Happy Monday, a day after a long weekend. A day to start the week anew.

Also my 20th edition of Low Tides Notes! I started this weekly-ish “newsletter” to commit to a creative outlet when I was feeling technical at work. It has been cathartic and fun, sometimes pointless, sometimes profound. But always, me.

Thanks for reading.

I woke up feeling extremely patriotic on Saturday

This is how our 4th of July morning went:

Junie woke up in her stars pajamas. I played Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” on the speaker and literally shed a tear. We stood on our front porch said the pledge of allegiance to the flag we finally hung up. I looked at my little family and thanked my bright, burning, glorious lucky stars.

I’m trying to figure out how to say this.

Two things can be true at once. I’m not blind to the state of our politics and the climate of our country. I’m not blind the terror and war in the world.

I’ve also never felt more lucky to be born in the USA, to be raising a child that can run around under palm trees and drink her morning milk while her parents drink their coffee on the screened-in porch.

The 250th feels big, it is big.

We’re here playing a small part.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Back to our regularly scheduled programming … kind of!

Happy Friday, it’s nice to see you.

9 months in … How am I doing?

Guys so Joan is 9 months old, which means I had a baby nine months ago. And sitting down to reflect on how I’m doing is proving to be challenging. That question — “How are you?” — is so weighted that I typically give the high-level, I’m great! And I am? But I’m not? Let me try to unpack this.

In fitness

It’s hard to remember that I was chair- or bed-bound for the first 6 weeks after giving birth. A walk around the block was a marathon. Putting the dishes away, a powerlifting competition.

Now I’m back on the pull up bar, snatching a sweet 65#, back squatting a whopping 115#. After Hyrox, I dialed it back to build my core back better. But my core is, I don’t even know what a core is. One day I’m proud of doing 60 75# dball cleans, the next I can’t even hold a hollow rock. It’s humbling and hard and defeating and rewarding, all at once.

I’m just grateful for movement and for a gym community that supports me and loves my baby and gives me the space to do what I need. (Cigar City CrossFit —> NoEQL, still my gym, my place, 10 years in the making! 🤍🖤) I can feel it, after each hard workout, my engine revving back up, my cardio lasting longer, my muscles aching and growing. I have a long way to go, but I am forever impressed with the female body.

In individuality

Who is Hannah Farrow before baby, and who is she after? Happy to report, she’s the same goddamn person.

The noise around this subject is two extremes: You become Mother of Joan, period. Or you become You, Reborn. Idk. I think I’m Mother Hannah.

I find my interests are the same: Stressing over the state of journalism; reading l i t e r a t u r e; getting pissed at everyone on their phones; thrifting; sipping a Friday porch cosmo with my betrothed; sucking down Perfect Match and online stalking Jimmy Sotos; etc. Sue me!

Making time for myself — solo— has been the struggle. Moms’ Night Outs, easy to schedule; I live for those venting sessions. My two hours of solitude on the weekend? Let us pray I ask Jack for coverage before I boil over only to drive to Barnes and Noble just to sit in the parking lot and listen to Luke Combs’ Be By You on repeat. There’s no deeper meaning here, no symbolism. It’s just what I’ve done too many times to count.

If anything, my sense of self and who I am is more solidified than it was before. I fckn love being a mom. And I love who I am as a mom.

In career

I sit on a strange island at my job. There’s a cohort of colleagues ~9 years older than me with 5-year-olds, and there’s a cohort of recent grads who are wondering which high yield savings account to open. Then there’s me… married… with a baby... It’s hard to relate to if you’re not in it, so I find most people don’t ask. (No shade here. Reflecting on my interactions with new moms in my career… yeah, wtf do you say?!)

I was, however, told by one colleague how well it looks like I’m doing. How seamlessly I’ve taken on leadership and how easy I make motherhood look. Greatest compliment I could get.

I’m happy to report, too, that I’ve gotten to the point in juggling all the above where I feel ready and wanting to become more social, something that has been met with open arms by my peers. It’s starting to feel like things are falling into place as I get into a better rhythm. As much as I can gripe about journalism, journalists are some cooky cool curious people, and I love being in the cohort.

In marriage

This section is last because it’s been the hardest one to navigate.

After waking up, feeding baby, packing baby’s lunch, dropping baby off at daycare, working 8 hours (managing breaking news, my team, digital strategy, meetings, etc, etc, etc while also doing laundry, organizing house, ordering groceries, etc, etc, etc), picking baby up, working out at the gym with baby on the floor with me, eating dinner, putting baby to bed, showering … the last thing I want to do is be all cuddly with my husband.

A common saying we both use is How you do the little things is how you do the big things. We apply that mostly to our jobs, but we’ve adopted it for our relationship.

Put another way: [ i n t e n t i o n a l i t y ]

After a long day where we both just want to lay and watch a show? No problem — but no phones. After a long week? Cocktails on the porch, just us — and no phones.

And maybe our greatest hack to date: Dropping Joan off at daycare on a Monday, playing hooky from work, and driving to the beach for a canoodling day date.

The little things have added up to the point where we don’t feel like roommates anymore, and I will take that as a win.

***

I’ll tell you this has been like a really hard time. Learning to parent while navigating ambitions and career growth and fitness and health and self betterment. And it’s also been the most rewarding time of my life.

Nine months in… literally the rest of my life to go. <3 <3 <3

What I listened to this week!

Olivia Wilde: Dating, Double Standards & Dealing with Scrutiny, Call Her Daddy

• I love love love Olivia Wilde’s commentary on being a working mom. I also love the way she describes her upbringing; both her parents were journalists who encouraged her to form her own opinions. OK!!!!

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Heyy! You may have noticed I swapped my subject lines and preview texts. Really because if I put myself in the shoes of someone who stumbles upon my post whilst flicking through the Substack app, they’d have no idea what Low Tide Notes is, but they could be intrigued by my ever-so-gripping exclamation marks and broad-sweeping statements.

So with that, enjoy this week’s newsletter. I promise I’ll get back into a predictable cadence soon.

What is stylistic orthography, you ask?

Creative freedom, baby!

It’s using ellipses and em dashes and exclamation marks, and capitalization and spacing and spelling, to convey what tf I want to say exactly in the pace and tone I want to say it.

At work, we follow AP style. (It’s not a.k.a., it’s aka; it’s not ten, it’s 10; treat ellipsis as a three-letter word, etc.) And each journalistic outlet has its own internal stylebook that differs from the universal one. (At POLITICO it was not healthcare, it was health care.)

In my writing, it’s a mix of any and everything — and it is always intentional. My voice. I view writing like clothes. Personal.

Ask any writer, they’ll understand. What and how you use every character has reason. Meaning. It conveys who you are.

Stylistic orthography1 is at the forefront of my mind because I’m reading Yesteryear (thank u, coworker, for lending me ur copy, and thank u, book club, for voting to read it; I am more than halfway through and I started three days ago!!).

And I have never read a book that so freely yet intentionally uses punctuation and style to convey tone. I love a good use of line indentation to physically move the reader’s eye to mentally convey further thought (as shown below).

What a joy it is to read something so fresh when what I do is write for a living! I can feel the play the author had while crafting this novel. Yes, writing is a craft! Em dashes — they’re serious. Ellipses… aren’t! Tildes are either ~molasses italics~ or the ✨sparkles emoji✨. Isn’t that fun?!

(What’s maybe not so fun is searching in your texts for uses cases of said stylistic choices. From 2019, a text to Jack. Can you tell I was also taking a coding class?)

What I listened to this week (and you should, too)

Gayle King: He Cheated with My Close Friend, Call Her Daddy

• The first part of this conversation had me blast texting my bestie about our friendship!!! “The mother and sister I never had.”

Want to ‘Optimize’ Your Happiness? This Happiness Expert Says: Don’t., The Interview

• Lulu Garcia-Navarro (one of the best in the biz) interviews Laurie Santos, a cognitive scientist and professor at Yale. Basically, stop trying so hard and allow yourself to just be.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Hey, Tuesday.

I’m home after a whirlwind of a weekend in New Jersey. In five nights I slept in three beds as sickness plagued my family (norovirus). I was solo-parenting because Jack was on a boys trip, and working because we were shortstaffed. And to top it off, it rained the entire trip, which meant no beach days or boat rides. Poor me!

Still, I said I’d not let anything get me down! I bundled Junie in her raincoat and we weathered the storm to buy Fudge Kitchen. During a lapse in the rain, I got a Wawa coffee and watched the waves. Jack called, and I said I’m salvaging my trip! I’m going to do something big! Mama flew first class on the way home because god dammit, she deserved it.

Take me to church (aka the ocean)

I have some family stuff going on (who doesn’t).

And I’m not going to get into it.

What I am going to get into, though, is the ocean and how I want to be by it forever.

When I was 22, I created a 1, 5 and 10 year “plan.” It included a write up of my perfect day, and personal and professional goals for each aforementioned milestone.

Let us have a good laugh.

I got the man, I got the child… and I still got the debt.

And I have exactly one year left to get the “beautiful house by the sea.”

I think I can do it!!

New Jersey is the garden state

Having my baby in the home where I grew up was special… and really hard. The dichotomy of telling her my memories, knowing she’ll never have any of her own there, panged me in a way I didn’t expect.

I took time to look at what I love about that house. The skylights, the hardwoods, the windows, the greenery.

My dad plans to sell it soon. It’s too big of a home for one person, he says.

Plus, the neighboring township plans to place an Amazon-sized warehouse on a plot next door.

I can’t think too hard about that.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Happy Wednesday evening. Thank you for letting me grace your inboxes once again.

I just picked up Joan from daycare. She has carrots caked in her nostrils, and she’s wearing Christmas-themed bell-bottoms.

I still, and may forever, have a longing in my being to do more with my days. Touch grass more. Find a way to be outdoors, not behind a computer.

And then I pick up my child, and I look at her crusty-orange nose, and I cannot believe I get to live life as her mother. She is motherfckn joy! She brings color to the monotonous.

Life, is so rich.

Mother’s Day with my baby outside of my womb

Last Mother’s Day I was in NYC with two of my besties. We walked the Brooklyn Bridge, saw a show on Broadway, ate handmade pasta at a small city counter. It was glorious and action-packed, and I was hella pregnant, ergo tired and swollen. Still.

We popped into a shop that Sunday. I bought a little metal-pressed keychain with “&” on it. Joan was in me, I am me — and, I thought. So I commemorated it.

This Mother’s Day Joan turned 8 months old. She slept through the night until 8 a.m. Jack bought Pop-Up Bagels and roses and made me a latte and wrote me a card. We sat on the beach and let Junie’s bootie cool off in the Gulf.

We ended the day with our friends/neighbors/family. “A pleasant evening.” Good food and laughter, our babies on tummy time grabbing hands, about to crawl.

This post is nothing more than a place to note the first of many Mother’s Days, a day that will, in perpetuity, include me in it.

Thank you, Joan, for making me a mom.

I am designing postcards! It’s been really fun!

I love postcards! Sending them, receiving them. I love stamps, too, and stationary and cards and pens. You get it.

While browsing a favorite vintage shop, I got inspired to finally put some postcard designs to the test. Think Florida Vintage, super colorful and fun, but not so dated. Relatable. Something that, if you got it in the mail, you’d say, Great card!

Instagram with buyable designs here.

I have a first print shipment on the way to make sure the designs look as good irl.

And be on the lookout for some floral vintage cards coming soon…

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Happy Saturday afternoon.

I went to write Low Tide Notes on Wednesday, and this is all that came to me: “I’m sitting on my porch. It’s a beautiful afternoon. And I just want to cry.”

Chalk it up to postpartum emotions, or maybe my period is coming back(?), or maybe it was a come down from my vacation high. Whatever the cause, I didn’t cry; once I cemented my feeling in those three sentences, the overwhelm went away.

I have been experiencing, however, a symptom from my adolescence, that, at the time, I didn’t realize was due to anxiety, and that doesn’t go away so easily. I can’t get a deep breath, is what I’ll say.

Instead of bogging you down with what’s causing my shortness of breath, I’d like to focus on literally anything else.

In the words of Pitbull: Took my life from negative to positive. … And tonight, let’s enjoy life.

… And all is OK

While getting changed yesterday morning to bring Joan to daycare, I was like, where did all my underwear go? The only options in my drawer were those In Case of Emergency pairs, you know, the ones shoved in the corner but are in decent working shape so you keep them around just in case.

I discovered my missing undies in the suitcase I packed to PR. And in the hidden compartment next to them were the pieces of sea glass I collected at low tide on Playa Pastillo. I bottled up the pieces in a tiny mason jar and put it on Junie’s shelf. Memory, captured.

Motherhood is full of similar dichotomies.

Like when I took Joan to daycare a half hour early one day to make more time for myself because my work is overwhelming me (+ family stuff + other family stuff + existential career stuff), but then she had a blowout in the parking lot, so I had to change her in the trunk of my car just as the sun peaked over the trees, so I was sweating, and just when I felt like throwing myself a pity party about how I feel like I can’t win lately, Junie started clapping her hands and let out a squeal and looked me in the eyes and smiled…

And all was OK.

Or like when I reached my boiling point last weekend so I left the house in a puff to take a few hours of alone time and I went to my favorite thrift shop to browse for some frames for our Wall of Fame, and the thrift store was having a 30% off store wide sale, and it had a great selection of frames, and then I walked around Anthropologie to daydream about the tablescapes I could make if only I had a limitless tablescapes budget, and then I started really missing my family and I thought about how lucky I am, and I came home and we did this little family hug thing where Junie open mouth kissed my cheek…

And all was OK.

I guess all of this to say, I’m focusing on the little things to navigate through the big things right now. And in doing so, time and time again, I’m seeing how everything…

is OK.

Nooks and crannies!

If redecorating an old telephone nook in your 1940s home doesn’t bring you joy, then I don’t have much else to say to you! Pictured above1, a postcard from my little sister, a journal from my bestie, ceramic bunnies from my mother in law, and an antique perfume bottle from a friend.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Good morning, happy Friday.

I’m writing to you while listening to the Atlantic crash upon a secluded beach in Puerto Rico. Jack’s swimming laps in the pool, Junie’s napping in the king bed.

We took a trip when my work is possibly at its busiest, when Jack’s work is nonstop. But we felt the creep strong — the, why are we doing this? What’s the point of working so hard? Do we even like each other anymore? — creep.

Yes, we do still like each other. And this trip has been a needed respite to slow down, phones down, read a book or two, ooh and ahh at our baby’s every move, put our nuclear family, well, back in the center.

So, a viernes reflection.

Slow mornings, ocean breezes, starry nights

One morning, while sipping espresso and milk, before the sun burned the haze away, I wrote:

Island hues
Skies blue
Rolling waves crash on shore
My baby plays
I lay
Grateful for what’s in store

It’s always by the sea when writing a poem captures me. I recall vividly sitting on a massive rock formation on the coast of Australia, overtaken by the power of the ocean, the sea roaring, and how small I felt, how deeply I desired to write a poem about my feeling.

I view poems as a puzzle, finding which words rhyme to make sense. They’re not always good (see above), but it’s that moment, how I felt, a slice of great movement within me, seized.

I finished reading The Wager while here. A nonfiction book about a shipwreck in the 1740s. What struck me most was how after starvation, murder, mutiny, storms in freezing temperatures, longing for loved ones, disease, death — after all of that — the men who survived did it again.

For the love of the sea.

What I listened to (last) week

Esther Perel: Cheating, Codependency, & Connection, Call Her Daddy

• “What matters most is not compatibility in communication styles, but accountability. … It’s the ability to take responsibilty without shame.”

• Anyone else just love Esther Perel AND Alex Cooper? Alex, a great interviewer, and Esther, queen, break down aspects of relationships in an approachable way. Thoroughly enjoyed this convo, and think it’s valuable for anyone — in a relationship or not.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Sorry I’m four days late to your inboxes!

I know my fans have been missing me and wondering where I am.

I solo-traveled with Joan to Denver last weekend. I brought my laptop thinking, Surely when she naps on the plane, I’ll write my Low Tide Notes. Silly me.

Instead, I sweated for the entirety of the 3.5 hour flight, kept her calm with United napkins, fed her two (2) bottles, changed her diaper in the plane bathroom — and left my Very Expensive Dagne Dover Air Mesh Changing Pad on the plane — and I even asked strangers to please grab my bag from the overhead, which is obviously hard for me to do because feminism, but then I thought, I made the decision to ask for help! It was my choice! I’m still pro women!

I’m still me!

I’m pretty sure I imprint on material objects…………

I was first introduced to the idea of “imprinting” when I read the Twilight novels in middle school. You know, when Jacob really wanted to imprint on Bella, but for some reason it just didn’t happen, and then Bella had a baby, and Jacob imprinted on the infant? Yeah, that’s how I feel about shoes!

In elementary school, my mom took my sisters and me to PayLess to pick out our school kicks, and I swear an angelic light glowed from a box that housed a pair of black sandals.

I have a vivid memory of laying on the living room rug, searching under the couch because I couldn’t find one of my sandals, and I remember reaching all around through crumbs and dustballs to finally put my hand on it, and when I did, I felt peace.

That strange and deep connection to material objects hasn’t faded with age. In fact, it may have grown into unhealthy obsessions…

So, here is a list of things that I have imprinted upon, in no particular order:

1. My new blue adidas tennies. Beyond the fit (perfect) and style (hip), the shade of blue is what caught my eye one random Saturday evening at Dick’s Sporting Goods. The color reminds me of laying on a grassy hill on a summer afternoon, staring up at the sky, the white adidas stripes the clouds. The color brings me so much joy it’s hard to explain. (Be on the lookout for my entire family copping my steeze. Looking at you mom and Aunt Beth and Kait and Abby. Never forget who was first!)

2. My six (6) denim jackets and shirts. Blame it on my parents for dressing us in denim since birth. Blame it on the ease of the Canadian tuxedo. Blame it on, when I first started dating Mike in 2016, I wore denim on denim, and he thought it was “cool.” Blame it on, when I first went out with my Chicago roomies in 2019, my friend’s beau at the time called my outfit “a bold move.” Blame it on I feel most myself in denim.

3. My beige floral embroidered bucket hat. Oh, it’s just a hat, you say. And to you, it is. But to me, I woke up one morning with a vision: I needed a beige floral embroidered bucket hat. So I walked into Madewell, and there one was! And more importantly, in a Small that fit my bean-sized head! I can’t make this stuff up! And now I am emotionally connected to… my hat.

***

Thanks for reading.

I’ll be back in three days to maybe write an ode to my gym. It’s undergoing some changes, and I have a feeling things will never be the same. Oh, the tears that place has seen me cry. The laughs and friendships, too. Ok, I’ll save that for Friday.

Au revoir!

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Happy Friday. Good day. Does one say Happy Good Friday?

Our daycare observes today as a holiday, so Junie has been home with me. We’ve read some books, sang some songs, gone to the doctor’s.

All is well. In fact, I’m not sure life gets better.

Our family motto: Who’s got it better than us? Nobody!

Easter Sunday. She Is Risen!

I have only fond memories of Easter growing up.

My grammy, mom, sisters and I would go to church in our Sunday best (I hated dresses as a little girl but I don’t remember hating them on Easter). Once home, we’d have our entire family over for brunch and an egg hunt on our 3-acre property.

Eggs. Everywhere.

There’d be butter on the table shaped like a lamb. My dad’s right hand man would drop off a banana creme pie. The Boys of the family would shoot hoops after we ate. Our family’s Easter Sundays were 90s-camcorder-movie perfect.

Jack, Junie and I will go to church on Sunday. We had been going to a nondenominational church for a couple months that we liked — kind people, good coffee, relaxed atmosphere. Then one unremarkable yet peaceful Sunday, the pastor decided to use the word “transgender” in his sermon. We never went back.

I’m working on an essay about my pull back to church. The rituals, the morals, the routine. Why I — and probably all of us — have a spiritual longing. (What is the meaning of life?) I’m also privy to the trend of going “analog,” and being forced to sit for an hour, distraction free, sounds like something we all need.

I finished Theo of Golden, a novel with themes of kindness, generosity, faith, and wisdom. I sat around a bonfire on Wednesday night and discussed it with my new found bookclub. To each of us, it felt like a book we needed to read in our world’s climate. It’s palate cleansing. Refreshing. You finish it and feel good, yet it made you feel throughout. And from a literary standpoint, it’s well written with intricate characters and a strong through-line. (I have two criticisms about the book, but I’ll spare you those details.)

Listen to the author on The Russell Moore Show.

Reading the book before the upcoming holiday was unintentional good timing. I won’t be with family this Sunday — being spread across Colorado, Connecticut and New Jersey still pings me whenever there’s something to celebrate.

But like Theo, I’ll be surrounded by friends who are like family.

And that sounds like a perfect Easter to me, too.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

This Friday’s Low Tide Notes was a No Tide Notes.

Five couples plus our babies planned a long weekend beach getaway, only to get attacked at midnight by the norovirus. It hit Jack and me first, then slowly took out each family.

For 48 hours of our two full-day vacation, I hugged the toilet.

I even brought my laptop to make sure my newsletter got out to the masses!

Alas, here it is, on a Sunday. We’ve made it the three hour drive home, unpacked our bags, started a load of laundry. Junie’s sucking on the nip while I suck down a Pedialyte.

And!! A special shoutout to my little sister who is ENGAGED! Bryce popped the Q while they were on the spring break in Florida. Welcome to the fam, brother! Couldn’t think of a better man for my sis.

I am so grateful for my broken hearts!!!!

I was flipping through Taylor Swift songs on my way to the gym one night this week to find one Junie might like. Some kind of bop to get her leg grooving or head shaking.

Nothing resonated.

Instead, I got real introspective.

“I Can Do It With A Broken Heart” came on, and naturally I went through all of my breakups with all of the boys I thought were The One.

I thought about how James would take me to Ruth’s Chris on random weekdays in high school. And how I curled up into a ball and bawled on the floor at my mom’s house when he broke up with me for like, the eighth time.

I thought about how my family really loved this guy Billie1 and how my dad stayed in touch with him and I’m pretty sure he invited my dad to his wedding. And how in college, Billie would criticize what I wore and wouldn’t let me have male friends.

I thought about how Dean would talk on the phone with me for hours and was surprised when I genuinely cared about how he spent his days. And how he never came up to visit me in grad school despite my numerous invites, and then randomly kissed me one afternoon when I was visiting Jack (oops), and then never talked to me again. I’d actually like some closure on this one…

Then I thought about how when Mike and I broke up, I got this advice from a gym-mate. She said, “In public, you hold yourself with poise. When you’re home, fill up that tub and drink a bottle of wine and cry your heart out. But in public, you hold your head high, shoulders back.”

Or, as T Swizzle put it:

Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die

Each breakup I learned a lesson that I carried with me into the next relationship, which ultimately brought me to my husband, and like, thank God, because we all know Jack is the best.

But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. (That’s my Ariana Grande thank u, next post.)

My point is that when I reflected on all my past “loves,” I could map out how I got better at dealing with the aftermath of each breakup. Heartache is a gruesome, cruel form of pain — you lose someone you love, but they’re still on this earth, just not with you. Once you learn to live with and get through it… unstoppable, baby.

Also my point is that Taylor Swift is a love-genius in terms of capturing this sentiment and writing a song about it. Took me a whole Substack post to get to the same point she did in 3 minutes 42 seconds.

They said, “Babe, you gotta fake it till you make it” and I did

Plus, part of the sick and twistedness of it all? If you poise the fck out it, they all come crawling back.

Except Dean… Anyone have tabs on Dean??

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Happy Spring! 🌷

I grew up on three acres. We had a long driveway with flowerbeds that lined its entirety. When I was a young girl, my dad put a tool belt each on me and my sisters, and filled the pockets with tulip bulbs.

We planted neat rows of four lining the entire way. I took the job very seriously, ensuring each bulb was placed right-side up.

Tulips are perennials. To this day, I look forward to my dad’s update each season when he spots the first sprout popping through the soil.

Spring, a sign of new life, new beginnings.

I got my haircut at 7 p.m. on a Wednesday

I’ve been thinking about time lately. (If anyone else is reading Theo of Golden, you’ll understand where I’m coming from.)

What do I want my life’s legacy to be? How do I want to influence people’s lives around me? How do I choose to spend my time?

Of course, my outlook now is through the lens of motherhood. How I teach Junie to approach others — with kindness and intention — cannot be taught unless she watches me do the same.

To achieve this, I have taken up three hacks:

1. Talk-to-texting (anyone else??). Sitting for minutes at a time to write out a response or thought or check-up literally isn’t possible if the message I want to send my daughter is presence. Also, you can whisper, and your phone will pick up what you’re saying?? I’m late to this party, but it’s genius.

2. Where I go, she goes. Where my gym ladies at?! Junie’s just one of the gals now. Working on her tummy time while I work on my bench press. Sucking on my boob while I eat wings at the bar. I figure, adapt early. I liked my life before baby, and I like my life with baby!

   

3. Getting my haircut at 7 p.m. Thanks, honey, for handling the bed time routine while I get my head shampooed. Maybe this isn’t a phenomenon to anyone, but a late night hair appointment let’s me get in my life.
   
   Also, I always ask for a not-chatty hairdresser so I can close my eyes and rest.
   
   Like I said, hacks!!

***

Until next week, when maybe I will flesh out the post I wanted to write this week, which was when Jack said he was smarter than me.

I know! What a dumb thing to say.

Au revior!

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

A good Friday morning to you, dear reader. (Bridgerton-ish, anyone?)

Junie has slept through the night almost this entire week. My milk production is running low and feels like it’s drying up, which I am kinda bummed about, kinda glad that I won’t have to pump 5 times during the work day.

She’s also playing hookie from daycare today. Don’t tell on her!!

I am amazed at the female body

I’ve said this to probably 18 people in the past week:

The female body is incredible.

I’ve always loved what I could do. I loved experimenting with foods and tracking metrics and adapting and adjusting what I consume to understand when and how I can feel my best, testing and tweaking what that meant for my output in the gym.

THEN 7 LAYERS OF MY BODY WERE SLICED OPEN ON THE OPERATING TABLE TO PULL OUT A 7-POUND HUMAN.

Everyone said, Oof, take it slow. Do not push it. Heal first, and don’t be upset when you won’t be back to where you were before.

What I never heard, even from moms before me, was that I will be back. And I will be back and better. Different? Sure. But they mean different physically, which I think is an extension of the societal pressures women have at all times, baby or not, on how their bodies look.

I don’t feel that different, though... Mentally? Sure. Physically? Well, I definitely need to do more core physical therapy. And stretch more. Probably pick up yoga again. And clean up my diet because somehow whenever there’s a bag of Milanos in the cupboard, they disappear within 24 hours and I’m pretty sure a robber sneaks in and takes them.

So to all the mamas out there who need to hear it: You’ll be back hunnie!!

My gal pal and I competed in Hyrox last weekend. Me, 6 months postpartum, she, 9 months. We were in a heat with a girl who wrote on her stomach “baby’s 1st hyrox.” Tia-Clair Toomey (for all you non-CrossFit fans, she’s the Fittest on Earth™️ 10 years in a row), competed at the same event, pregnant as heck. Another super fit woman was carrying around her 16-month old before her heat, and we shared some niceties about being moms before she literally lapped us at least twice(!!).

The hype of the competition has clearly carried over into my week. I feel PROUD of myself and my teammate. We put in the work. I ran and ran and ran and felt runner’s highs. I loved having something to train for again. A goal to set — and to achieve.

I keep comparing myself to Michael Phelps? He trained so long and so hard to win, and then he did, and then he was like, well, what’s next? I feel that accomplished. lmao.

Anywhosie. Onward and upward! Let us all carry this momentum into the weekend.

Before you part… American Girls by Harry <3

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

It’s Friday.

I keep thinking back to when I played lacrosse in college, and Jackie and I would yell GAME DAAAAY! to get hype before a game.

I’d sneak T into the locker room to double french braid my hair.

Traditions, rhythm, rituals.

Funny, thinking about small things that seemed inconsequential in the moment.

But that’s how I approach my life: traditions, rhythm, rituals.

Maybe too deep for a muggy Friday morning.

Let’s get on with it.

Everything is through the lens of motherhood and protection and safety and comfort and love

I’m writing this on Monday, and already it’s a heavy news week. The attacks throughout the Middle East. The strike on the Iranian girls’ elementary school. The mass shooting in Austin, Texas. The death of an 8-year-old boy from a beating.

We have good friends who live in Kuwait, who sent photos from their porch, explosions in the background.

What can I do? I texted, Thinking of you guys. She responded, The hardest part is keeping our toddler entertained because schools are closed.

Mothers, man.

The CrossFit Open started last Friday. 14# wall balls plus box jumps, 12 minutes, as many reps as possible.

The gym was packed, my mom/gym/TPA bestie friend and I couldn’t get in a heat until nearly 8 p.m. We decided to do it in the warm up area, just us.

Then her baby started fussing, and he would only calm down if attached to her.

So she strapped him on. And did the workout with a 25-pound baby weighted vest.

Mothers, man!

We had friends over last night. They have three kids, their youngest a few months older than Junie, their oldest nearly 6.

They’re a tablet-free household. I warned them our house isn’t kid-friendly yet.

No problem, they said.

The kids played with Joan. They ran around outside. When it was time for dinner, we sat around our dining room table, the oldest wanted me next to him. And after we ate, he fell asleep on my shoulder.

It was a peek into our future family. It was our theme song (below) unfolding before my eyes.

I love watching moms do hard things well. Calm. With — what looks like — ease.

I’ll see my mom this weekend.

She’s meeting us while Jack, our friends and I compete in a HYROX competition. (Let’s see what this 6-month postpartum body is capable of lol.)

I don’t know how else to say it except that I can’t wait to see her.

What would we do without mothers?

What I listened to this week

Hilary Duff: Life & Love After Lizzie, Call Her Daddy

• Honestly, not worth the listen. Hilary Duff didn’t have the most interesting answers, and it felt like Alex Cooper was repeating herself or summarizing what Hilary said. Overall, a boring conversation.
  
  I wouldn’t have added it here except for when Hilary talked about her experience as a mom, and the guilt she (and all moms!) puts on herself. And when she talked about, despite all. the. help. she has, she can’t do it all, for herself or for her family. Something always has to give. And how that’s impossible to describe to someone who hasn’t gone through it themselves.
  
  Life is a teeter-totter. Moms are amazing at making it look balanced.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

🌞 Grateful for another day.

I’ve gotten a slew of semi-bad health news from multiple loved ones — my best friend, my dad, and my husband.

It sounds like they’ll all be OK. No need to stir panic in anyone.

Why does it take time-stopping news to audit how you spend your days?

Anyway, this newsletter will be a short one.

I’ve never been busier. Here are little things that have brought me joy this week.

1. Listening to Bright Eyes on vinyl on an overcast day (as video’d above).

2. Feeding Junie apple sauce.

3. Fitting into all of my pre-pregnancy clothes.

4. Reacting negatively to “hot girl hiking” and being grateful my friend didn’t include my take in her very well thought out piece, even though I trust her to portray my sentiment well!

5. Completing a major task on my work plate that I was pushing and pushing off.

6. Having ownership in my work and being proud of the change my team and I are making. Boy oh boy, what a difference liking what you do for 8 hours a day makes!

7. Getting 7-9 solid hours of sleep the past few nights.

8. Sending my friend a thinking-of-you Sprouts goodie bag via DoorDash and there being random Mayo in the delivery (I hate mayo sm I could throw up).

9. Eating raw cookie dough.

10. Working out! How great it is to move the body!

I hope to write a more robust newsletter for you next week. Until then, I’m going to blast First Day of My Life and be emo and dance around my living room with my sweet baby J.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

🌞 Happy Friday.

The sun is shining. My baby slept til 6:30 a.m. And I’m listening to the birds chirp while I pump fresh milk and watch the rainbows on my wall cast from the prism in my window.

Who’s got it better than us?!

I’m in a mode of ~upgrade~

I’ve been putting it off for a while.

It’s fine, I’d tell myself.

But the battery didn’t hold as long anymore.

And despite it being a “washable filter,” it never seemed to get clean.

Jack bought it for me in 2020, and he’d joke about how he buys baby name brand.

I’m cripplingly sentimental about the most mundane things, but I finally pulled the trigger.

Mama got herself a new Black+Decker Handheld Vacuum.

You should see how dust-free my home’s corners are! And how relaxed I am knowing that Junie can breathe easy! I’m such a good mom! Thanks, Walmart delivery!

On a real note, I’ve done this for a couple things now. I love the idea of upgrading what I have because it’s easier to part with something knowing that its replacement will elevate my life.

Like the new work bag I’ve been eyeing for legit over a year, ever since my old bag’s straps started to faux-leather flake (gag) and my bestie told me about this CEO she was profiling (cool). It’s made of vegan leather, has inner pockets galore, and is the ultimate ~quiet luxury~ accessory (am I allowed to acknowledge that out loud??).

Or the upgrade to the hamper in Jack’s room that, when paired with a new shoe rack, transformed his office into a place of rest instead of displacement.

Or his car!! It’s a world of a difference to be proud of your rims!!

I follow this philosophy when it comes to designing our home and when making bigger purchases: Make it intentional.

Like our new bookshelf, which hits both aforementioned categories.

It allowed me to get stacks of books off our bedroom floor.

It forced me to clean out about 70 titles.

And it gave me the space to convey a pointed message:

The top shelf holds books from my favorite female authors because I want my daughter to grow up knowing she can be at the top.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

🌞 A happy Friday to you.

Can you believe we’re halfway through February? The month has gone by fast. The news cycle, fast. The roar of the highway, fast. Junie turning 5 months old, fast.

In an effort to slow down, I bought a wind chime, and I hung it up outside my office window. Unbeknownst to me, in doing so, I’ve also been welcomed into a community aiming to “spread harmony worldwide.”

Take a listen; this is me spreading some harmony with you.

My 1st year wedding anniversary is Sunday — and holy shi*

When people say marriage tests you and your spouse, they say that assuming you won’t throw a baby into the mix during the first year.

They say that thinking you might fight on a first class flight from Mallorca and you have to navigate not breaking up, or if one of you wasn’t quite honest about the number of student loans you have before you said your vows and you have to get real about money.

But a baby?

Woof. Let me tell you. A baby has to be the truest test of them all.

Jack and I hit our roughest patch when Joan’s four month regression was at its peak. Just off a week of hosting family for the holidays, just when Junie — and I — got RSV, just when my new boss started and my workload quadrupled.

We always almost bragged about our communication. We were the couple that conquered long distance and the pandemic all within a few months, the couple that combined our incomes before we were engaged.

But a baby?

It felt for a while that we lost touch as best friends. Life felt heavier to me, and I wasn’t sure how to get the lightness back.

We’ve thankfully gotten out of the regression, which means we’ve gotten more sleep, the miracle drug for feeling better mentally, physically and emotionally.

It’s a day at a time thing. And I’m grateful for our foundation; I don’t know where we’d be without it.

A year of major highs and some dark lows, we’re starting to feel us again.

Let me throw it back rq…

I never thought I’d be that girl that refers to her wedding as the best day of her life, but my wedding was fckn fun. The catamaran day in the middle of the Caribbean chucking beers into the water, dancing (more like jumping) for hours with my best friends and family all with the backdrop of a breathtaking view, the best man and women speeches that took down the house, looking across the bar to see my husband taking yet another shot while I was 100% sober because, oops, I was three months preg.

And because we hadn’t told anyone yet about our baby, we had a lot of “future family” talk in our vows. How we can’t wait to raise children together, watch each other become Mom and Dad.

I ended my snot- and tear-filled vows with the line, “I’m literally obsessed with you.”

Thank the Lord that I still am.

And please, another moment for the dress!!! 👏👏👏

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Another beautiful, Friday morning. Sunny, a high of 60.

Jack is away on Business today. It’s always odd waking up to an empty bed, so to fix that, I brought in my little angel to snuggle with me.

When we got up, I made a coffee and watched her roll over twice (!!). Nothing is better than the surprise look on her face when she can’t quite figure out how she got from her tummy to her back without my help.

We have a tradition on Fridays, too, just me and Junie. I pick her up early from daycare, we get myself a coffee and take a lap around the consignment furniture store.

It doesn’t matter what’s going on at that time. All that matters is me and her.

How can I stop time???

Don’t email your boss at 3 a.m. in an emotional frenzy

I’ve been thinking about my career A LOT lately. Honestly, I’m always thinking about it: Is this what I want to do forever? Am I the leader I want to be? How can I make more money? If I don’t make more money, am I at least fulfilled? Does Joan care that she’s in daycare and I’m not home with her?

But I won’t get into those existential rabbit holes.

Instead, I’d like to write about two hard lessons learned from my early career. As the headline alludes to…

Lesson No. 1: Check your emotions before you email your boss

It was my first job out of college. This advertising agency branded itself as lowkey and creative, when in actuality it was pretentious and toxic.

And I was in a relationship with someone I thought then I’d marry, so I was disheveled when I came back from work one day to find a letter on the table and his stuff cleared out of our tiny home. (Yes, we lived together in a 300-square-foot tiny home. Intimate!)

Long story short, I emailed my boss that evening and said I wouldn’t make it into work the next day. I like to think I didn’t mention the breakup, but maybe I did.

Then my ex-boyfriend and I talked into the wee hours of the night and got back together. So I replied to the email chain… at 3 a.m… saying just kidding, I’ll be there, plus way too much detail and explanation of my situation.

I wish I could shake my young self!! No!! Wrong!!

Nothing good came out of my time at that company except for the lesson my boss taught me: She said I can never do that to any boss or any company, ever again in my life. I need to show poise, a level head in the work place.

The embarrassment was enough to know that. But her calling me out stuck the landing.

I’m now very good at what I tell who and when — and how.

Lesson No. 2: How you do the small things is how you’ll do the big things

My first job out of grad school was at POLITICO. I was on the production desk, which meant the hundreds of pieces of content that went up on politico.com or pro.politico.com every day went through our team of 20; we added art, fact-checked, AP style-checked, scheduled or posted. It was intense and magical.

I grabbed an agriculture article with an embargo note ROOSTER 5AM, meaning, schedule this story for a 5 a.m. send.

I read it, edited it, art-ed it, and sent it. Right away.

Immediately an email from the editor came to my inbox: WHY DID YOU SEND THIS? Can you not read?????? If you don’t find a piece interesting, don’t grab my articles.

I cried. I felt like I failed. I also wanted to write for the ag editor, and I found myself on her shit list. It was totally deflating — but she was right.

Idk.

Sometimes I think what’s the point in trying so hard to climb the ladder? Do I really want to work “to set the example for my kid”? I’m sitting on my porch in the sun writing this, a beautiful breeze blowing, a butterfly on my flowers. If only I could make money by daydreaming…

Queue: Sick of Dreaming. lol.

Anywhosie, I have a better relationship with my body since having a baby 🤷‍♀️

I recently fit into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans, and then an even smaller pair of pre-preg jeans, and both were hella exciting moments for me.

But the excitement was less about my weight and more about the fact that I don’t need to buy an entire new wardrobe, despite how tempting that is.

I used to care soooo much about how my body looks. Very Concerned about my abs and my arms. I recently scrolled back through my photos and found pics from days when I felt semi-self conscious, and let me tell you, mama was finnnne!

After having a baby, though, something major shifted. I still care, of course, how I look. I think how you put yourself together, and how you keep yourself, says more about you than almost anything else.

But it’s like some chains have been lifted. I can’t believe my belly grew a baby. I can’t believe I can still run and jump rope and push press. I love that when I look in the mirror at my stomach, I’m looking at my c-section scar, the place my little girl came out of me, healthy.

I think I worded what I’m trying to say better to my friend last night (hi, Megan!). Basically, everything regarding my body pales in comparison to its greatest feat: growing and birthing a baby.

And that is hella freeing.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Hey, happy Friday morning.

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and my rose bushes have bloomed, which makes me a bit nervous because they’re calling for a 20% chance of snow (!!) in Tampa Bay tomorrow.

I’ll enjoy the flowers while they’re here.

It’s been a week… 😅

Oh my what a news cycle. Our interim managing editor reminded the newsroom to take a beat when we need it — and to remember we’re journalists, ie, meant to be unbiased and watch what we give our opinions about, even as far as what we “like” on social media.

I remember in undergrad, maybe my Intro to Journalism course, when my professor explained to us what it meant for a journalist to be “unbiased.”

He gave the examples of having no bumper stickers on your car, watching what you write on Twitter, and he told the story of how some old-school journalists used to not even vote! because of their commitment to not taking a side. (Yes, of course these were men who had the privilege of making that decision.)

Then the conversation around bias flipped in grad school, when we talked about how it’s impossible to be unbiased. We only know the world through our own eyes; that’s not something you can take away, nor should it be. So the goal is not non-bias, but telling the complete picture, and checking yourself to make sure you’ve done that. What voices did you use? What do the people look like? What language do they speak?

To be honest, I don’t fully know where I stand on bias. Part of me likes that I can avoid the pressures of taking a stance and can blame it on The Press. The other part of me can totally see myself getting lost in protests. Like, I would organize the shi* out of rallies. I don’t like to half-ass things. And I like to feel a part of something bigger.

I think we all do.

Side note: On this morning’s Pivot, Scott Galloway talked about his cyberprotest to Resist & Unsubscribe.

Just when I was debating getting the iPhone 17 Pro.

Ending on a positive note…

Because light and darkness exist at the same time.

Some wins this week:

1. My pelvic floor therapist just opened her own practice, and when we saw each other after 5 months of not seeing each other, it was like seeing a long lost friend. I may be completely one-sided in this relationship, and idc lol.

2. Jack and I are in a fun-loving goofy place that we haven’t been in for… a while. It’s amazing what a couple date nights can do to reignite that spark and remind each other that we’re best friends!! With each other til the end!!

3. I’m seeing Kings of Leon tomorrow, and I literally love them, and let’s all raise a glass and cross our fingers for our first real babysitter coming to the house.

4. I paid off a huge chunk of my student loans. One step closer to being debt-free. 💖 💖 💖 Thanks, JPMorgan 💖 💖 💖

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Good Friday morning! 🌞

My mom’s in town. I’m eating rice out of a bowl three times the size of my head. And I’m finally getting that hot date with my hubby tonight… and another date night on Saturday… with potential to sleep in on Sunday.

Things are looking up!

Thanks mom!

I’m into this whole 10-year look-back trend*

*I know I’m now days behind the virality. Indulge me anyway!

2016 was a formative year for me.

It’s when hopped on a plane from Philly to Australia without knowing a soul. It’s when I let go of warped ideas of happiness (and became less angsty!!). It’s when I learned that 21-year-old Hannah is really freakin’ cool and that she doesn’t need anyone else’s validation.

I don’t care how cliché it sounds, those six months away shaped the person I am today.

So let me reflect on some lessons learned. This will read like a mushy ode to Oz mixed with unaddressed teenage trauma.

1. Lesson 1: Friendships should build you up, not tear you down. I spent a lot of time in high school feeling anxious trying to figure out why my friends didn’t seem to like me. For example: During my freshman year in college, I got my one nipple pierced — something I thought was cool! and fun! and kind of funny! I came home for winter break and showed my high school friends, who said to me, Why would you only get one? That’s weird. I felt so bad about it that I took it out the next day, only to learn years later, they did the same thing. (This warrants a longer post exploring my confusion in myself then [isn’t that was high school is, tho?]. Poor teenage Hannah and those around her.) I was still trying to make those friendships work when I studied abroad. Being in Australia was the first time I thought about letting go of the relationships that made me feel bad.
   
   Because in Australia, nothing was off limits with my new cohort of gals, and everything was greeted with acceptance and curiosity. I read passages from my Very Personal journal out loud while drinking wine on city steps. I shared poems that I never thought would see the light of day. I talked about my insecurities. I felt, for the first time, the significance of female friendship without judgement. It was so freeing! And it solidified the type of friend I want to be, and the type of friends I want surrounding me. I am so, so, so, so grateful for that time and those girls.

   

2. Lesson 2: Relationships don’t need to have so much pressure on them. Through my own doing in middle and high school, I got so involved in church and church camp, that I bought into the notion that God will present to me a husband, and we will get married, because God provides, so everyone I dated, I thought it divine intervention.

   
   Oof! Girl. (I’ve written about this before.)

   
   Australia was the first time I had a purely physical relationship, with my CrossFit coach. My lawd we could not connect on any other level. He didn’t get my humor. He didn’t ask me questions. He was soooo into himself that he printed out pictures of himself working out and hung them above his couch (legit cannot make this up). Yes, this is the guy who had a live-in ex-girlfriend who woke me up one morning threatening to stab me with a knife. But let me tell you, abs for dayssssssss, mami.

   
   On a serious note though, that relationship, if you can call it that, freed me in a multidimensional way. It marked the beginning of my questioning the church and the brainwashed cycle I was in regarding my sexuality and what it means to be human. It added to my “thank u, next” list of men (read: boys) that led me to my now husband. It was a fun, albeit sometimes stressful, endeavor where I questioned what I really wanted for myself.
   
   Freedom! The answer was freedom, to not have everything feel so heavy all the time. I found it then and I still feel it now. Life is beautiful! Each day a gift! Better freakin’ enjoy it.

   

3. Lesson 3: Art can be taken seriously. I grew up loving to read and write, taking artsy photos and browsing tumblr, without really knowing art could be a serious endeavor. Both of my parents are creative, but it felt like sports in our household got rewarded, so I focused my attention there.
   
   Then I met Madi on our layover in LA before we flew to Melbourne. I found her energy captivating, and so did the rest of Australia. She had a film camera. She didn’t shave her armpits. She was unapologetically herself, and that intimidated me — and I wanted it for myself.
   
   I also met Brenna, who’s now an executive at Amazon Prime studios. Brenna told me my writing is beautiful. She introduced me to frothy ocean marble, you know, that color at the top of a wave just before it breaks? She was so articulate yet so light. Brenna taught me a lot about confidence in my art. She also had a film camera.
   
   Sarah played the trumpet? And busked on the streets of Melbourne? And is now a brain surgeon? Amy also went to Brown like Sarah and was so smart and well read, and I came home very early one morning to find her sleeping on a bench outside our house because she wanted to watch the stars. Sabra was my CrossFit buddy and felt so free. Elana, a playwright, and I got to know each other on our spring break trip up to Cairns. Everyone had a creative outlet that they took as seriously as their career pursuits, or as their career pursuits themselves.
   
   A switch flicked then, and I started to focus on my writing. Study abroad made me put more effort into my collegiate output. I figured, let me give this writing thing a real shot.
   
   Now here I am, writing a Substack to you. Did it work??

Study abroad is also when I started analyzing what I consume. Brenpal made us watch this music video, and highlighted it was shot in one take, something I wouldn’t have ever noticed or cared about had it not been for her passion for film.

Things I liked listening to this week

• An I.V.F. Mix-Up and an Impossible Choice, The Daily. I literally don’t know what I would do in this situation and I am gut wrenched at even thinking about it.

• La Colombe Coffee Roasters (2020), How I Built This. I spent a lot of time writing in the La Colombe in Wicker Park in Chicago; I’m brand loyal! Also, love the Philly roots.

• Jennette McCurdy: Half His Age, Call Her Daddy. “I’m Glad My Mom Died” was a memorable memoir, and I enjoyed this conversation with Alex Cooper, who I think is one of the best interviewers of our time.

• Michelle Obama: We Still Go High, Call Her Daddy. I loveeee Michelle’s perspective on motherhood, starting at minute 56. Being a working mom, we can’t do it all, and that’s OK. Something I need to remind myself almost every minute of every day since Joan was born.

  • (Also, how did Alex Cooper not win the Golden Globe for best podcast?? Amy Poehler did?? I have a huge distaste for celebrity podcasts. Sure, they can get good guests on, but it usually stops there. Interviewing is an art. Alex Cooper 4vr!!)

Until next time

When maybe I’ll write about Mad Men for real. Although I’ll leave you with this clip that pretty much sums up my feelings about the show’s commentary on women’s roles then and now. Don’t mind the subtitles.

(If you watch the show and then listen to the Michelle Obama pod above, you’ll question, what’s changed?!)

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays:

Happy Friday.

You’re reading the first Low Tide Notes, a weekly newsletter I’ve had simmering in my mind for a while. I plan to send it out every Friday some point during the morning.

Low Tide Notes stems from a convoluted place: I’m amazed at how fast time flies and want to document my days. I have a weird relationship with social media (don’t we all) and feel weird about posting all the time. I am way better at writing than I have ever been at talking. I am going through a strange and wonderful period of life that I think a lot of others are going through, too, and I want to share and relate in it.

I also have a goal to write more. My latest post received positive feedback from friends and strangers alike, and I want to keep that ball rolling. I got into journalism to share others’ vulnerable tales. Now, I’m sharing mine.

What you can expect, noting that literally nothing listed below is guaranteed:

• Things I read or listened to and found interesting

• Passages from the book I’m reading and why I relate to it

• Anecdotes about motherhood and life

• Raw, honest takes on what I’m experiencing

• Wins and fails of the week? Cool photos? Domestics with my spouse?

Basically, this newsletter is written by me, for me. If you happen to read and enjoy, even better. I’d love to have you along for the ride.

Why “Low Tide Notes”?

I like the idea of exploring things that surface when the water pulls back. Like finding sand dollars along the shoreline that remind me of my Nana. Or like taking time to write a postcard to a childhood friend. Or like when Junie goes down for a nap and I look for the first time in the mirror at my calf socks and my discolored booty shorts and my snot-filled sweatshirt and think, how tf did I get here?

Plus, I named my Substack Unmoored four years ago (to explore my wavering thoughts 🙄), so I’m sticking with the water theme.

What will really help me…

… is if you share something you liked with someone you know, and ask them to sign up via email to read future editions. As much as this is for me, I want to experience it with you.

I’ll leave you with this.

Joan wouldn’t stop fussing as I was getting her ready for school this morning. Didn’t want the nip. Didn’t want tummy time. Didn’t want to be held. She finally took to her bouncer and locked eyes with me, a concentrated look on her face.

Blow out, everywhere.

She then turned into the angel baby I always brag about her being, giggling on the changing table, minding her business on her play mat, smiling at the “we’re going to school” song I made up and sing every weekday morning.

There’s a metaphor in here somewhere…

Maybe it’s that life shouldn’t be taken too seriously, something I never used to have to remind myself of. I realized I’ve been grinding my teeth at night. And at work, my shoulders are tense. We still haven’t found a babysitter, and I reallllllly want that date night with my husband in a dimly lit restaurant, four cosmos deep, where we make out in the corner booth and act like the scandalous couple we used to be.

These aren’t complaints. I don’t mind the 2:30 a.m. wake ups because I get to snuggle my little beast back to sleep. I have a new boss at work whose influence on the newsroom is magnetic, plus he treats me to lunch every Thursday. And I did get my four cosmos in during MNO where I also got to rock my fluffy jacket, big hoops and cheetah purse (what? me? New year!).

I literally love life. And I like writing about it to remind myself of that.

So until next time, when I plan to write about how two of my closest friends are also watching Mad Men without us discussing it — and about the blatant and intentional gender divisions, plus Jon Hamm *hearts* — I’ll listen to the washer running with Joan’s tiny baby clothes. I’ll send out some newsletters at my job. And I’ll stop taking life so damn seriously.

If you haven’t yet, check out some of my past essays: