I Share DNA With These Folks | Heir to Blair

Breathing again.

25 Jul posted by heirtoblair

The week before last was a whirlwind of long work hours, packing lists, & exhaustion.

oh, & wine. LOTS OF WINE. I needed vacation in the worst way possible & while it crossed my mind to set up guest posts or write ahead, I was more focused on making sure that I packed beach towels & Harrison’s stuffed monkey. We pulled over the sound bridge on Saturday afternoon & I felt myself exhale as I tucked my phone into my pocket & pointed out the ocean to the boy in the backseat. We quickly threw on our suits & headed to the sand while waiting for the rest of my family to arrive.

The toddler woke with the sun every morning & we quietly snuck out for a walk to search for shells & quiet moments with our family of three. He giggled as Nate hoisted him over broad shoulders & I gave way to a game of chase. I took in a deep breath, commenting that on a normal day, we’d be facing the rat race. This slower pace of life was welcomed.

On the tiny island of North Carolina, we put down planners & live without watches. I prefer to spend every afternoon with a book under the canopy or diving through waves. I intended to write during naps, but found myself curled up with an iced coffee & a blanket rather than a laptop.

Harrison, of course, tackled the beach with his typical fearless smile. He begged to be taken into the water & when his daddy & uncle swam too far, he stood at the edge of the water & cried. My boy is ready to be a teenager already.

& since I’ve stopped sobbing over my lack of Britney Spears abs or trying to develop melanoma, my beach vacation has become exponentially more relaxing. I slather 30+ SPF all over, slip into a one-piece, & settle into a chair with a book. My goal is not to brown – my goal is to slip away from the every day & allow myself to really breathe.

(I never really breathe when I’m away from the ocean. Do you have a place that helps you breathe?)

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Filed Under: All about BA, Finding Balance, Harry in General, I share DNA with these folks, Life in General, Perfection, Toddlers eat your brains

A letter to my father.

19 Jun posted by heirtoblair

Dear Daddy,

It’s true that I don’t give you enough credit or recognition. It’s not because I do not want to shout from the rooftops about how awesome you are, but more that you & I have just always had this “thing” where we understood each other.

We have that same thing where we want to be quiet & brood when we’re upset. We have that same sharp wit that gets us in trouble, but thankfully we also share a wide smile & (hopefully) good heart deep down. You told me it was okay when I dropped programming in college & I told you it was okay when you had to work late. When I chose my husband & others whispered skeptically, you understood what it was like to marry “different.” We get that same weird fire in our eyes when we talk about business & economics & I am so thankful to have a kindred spirit – would anyone else understand the ironic humor of fake grenades on our desks? I think not.

I’ve never told you this, but on days where I think I cannot handle a career, parenting, marriage & a home one more moment, I think about you. I think about all the days you spent twelve hours behind a desk, only to come home & sit around a fake campfire wearing fake Indian feathers on your head. On Saturday’s when I know you just wanted to rest, you took us out for bike rides on the Greenway, mowed the lawn, painted my room blaring purple. You did beautifully as a working parent & I hope that one day, Harrison will be able to say that I always put him first just like you always made me a top priority.

Today, I thank you for always being my biggest fan. For that time you sat down at the kitchen table with me & told me to never, ever do math with a pen & that it was okay to take an entire page for an algebra equation – be damned what the teacher says. For the time you sat in the ER with me on a Saturday when a back-handspring broke my ring finger. Thank you for all the years you sat on cold bleachers, more proud of your cheerleader daughter than any football dad. Thank you for telling me that I would be okay, even at my darkest. Thanks for the texts that say, “I loved today’s post!” or “You sound like a sailor” because I know you’re my best blog reader.

p.s.? thanks for never commenting.

I’m proud to be your girl.

I love you always.

Filed Under: holidays, I share DNA with these folks, Things I didn't understand until I birthed a child

Happy Mother’s Day.

8 May posted by heirtoblair

My momma. THE Momma.

She raised three children she birthed. & then she adopted my two cousins. Because it’s what Jesus would do.
Did I mention she birthed two of those kids sans epidural at over 10 lbs apiece?
Because she is a cancer survivor. Because they gave her less than a 20% chance of survival & with three young children at home, she gave them the middle finger & became a member of the research that now saves lives at Duke.
Also, she was a part of the drug test group as an alternative to medicinal marijuana. I always thought that was cool.
Because she taught me to always use cloth tablecloths & napkins.
All the nights when I was in middle school & she held me while I cried, reminding me that I was beautiful & that the ugly duckling turned into a swan.
She can hand out one hell of a butt-swat when you’re askin’ for it.
Because sometimes, she forgets the bread in the oven. & those sweet imperfections make her more perfect.
She bleeds Carolina blue & still screams “GO BABY, GO!!!” over the din of UNC football crowds.
Because I know the jingle of her keys over any other sound, even if we’re in Target. She jingles her keys & I come running.
She always smells of make-up, Elizbeth Taylor’s “Passion,” & soap.
She’s a nurse. On hands & knees daily, serving other people in their sickness. She is their angel.
Last year, she was my angel. Holding me when I felt I could not stand the pain of PPD, crying with me & telling me we would survive this.
Because she does not know the meaning of “selfish.”
She refuses to give into grey & stays a blonde with a snazzy haircut at 62.
Because she washed dirty football gear for over 10 years without complaint.
She tells me that I remind her of her mother. & it warms her heart.
In this recession, she still holds 10+ hour workdays because it is what her family needs.
She’s my shopping buddy. My coffee buddy. & the first person I call at the end of a great day (shh, don’t tell my husband).
Because there is always a bed made at her house with fresh sheets, should we need a place.
Because to this day, I still call her “Momma.”