I'm No Good at Goodbye...

I met my husband on an airplane in December of 1992. You heard that right. We were seat mates on a flight from Philly to Indy for Christmas break, both of us traveling home to see family. But the story doesn’t end there. We talked the whole way and I asked the cute guy next to me if he wanted to meet for drinks at some point during the week but he didn’t take me up on the offer. To this day he reminds me that he’s shy (and I’m not) and he didn’t want to get stood up. We didn't exchange numbers (I'm not sure why but I didn't own a cell phone back then. Remember the bag brick? He got me one that January!) I chalked our meeting up to happenstance and remember telling my folks about the guy I met on the plane. But the story doesn’t end there.

A week later I stepped on a plane at the Indianapolis International airport and was looking for my seat when I saw someone waving me down. You know that ‘both arms in the air, I’m here, I’m here’ wave that’s hard to miss? It was that cute boy. Yep. We were on the same flight back to Philly. I know what you’re thinking. What are the odds? I actually looked it up once and at the time, the odds were less than .0001% that you’d meet your spouse on an airplane. You think I would’ve been smart enough to know that given I met my husband on an airplane twice, airplanes would become part of our story, right? Nope. Not this girl.

I never thought about airplanes much beyond our story but now people coming and going has become the backdrop of my life and I feel a little guilty saying that I hate airports but I do. I guess what I really mean is that I hate return trips.

I want everyone to come and stay because I’m sick of telling all the people I love goodbye in a cold, sterile environment with strangers staring at me while I cry and drag out my ‘until next time’ speech. #StupidAirports #MissMyPeeps

Back Home Again...

The kiddo is flying back to Indiana today from a quick visit and the pang in my heart is overwhelming. This kid makes everything better when he’s in the room and I miss him fiercely. I’d planned for a sixty-four mile distance between us and ended up with five hundred and thirty six. I don’t love math but even I know that’s quite a difference.

If I were an hour away instead of ten, I know there’d be the occasional dinner in the middle of the week, drop-ins to the house for whatever once in a while, weekend visits to see the puppies now and then, and meet-ups halfway in between for coffee on the tough days.

Instead we have airline reservations, drawn out goodbyes where I try not to cry and he smiles and waits patiently for me to steal just one more hug, triple checks that he hasn’t forgotten anything since he won't be back for months at a time, wishes that we’d added another day to his stay, and drives to the airport that go way too quickly although traffic is often stopped.

I’m always surprised that while thirty-one years separate us, when we share the stories of our days in the life with one another, his perspective regarding whatever is going on--with himself or his friends, with me, his dad, our families, the world… All I can say is that he never ceases to amaze me and he teaches me something every time we’re together.

This kid is the absolute best part of us. The smartest, funniest, truest version of us and I adore him.

I’ll survive these next few months watching him grow and flourish, cheering from the sidelines because that’s the job. And I’ll continue to try to live my best life when we can’t be together, because that’s also part of the job. But I make no promise about counting down the days until we can be together again. #HomeIsWhereTheMomIs #buehlerlife

I’m so sad today. So angry. And so appalled that we aren’t further along as a nation. Today we’re remembering something horrific and we’re examining all the angles. The good. The bad. The unjust. The miraculous. The terrifying. The evil. We’re sharing memories and telling our stories from all different sides and guess what, we’re doing it without hurting and unfriending and bullying and villainizing each other!

Yet we’re destroying history and tearing apart this nation, and our families, and our friendships, and so much more, on all the other days. I have no idea why we do it. Is it because we weren’t there? That we can’t truly know because it didn’t happen to us so any opinion might work? Is that it? Might we all just be arm-chair quarterbacks to events in history that we really don’t know that much about? That we really don’t understand yet somehow we’ve formed these huge opinions about so we result to the lowest form of our humanity—unchecked emotion--when someone questions that opinion? Look around you, friends. The machine is on tilt.

I think of all days today is a good one to look inside ourselves. Are we really educated about what we profess to defend or did we just read an article, or listen to a podcast, or catch a news blip and grab a sound bite so we could try to have a seat at the table? Did you try to verify what you heard, or saw, or think you learned? Did you examine the other side to broaden your knowledge? I encourage you to remember that no sheet is paper is so thin that it doesn’t have two sides.

How about we go for less media and more intellectual study? How about learning about all of the bad days in our history instead of laughing at a few memes of whatever topic is snagging it's fifteen minutes of fame and jumping on the nearest band wagon? How about taking the best, of our history and our people, and working to change the worst? Why, oh why, are we no further along?

Think about how you feel today and then think about this. If we don’t change our course, one day someone won’t like an aspect of the events of 9/11 and they’ll erase it from the books. Gone will be any trace and while it will make sense to a few at the time, is that right? One day, there will be no one left alive on this planet who remembers the stories from today. Stories like this one. Did you even know this happened? If you aren’t okay with this being erased one day? If that thought stirs something painful in your chest? Then you need to back up and search for knowledge over a Cliff Notes version of what you think you know about whatever it is you’ve hating on or hanging on to.

I’m a historian and while I don’t like much of what I learn about us, that big collective group of humans I study, I love other parts us and as a result, I refuse to re-write us or accept that notion. I want every story, every mistake, every heartbreak, every miracle. I want every horror, every defeat, every victory, and every act of compassion to be known. I want them all. I want them so we can learn from them. I never want to forget our best. I never want to forget our worst. The only way we can truly live is to know and not be afraid of what the knowledge brings. Everyone has a little hero in them so trust me, you can handle the truth. If you can't, don't worry. I'll walk through whatever it is right alongside you. And then you can use that little bit of hero to learn and do better. #NeverReWrite #NeverForget

Just Like That...

And just like that it’s done.The kiddo is in his new house, his home away from home that will serve him well for the next three years, and I’m almost home, if you consider 268 miles almost. I’ve logged over 2000 miles in the driver’s seat this trip, spending precious little time with friends and family but a lot of time with my amazing kiddo, making memories at the speed of light. Memories I’ll look back on over the coming months, as I’m missing him ferociously, and smile.

When the kiddo was little I always used to worry that I’d have to push him out there to take advantage of opportunities, meet friends, and find his tribe, but nothing could be farther from the truth. As I drive away from him my heart is full knowing if anything, I want to pull him back!

This Mom gig is the hardest job I’ve ever had. It comes with the worst hours, wagons full of guilt, a fair amount of self-doubt, sleepless nights, a lot of what-if’s, more worry than I everknew I was capable of, and a healthy dose of anxiety. Seriously, if the writers put the truth in theWhat to Expect books, humanity would be in trouble! But this gig is the best job I’ve ever had, too, because seeing your child settled and satisfied, engaged and learning new things, owning their space, and succeeding outweighs the tough things by such a large margin that I don’t even know how to do the math on that type of problem. 

If you’re the mom of a little, soak it up and don’t wish it away, even when you’re knee-deep in sleepless nights and living rooms that make you look like Lego farmers. I know you think so but I promise you aren’t losing yourself. You’re taking one on the chin (and maybe the waistline!) and paying it forward but you can’t see that now so I need you to trust me on this. If you’re a middle mom, keep driving carpool (and the other 900 activities you manage on a weekly basis), stay on your kids about their homework, help them find good friends, and hug them longer than you should every time they’ll let you. I know you’re tired and you’re juggling A LOT of plates, but I also hope you know how much they need you, even though they’re growling and snarling more than an angry Rottweiler these days. Keep taking one for the team because it’s going to pay off. 

And college moms, go snag a cup of coffee and listen up. We’ve got this. Even when we find ourselves knee-deep in the worry. Even when we can’t jump in thecar (because they’re too far away!) and take them to lunch so we can just listen because we know what they really need is a strong shoulder and a hug. We can be exactly what our kids need in this season and find ourselves again, too. We can live our best lives while helping them find theirs. I get that these days are hard but these days can still be great. I know this firsthand because I'm living proof. If you ever want talk 

Where is the coffee?

It dawns on me that there are things that happen when you’re working the college mom gig that don’t happen in the empty nest. Like when you have to order coffee at a restaurant for breakfast. Why? Because college kids living on Starbucks don’t typically have coffee pots so you don’t get to enjoy that first cup while you’re getting ready for the day. Gasoline? I can’t tell you the last time I got down to one bar because in my empty nest Atlanta existence, I never let it get one bar low, let alone end up with just one bar to go. A dirty car? In the empty nest my car is washed every week. At present, my ride is so filthy from driving 10+ hours to get to my child, and 10+ hours more running all over town trying to find what he needs for this move, that I’m naming the bugs on the windshield and I’m about to write “Joy” in the dust on the dash and call it progress. Matching bedding? Ha! Last night I slept on the kiddo’s couch with a duvet serving as both a bottom sheet and a blanket. To top it off, I pulled one of his clean T-shirts over a couch pillow and called it even. When the kiddo asked what I was doing, I just laughed because honestly, I was too tired to explain. Lists? I have at least five open on my phone at present instead of the nicely manicured master one I keep in the empty nest. And schedules? Right! We’re eating lunch most days at two and we GrubHubbed Taco Bell last night at eleven. Time management is a myth at this point. So yeah, the college mom gig is crazy but I can’t lie - I love it! That said, I do wish I would’ve brought my own pillow because I’m not 100% certain where this one’s been. #BuehlerLife

Warning Lights...

This weekend I’m embarking on a journey to move our kiddo from his summer place into his house in Bloomington, the place we hope he gets to reside for the rest of his college career. This is our 14th move in less than a year and to say we’re weary of boxes, and packing tape, and storage keys, would be an understatement. But funnier on this journey is the story of car tires. The story of how every time we have a vehicle fully loaded and we’re ready to make a ten plus hour drive, a warning light comes on. If this has ever happened to you, you know it’s not a good feeling when things start flashing while you’re running down the road at seventy miles per hour. 

No one wants to drive across town with a warning light on, let alone watch it flash for 600 miles. So here I am in the backseat of a dealer shuttle, making my way to pick up my car just in time to reload and get on the road, setting off to help my birdy fly the nest when all I really want to do is keep him tucked safely in his childhood bed. 

Last night I was inconsolable, spouting off phrases like “I don’t have time for this. I have a schedule to keep.” And my classic, “People are depending on me!” To anyone on the outside looking in, I’m sure it seemed simple enough, I was upset about the inconvenience of a car repair before a trip. But the truth is I’m upset about the stress of another move, about life at college in the time of Covid, about a new housing situation, about saying goodbye yet again. I’m so very sick of saying goodbye. So while my vehicle was warning me about tires yesterday, my heart took me other places. Warning! This is going to be hard. Warning! This is going to hurt. Warning! He’ll want you to leave long before you’re ready to say ‘see you in October. Warning! This may never get easier. 

In the light of day my perspective has shifted and I’m grateful that I wasn’t somewhere in the middle of nowhere halfway to Indiana when that warning light came on. Grateful that my husband was able to leave work and help me, both with the car and with my heart. That the service manager at the dealership understands this harried mom just doesn’t want to let her kid down. 

God shows up and uses interesting things these days to slow me down and get my attention. He always meets me right in the middle of my mayhem. Yesterday it was car tires and warning lights and I’m beyond grateful for the reminder that he’s given me just enough sense to see the blessings above the obstacles. #BuehlerLife

Me today...

I knew the empty nest would be partly about finding new challenges and I had some big plans in the works when life threw me a curveball last summer. It was easy to put things on hold but you know what? I still have those plans! 

God has blessed me with several amazing opportunities here in my new hometown and I’m so grateful to have them. He’s also whispered in my ear that I need to pull out that list of plans and get busy growing where I’m planted. So this is me today, repainting a little corner booth in an antique shop near my house where I’ll hang my shingle next week. 

I’ve ALWAYS wanted to do this so here I stand on the edge of a new adventure. It’s a little bit scary, a bunch of hard work, and a whole lot of fun. Good thing I’m ready.  #BabsPlace

365 Days...

First the DAR HQ bldg then the museum

One year ago today my life blew apart. My boys and I were in Washington, DC for DAR Continental Congress and a family vacation. I had a busy day ahead and needed to get going but when I rolled over and looked at my husband before getting out of bed, I knew something was wrong. It was my first Congress and I was so excited to be there. I really didn’t welcome the distraction but I made him tell me. Whatever he was holding onto was too big to let ride. “It’s Atlanta,” he said and I remember rolling the other direction and looking at our son sleeping soundly across the room. Our son who turned down Alabama and Baylor and decided to go to Indiana University so he could be closer to home. We’d just purchased a new boat and were so excited for dinner cruises with friends.  We had a list of people we couldn’t wait to spend time with. We were planning a move now that school districts didn’t matter and were looking at property on the lake. We were planning our marathon anniversary party – 26.2. I’d just been named Regent of my DAR chapter and was surrounded by a group of women I adored. To say I had big plans is an understatement. As it turned out, less than 50 days later my heart stayed behind while the rest of my life moved 600 miles away.

Sweet CSH friends at the Indiana Rm.

Continental Congress is bittersweet for me this year because things should be different. I should be home, close to my family and friends, instead of 10 hours away trying to build a new life. But the one thing that isn’t different is DAR. I started researching chapters and sending emails before we moved and the minute I could attend a meeting here in my new hometown, I was there. That was almost a year ago and guess what? Today I find myself surrounded by a group of women I adore. Women who welcomed me with open arms instead of looking at me like a stranger even though that’s exactly what I was. Because of DAR I have friendships and connections and a purpose to help anchor this new life I’m building. #sharemydarcc20  #darcc20

Besties...

Happy Best Friends day to these amazing women in my life!  #BFF

Islay...

It’s habit for me to check my calendar several times a day and it’s beyond odd to watch the plans our family had drift past unfulfilled. I should be in Scotland right now with the hubster. We were going to tour Islay and hit our favorite Scotch distilleries before moving back to the mainland where he’d go to a conference and spend his days talking about biomedical engineering while I tried to nail down my Patterson ancestry at the Genealogy Society in Edinburgh. For now we’re enjoying other adventures around Atlanta and the trip has a new home on the calendar. #PlansChange #FingersCrossed #IsleOfIslay

A New Season...

And just like that our kiddo is safe and sound in his new place in Indy, ready to take on the summer with family and friends. While I miss him like crazy and this house is WAY too quiet without him, I’m not sad. He’s earned this time to create, and take a few summer courses, and stare at the stars a bit. I’m proud that he’s independent and confident. And I'm glad we no longer "own" any storage units (we had four at the height of our move)! #NewSeasonOfLife

Twinning...

This is my mask making partner in crime and sweet friend Christi Opstad. She and I each hit the 1000 masks sewn mark this week as part of the service project work we're doing on behalf of our Daughters of the American Revolution chapter (as part of the larger national DAR project). Christi owns a business, is homeschooling in quarantine, manages her farm and staff and still finds time to sew and make instruction videos. She takes all of the incoming requests for masks and manages distribution like a pro. She's the purveyor of the ribbon and always has a smile on her face and I'm blessed to work alongside her. P.S. She also has great curls and sometimes people get us confused with one another. I can't think of a better person to be confussed with!  #PhiladelphiaWinn1000club  #CurlyGirls

Hard Things...

Vanderbilt Mansion, March 2020

It's getting hard around here. That gut wrenching, life has to move forward, he's got to go back to Indiana hard. For almost two months, time has felt limitless and I've stumbled around not knowing or caring too much about what day it was. Now there's a date on the calendar and I am hyper aware of every minute that's passing. 

Having our kiddo home for this quarantine has been such a blessing, a shiny silver lining in the middle of the mayhem. I was dreading missing summer with him but I know I've been given something far greater than a period of time between two calendar dates because this time has been different. We've had concentrated time as a family that we wouldn't have had with everyone running the 100 different ways our old lives demanded. This time has been good morning hugs, hot chocolate late nights, serious dinner conversations, ice cream runs, and sunny drives to nowhere. It’s been new music, old favorites, after dinner concerts, and dancing in the kitchen. It’s been game night with us losing to our ruthless teenager time and time again until we finally broke out Wii bowling. We’ve endured fraternity initiation week here, celebrated a birthday here, hidden Easter eggs here, taken college finals here, and nursed the broken heart that comes with saying goodbye to a high school sweetheart all right here.

I’m going to miss this kid something fierce when he leaves in thirteen days and I won’t sugar coat the fact that it might very well be worse than when he left for college. We moved from his childhood home the day after we dropped him off last fall and we started over here without memories of our family in this house. We’ve had a clean slate to create something new and quarantine has allowed us to do so in grand fashion without worrying about watching the clock the way we’ve had to with holiday breaks and a weekend visit. I have a ton of amazing memories now, all of them made right here so it should come as no surprise that my selfish heart already wants more. I know I’ll be counting the days until his next visit home.  #BuehlerLife

I'm Doing Just Sew...

We are well here in Buehlerland.  Staying busy.  Doing college online (the kiddo), going to work (the hubster).  Sewing (me). In fact, making masks has become my new mission in life.  When I first saw the news and heard there wasn't enough PPE for healthcare workers, I'm going to admit it passed over me.  When I saw it a second time, it caught my attention and I started having in depth conversations with people about 'just enough' purchasing and year end cost savings and risk assessment for various types of equipment.  They were clinical discussions and while I walked away understanding how there could be shortages, it was still removed from me.  Happening over there.  Not here.  And then the calls started coming in for handmade, homesewn facemasks.  Nurses, firemen, police, nursing home aides, vet techs, police, military, clerks at the gas station...  The calls came in from everywhere and it was right here.  HERE.  And it was real.  So I started sewing.  And before and ran out of supplies I determined NOT to run out so I waited an hour to get in the local fabric shop. An hour at the cutting table, and 30 minutes in line at the register but I was able to buy 62 yards of fabric and enough thread (I hope!) to sew 20 masks a day for the forseeable future because "20 a day keeps the virus away." 

The need is overwhelming and in addition to taking care of the healthcare workers we've committed to supporting, members of my sewing circle are now getting requests from all sides; parents, friends, extended family, neighbors, various essential workers not in the healthcare industry... we’ve gone from sewing for nurses to sewing for the world and that’s just fine. We're determined to sew for everyone!

Reach Out!

I'm hearing about how hard this is from a lot of folks. How fear and uncertainty and boredom, not from a lack of things to do but from a lack of knowing where to start, is creeping in and sometimes taking over. Whatever you're feeling, you ARE NOT alone. You may be sitting there looking at a screen by yourself, but YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Social distancing does not have to equal emotional distancing. Take a moment and read that again. Social distancing DOES NOT HAVE TO equal emotional distancing. If you don't where to start today, consider reaching out to someone and starting a simple conversation. And if you don't feel you have anyone you can reach out to... If you don't know where to start... Reach out to me and I will meet you in the middle of the mayhem and we'll sit together until you feel like you can begin again.  #KeepGoing #BuehlerLIfe

Today has been declared a National Day of Prayer. Maybe you pray often and taking time today will be routine for you. Maybe not. Maybe you know exactly what to say. Maybe not. If you are so inclined, would you please pray for our nation today? If you don't know what to say, I'm glad to share my prayer with you.  

Dear Heavenly Father,

There is so much going on in the world today that is upsetting and beyond my control. Please help me cast my cares on you today and turn my worry time into prayer time. 

I ask for your hedge of protection over each and every citizen of our great nation; over their homes, their families, and every other person they come into contact with... extended families, church families, co-workers, caregivers... I ask that you keep us safe and help us guard against panic in the face of adversity. I ask for wisdom and insight into dealing with the troubles we face.

I lift up our nation, and every other place on earth that is dealing with this pandemic. Please help those affected and stop this pandemic from worsening. I ask for your hedge of protection over our health and healing. Please pour out your blessings on all who are in need and help us find peace in these trying times.

I ask that you be with us and guide us through this uncertain time in our nations history. Turn our hearts towards You and help us be more of every good quality we possess: patience, kindness, loving, graceful, gentleness, generous, caring...

I lift up our President and elected officials at every level and all others that are in authority in our nation and in nations around the globe and ask that you guide them as they make decisions. Please make reliable information available to our leaders and guide them to do what is best for those they govern. 

In Jesus' name. Amen.

Collision...

I have a new house in a new city 600 miles away, but my old life keeps colliding with my new life in the strangest of ways, leaving painful little ripples skating across my heart. I drive a new car yet I see my old van everywhere. I know it’s not my actual van because she now lives at grandma and grandpa’s house. But still, I see the make and model nearly every day and it’s odd because it’s not a common one. In fact, I just saw one for sale on the neighbors drive this morning. Collision. I went to give my address the other day and gave the old one even though I haven’t lived there since late August. Hmm. Must be muscle memory. Collision. It’s already reaching 70° here some afternoons and as I stood staring into my closet yesterday, I couldn’t help but laugh. I spent most of last spring (and a lot of time and resources) building a professional wardrobe for Indiana and none of it, not one piece, has been unpacked because it’s not been needed here. Collision. And it hasn’t escaped my notice that I barely have anything to wear for what is shaping up to be an inferno spring and summer here. Collision. This morning we had our first tornado warning and I was lost as the radio announcer mentioned towns in the path.  “Nine miles away heading Northeast at 45 miles per hour.” I knew that was my direction and I rerouted my path away from errands and toward home but I couldn’t pinpoint any of the small towns he rattled off. Growing up in Indianapolis means I know the city (and many places within the state) like the back of my hand. Here? It feels like it’s just been in the last month that I can get to the gas station without using GPS. If I’m going to survive spring storm season it’s obvious I’m going to have to study the map a bit.  Collision. My husband asked me what I wanted to do for my 50th birthday and without thinking I said I wanted to go to breakfast with my folks then get some friends together for dinner and cards. Then I remembered that I’m not there. I’m here. Collision.

Water drop collision

I enjoyed full days in my old life, working on things I loved with people I valued. And here I am starting over. Collision. Restart. Redo. Rebuild. I never gave much thought to those words but I’m quickly growing to dislike them. None of them ring true to me because they all imply that I can pull off the big RE, that I can somehow recreate what I had and that’s wholly untrue. I can’t build over here what I had over there because I’m missing my people. Collision. At times this new adventure feels forced and hard and quite frankly, it can be scary. The truth is I don’t want to rebuild anything. I liked my old life just fine. Collision.

I have a precious bestie who calls it Fabulous Fifty. Or does she call it Fearless Fifty? I have no doubt fifty will be fearless because this adventure won’t allow for anything less. Sunday is barreling down on me like a runaway freight train and it’s a wicked reminder that the only way through is forward. God is opening doors and placing amazing new people and opportunities in my path and for that I’m extremely grateful. And I’m stepping up with anticipation and hope. But I also have no doubt that fifty won’t be fabulous because of the biggest collision of all--missing so many of you.

A Day of Notes...

I come from a long line of letter writers and one of my most treasured gifts from my Grams is her Bible, which is complete with notes from her sisters tucked into nearly every other page. Grams had such a robust exchange with those she loved and to this day I'm sure that's why I feel there's just something about a handwritten note... 

My Grams and her sisters loved to write to one another. They never let the miles separate them and that was especially true of my great aunt Ruth Mary, who lived in California for many years, and my great aunt Connie, who lived in Greece long before International calling plans were unlimited. 




Imagine my delight when I pulled this out of the mailbox this afternoon. My Aunt Connie is 91 and she is the sharpest, most well educated, independent lady I know. And look at that penmanship! 

I love so many things about her but I adore this the most--now she writes to me. #GramsBestFriend #Tradition

Just A Note...

I dragged my feet about cleaning the kiddos' room after winter break. I don’t mind seeing the bed unmade. It reminds me there was life in his room and I can’t wait until he returns to mess it up all over again this summer. So I waited a couple of days of tidy up.

When I finally braved it, I found this notecard sitting neatly tented on the kiddos’ dresser. At first I thought it was a mistake. I’m always on him to do thank you cards and this Christmas was no exception. Had he left one behind by accident? Yes. And no. The card he left behind was for me and it wasn’t by accident. 

This card is validation that we’ve come through a major transition intact. This card is validation that turning our lives upside down at the worst possible time hasn’t ruined our kiddo. It’s a glimpse into my son’s heart, a view of the past five crazy months from his perspective, and it's exactly what I needed to hear.  #OhSoGrateful  #BuehlerLife

Catch and Release

If you look closely among the everyday items littering our mudroom, you’ll see a pair of well-worn white Vans. They belong to the kiddo and they’ve occupied this house since the Friday after Christmas. For two glorious weeks these walls have been filled with good jokes, junk food, bad YouTube shows and old movies. There have been card games and football games, beat the alarm clock games and Monopoly games. There have been good conversations, funny stories, hard conversations, and laughter and tears and quiet. There was even a night when the kiddo fell asleep on the couch and ended up sharing the dog blanket with the girls. So much for 800 count Egyptian cotton.  It’s just one more way I know he truly is a college kid.

I’ve taken to calling this season catch and release parenting. If we’re lucky enough to catch our son for a few minutes (or a few hours or a few days), to hear us talk you’d think we’d won the lottery because we feel like we have.  But we also know we have to release him. 

Tomorrow is that day.  Slightly before dawn I have to say “until next time” and let my precious boy fly back to his hometown, the city he loves full of his people, his girl, and his school.  My only solace the fact that my mom will pick him up from the airport. She gives great hugs and always has a smile for those she loves.  While she isn’t my stand in, I’m comforted knowing when I can’t be with him, she most often can.

This will be the longest stretch we’ve been apart, from tomorrow until sometime in early March when I visit him on his turf and snag another hug.  Between now and then we’ll rely on FaceTime and phone calls and texting but trust me when I say it won’t be the same as having his shoes in my mudroom.  #BuehlerLife #LastEveOfWinterBreak

Happy, Happy New Year!

Goofy travel buddies (somewhere in middle Tennessee).

I was tempted to title this post Happy Holidays given I didn’t touch base in December but you know, I can’t really say that with a full heart.  Our holidays were good, but they were not without issue.  At the end of our week in Indy we tallied visiting a family member in the hospital, Christmas morning in a hotel, and more clock watching and road burn than I can remember in last past 16 years.  Needless to say, on the 11+ hour ride home to Atlanta in heavier than usual holiday traffic, the boys and I had a chance to replay the week as we do every year.  We always talk about what went right (a lot of things, and for that I’m extremely grateful), what went wrong (a few things), and what we’ll change next year (the list grows) and our time together in the car lead to some insightful and spirited discussion.

The Kiddo and the Cutie Bug at New Years Eve b'fast.

Instead I’ve gone with Happy, Happy New Year because that’s what we’re enjoying with our son and his sweet girlfriend; all of us back home here in Atlanta, creating new traditions and embracing our new normal.  I can honestly say it’s been a happy, happy new year and as such, I’ve warned the kids I’m not letting them return to Indy when break is over.  It’s been wonderful having them back under our roof and I can’t begin to imagine the quiet that will take their place in a few short days.  Surely stock in Kleenex will be a wise investment decision for us in 2020.

I hope you had an amazing holiday season with those you love and that your start to 2020 is off with a bang.  Here’s wishing us all a very happy, happy new year!