her head up to look her in the eye.

“No,” she says. “I guess not.”

“If I take her now, I should be home in no time. Don’t cry, or your makeup will run.” My stomach churns. She’s always anxious before performances. I want her to feel confident today, not disappointed or sad. Catching sight of the time—10:52—I stay positive. “Let’s see how much I can do before I have to leave.” Trying to stay calm, I apply blush and begin the work on her smokey eye. At 10:55, I tell her to let Gramma do her mascara, ask my mom to help pack her bag, and rush her sister out the door.

The doctor sees us as soon as we arrive. After a quick glance in both ears, she diagnoses a double ear infection and calls a prescription in. “Her sister has a dance recital today,” I say; “Is she okay to attend?” The doctor nods, informs us it’s not contagious, and sends us on our way.

Walking to the car from the doctor’s office, I text my husband. “Feed her lunch. I’ll be home in five minutes to finish her makeup.” When I get home, I apply a final coat of mascara and spray another round of hairspray. My mom did a fantastic job, but I can’t help but want to put on the final touches. I drop her at the theater. Then send my husband to pick up the prescription while I fix myself lunch.

An hour after the recital begins, I notice my youngest holding her ears. “The music is too loud,” she says; “it hurts my ears.” Looking at my watch, I realize the ibuprofen I gave her earlier has just worn off. Of course I didn’t bring any with me. I ask her if she wants to slip outside for a bit, but she shakes her head no. She loves watching her sister dance and doesn’t want to miss a beat.

We make it to intermission before she breaks down into tears. “I just want to go home,” she cries. We’ve come to the car to get away from the sound. There’s probably just over an hour left in the recital, but she can’t bear to stay any longer.

“I can take you home, but I have to come back to pick them up.” I wipe tears from her eyes and tell her I’m sorry she feels bad. “Is that okay?” She nods her head and buckles her seatbelt. Grateful that we only live twelve minutes away, I text my husband to tell him I’ve left my purse in the theater and I’ll be back to pick them up.

“Okay; be safe. Make her a snack.” I drive home, careful to obey the speed limit. Once we arrive, I have her put on pajamas while I prepare another dose of medicine. I give her a bowl of canned peaches and a sleeve of saltines, and help her snuggle under a blanket on the couch.

“Can I watch Doc McStuffins?” she asks.

“Sure. Daddy just texted there are only four dances left. We’ll be home in less than an hour.” I tell her to message me on her iPad if she needs anything, kiss her forehead, and race out the door. Devastated that I missed my oldest’s final dance, I get back to the theater just in time to catch the curtain call.

Three days later, I’m sitting at the table with my husband eating lunch. We just dropped my mom off at the airport and I’m making a list of what needs to be done before we leave for vacation in two days. “One kid wants me to take her to the craft store. I have three writing deadlines to meet. Both girls have haircuts, one has gymnastics, and my book club meets tomorrow night.” I spit it all out with barely a breath in between.

“You love book club!” He looks at me and smiles.

“I do, but I feel like there are too many demands on my time.” I take a few bites of my salad, thrown together with leftovers from last night. “Sunday about killed me. I am exhausted. So much happened. Everyone needed me. Now my Mom has gone back to Georgia. The to-do list is a mile long. I’m sad. I haven’t written in days. I’ve been going through the motions and haven’t stopped to allow myself to feel.”

He looks at me with crystalline eyes, unsure of what to say. In his silence, I continue. “If I got paid for my writing work, I would go in my office, shut the door, and meet my deadlines, right?” He nods his head. It is all the permission I need to leave dirty dishes all over the counter, send the kids outside and the puppy downstairs, make a cup of iced coffee and seclude myself for the afternoon.

Like what you see here? Sign up for My Favorite Things. Each month I compile all my favorite things—articles, recipes, links to read, and sometimes even a playlist—and send them straight to your inbox. This month’s newsletter hit inboxes this morning and features a special guest essay all about recipes and motherhood!

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Permission Slip".

On Running at 41

January 7, 2022 Crystal Rowe

I pull the laces on my shoes, looping one around the other to tie them in a bow. The laces dance as my feet hit the ground. The sun is out and the ground is dry—a rare occurrence for November in New England—so I go for a run outside. I open Spotify, find a playlist called “Run” and hit play. I start my brisk five minute walk to warm-up. My C25K App dings, telling me it’s time to run. I pick up the pace and begin the day’s planned workout—a 25-minute run.

After eight minutes of running it feels like I can do no more. I convince myself to keep running for two more minutes before it feels like my heart will give out. I slow to a brisk walk and challenge myself to walk only one minute before I begin to run again. I run three more minutes, making it just past one mile, before I give up and walk once again.

I remember this being easier, I think to myself. My mind starts its sabotage of self-doubting thoughts. I started this runner's journey back in August. I thought for sure I’d be ready to run a 5K by now. The plan is only eight weeks! I’ve been running (walking) for ten weeks now and I don’t even feel like I can complete week six. I wonder if I should go back to the beginning and start at week one. Will it feel more rewarding then?

The last time I considered myself a runner was in 2006. I was twenty-five and in my third year of law school in Ohio. My marriage was full of animosity and I was full of self-loathing and doubt. I had gained thirty-five pounds since graduating college two years earlier. January 1 felt like the perfect time to make a change. Several times a week, after my classes were done, I’d put on my running shoes and go for a run. Running became a way to care for myself and avoid the relationship mess waiting for me at home. Running became my escape.

I don’t remember many details about running back then, other than I mostly ran at a park with a circular track. I don’t remember anything about my shoes, or the clothes I wore, or what the park looked like or what the drive was like to get there. But I do remember the feeling of strapping my heart rate monitor across my chest. Sitting just below my breasts, under my sports bra, it became my power pack. With it on, I felt as if I could run for hours. The simple act of securing the buckle against my body made me love myself just a little more. The act of caring for myself—for my body—made me a little more confident.

I ran at least four days a week. Sometimes five or six. I ran outside as much as possible, but occasionally I did a treadmill run at the local gym. In eight weeks, just like planned, I ran 5K. There was no official race; it was an ordinary weekday afternoon.

I put on my running shoes and headed to the park, where I was the only one on the track. After a brisk five minute walk to warm-up, I started running. Lap after lap I ran, until the timer on my heart rate monitor told me I was done. I ran 35 minutes without stopping. As I walked my cool down, I scrolled through the stats on the watch connected to my monitor. 3.15 miles. I had done it! In eight weeks, I had gone from never running at all to being able to run 5K. I felt like I could take over the world.

The next week, I did it again. Again and again; my time improving each week. A few weeks later, I graduated law school and moved back to Georgia. I started a new job. My first husband (now ex) and I moved in with my parents while we searched for a place of our own. Animosity and anxiety reached an all time high and it became difficult to carve out time for running. With an 8-5 job, my normal afternoon running time disappeared. With so many changes, I didn’t have the energy to find a new running time. Or place.

I never ran consistently again.

I walk for a few minutes to catch my breath. Just as I begin to run another stretch, my phone rings. Normally I’d ignore it, but it’s my mom. We don’t talk as often as I’d like so I always answer when she calls. “Whatcha up to?” She asks.

Breathing heavily, I reply—my words choppy—“I’m out for a run.” She tries to tell me to call her later, but I know once I get home there won’t be any quiet time. My heart feeling like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, I say, “No, it’s okay. I don’t think I have it in me to run more today anyway.” I continue walking briskly as we talk about what food we’ll make when we are visiting over the holidays. Before I know it, I’ve arrived back at my door and we say goodbye. As I walk in the front door I glance at my Fitbit to see I went 3.25 miles. I may have only run ⅓ of it, I think, but at least the distance is there.

I slide my left foot into my navy blue Asic and notice the “shhhh” sound it makes as the heel hits the bottom. I pull the laces, looping one around the other to tie them in a bow that dances when I let go. Standing, I reach for the floor to warm up my muscles, alerting them it’s time to get to work.

It’s been four weeks since I last ran that sunny November day. The hardest part of getting back into it is showing up. The first day back feels like pulling teeth. Do I really want to do this? My resolve starts to wane. The excuses start to pile up in my mind:

It’s too cold outside.

Covid cases are on the rise and I don’t really want to wear a mask when I run. Is it safe to go to the gym?

I’ve already committed to yoga every day this month—how can I find time to run too?

It’s so cold outside!

I am behind. This plan is supposed to take 8 weeks. I feel like a failure. I want to quit.

Running is hard on your body—maybe I should power walk instead.

It’s hard.

It’s really really cold outside.

I think about the times over the years I’ve bought new shoes and vowed to run again. I’d run for a week or two and give up. I wasn’t really committed. I had too many other things to do. People to feed. Lessons to plan and oversee. A house to clean. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do all the things I need to do and all the things I want. I have to prioritize, and running never made it to the top of the list.

It was too hard. And it took too long to see results.

Shaking my head to release the negative thoughts, I grab my earbuds and water bottle. I yell at my family that I'm going to the gym and walk out the door before I can find an excuse to stay home. Taking a deep breath, I put my minivan in reverse and start to roll down the hill. I reach the bottom of the driveway and put the van in gear, driving slowly to the stop sign at the end of the street. As I wait for my chance to turn left onto the busy street, I think to myself: Maybe the plan is the problem.

Any time I get behind when following a plan, I feel like it’s not worth it to keep going. But what if—instead of using the plan as a schedule—I use it as a tool? Sure, I did it in eight weeks fifteen years ago, but I’m not in my twenties anymore. My life looked different then. My body was different. Now I’m forty-one. I’ve had three pregnancies, two caesarian births and one miscarriage. I’ve carried the weight of a cross-country move (and several moves since we got here), multiple job shifts, and more stress than I ever imagined when I was 25.

The traffic clears. I pull onto the main road and give myself a pep talk. So what if it takes you longer than eight weeks? It doesn’t matter how far you run. It only matters that you don’t give up.

What took eight weeks in 2006 may take sixteen or even twenty-four now. I cruised my way through the plan then and expected to do the same this time around. But nothing is the same now as it was then.

By the time I pull into the gym parking lot, I’ve made a new commitment to myself. I pull the ear loops of my mask around my ears, grab my water bottle, and walk in the front door of the YMCA. The gym is mostly empty, so I have my choice of treadmills. I remove my jacket. Place my keys in one cup holder and my water bottle in the other. I open C25K on my phone to see today’s planned workout—Day 1 of Week 8. My lips turn in a smile as I swipe left in search of the right workout for today. Settling on Week 5: Day 1, I press “Go”. The plan doesn’t control me. The plan is there to help me succeed.

As I begin my warmup, I repeat my commitment to myself:

I will not give up. This will be the year that I become a runner once again.

This post is part of a blog hop with other runner-mother-creatives. Click here to view the next post in this series on running, mothering, and making.

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100ish Things I Love

December 1, 2021 Crystal Rowe

I love the ocean. I love watching waves move back and forth. I love the sound waves make when they crash along the shore. I love the feeling of warm sand between my toes. Or cold sand. Any sand will do.

I love bathing suits in summer. Cozy sweaters in fall. Silk long underwear and snowsuits in winter. Lightweight scarves in spring.

I love the way snow clings to pine trees. Or to empty branches. I love waking up to freshly fallen snow; looking out the window makes me feel like I’m living inside a snow globe.

I love getting into a bed made with freshly laundered sheets. I love turning down a fluffy comforter and singing I know I’m gonna like it here. I love snuggling under my L.L. Bean heated blanket when it’s so cold I don’t even want to move.

I love the smell of clothes dried in the sun. The way the towels get stiff they almost scratch your skin.

I love pulling a bunch of ingredients out of the fridge and figuring out how to create a delicious meal. I love when everyone is surprised they like something they’ve never had before.

I love picking up food from Springdell Farm. I love the way Farmer Jamie makes me feel like family. I love sitting in the adirondack chairs in the freshly mowed grass, soaking up the sun as I watch the sheep graze in the field.

I love feeding people. Especially when they have dietary restraints. I love how the extra challenge of not being able to use certain ingredients gives me a way to love them a little harder.

I love homeschooling. I love sitting on the couch reading out loud. I love hearing my daughters’ thoughts about a book we’ve read. I love watching them internalize the world around them. I love the way their brain makes connections between the books we read and the life we live.

I love how David makes me coffee with frothed milk, brings it up the stairs, and sets it on the coaster on the table by my bed. Every single morning. I love how the girls climb into bed with me with their books and consider it a snugglefest.

I love a movie so good it makes me cry. I love books that make me feel as though I’m living in a different time or place.

I love a smooth-writing pen. I love watching ink appear on the page as I move my hand along the paper.

I love the smell of a pine forest. I love the smell of snow clouds.

I love being at home. I love a clean house. I really love being at home alone in a clean house.

I love the sound of childhood giggles.

I love a cup of hot tea. I love chocolate cake. When I have both at the same time, it’s a love explosion.

I love visioning for ministry in the church. I love leading teams, asking questions, hearing people’s dreams, and helping plan to make those dreams a reality.

I love thinking outside the box. I love remembering why the box is there in the first place.

I love my mom. I love the way she always trusts me, always loves me, always hugs and kisses me.

I love my aunts. I love my sisters. I love that I was raised by strong women who really don’t have a clue just how strong they are.

I love the surprise of rainbows. The way they always remind me of God’s endless promises.

I love love LOVE my book club. I love that what started as a spark of an idea has taken off and become the most incredible group of women that sit around and drink wine and tea and talk about books together.

I love getting messages from people I haven’t heard from in a long time, sharing something that reminded them of me. I love when a reader emails me to tell me my words matter.

I love painting my nails. I love a good nail polish—the kind that goes on smoothly and evenly. I love the way my nails shimmer and shine after they’ve been painted.

I love warm and cozy socks. I love soft slippers. I love a good bathrobe. I love buying gifts for people. Or making gifts for people. I love giving gifts.

I love dancing in the kitchen. Especially to music I loved when I was a kid. I love when songs from my teen or young adult years come on and I can still sing every single lyric. I love when the lyrics make tears fall down my face.

I love deep intimate conversations about love, politics and theology.

I love smooth legs and a smooth face. I especially love it when they happen on the same day.

I love David’s blue eyes that gaze at me every day as if I’m the most beautiful person in the world.

I love a bath so hot it makes you sweat, with a glass of ice water in one hand and a waterproof Kindle in the other.

I love the ELCA Lutheran Church. I love how its theology grounds me and how its people challenge me. I love how God continues to speak truth in grey. I love Holy Communion. I love Baptisms. I love big organ processionals and festival services. I love old hymns. I love contemporary Christian music.

I love youth ministry. I love listening to tweens and teens talk about what’s happening in their life. I love walking alongside them as a faithful adult.

I love tacos. Any and all tacos. And enchiladas. And chips and salsa and queso.

I love a good pizza.

I love hiking when the temperature is not too hot. I love the way nature always surprises me. How there’s always something new to discover.

I love baking sourdough bread. I love the way flour and water mix like magic to create yeast. I love the heat of the oven on bread baking day. The way the bread crackles when it comes out of the pan. The smell that permeates the house.

I love learning. I love my writing group. I love my editors—even when what they have to say is painful to hear. I love the way they believe in my stories. How they encourage me and challenge me to keep at it.

I love a good writing prompt. I love an unexpected theme. I love a planned theme. I love making lists. I love that once you start thinking about what you love, you can’t stop at just a hundred.