miss marlie has been in trouble all day. oh how i wish my stubborn 'tude wasn't a such dominant hereditary trait. but, at least the poor thing inherited great curls!


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anything you can do, i can do better.

i might have a seriously major problem.  comparing myself to others has been a lifelong infection of mine.  i intentionally choose the word infection because that is what it is.  infection is defined as being tainted or contaminated with something that affects quality, character, or condition unfavorably. 


comparing myself to others is something that affects life's quality, my personal character and the condition of my heart unfavorably.  i am a sick, sick woman.

i think that this infection (for me) started at childbirth.  i was born 18 short months after my organized and athletically gifted sister, who could do almost anything better than me.  she was a more disciplined student, a much better athlete, and she always had her uniforms washed by game day.  comparatively, i was a bright, but distracted student who rarely "applied herself."  i was mediocre at sports, and had to sneak out of school during my lunch hour to go home and wash my uniform on game day.  and i usually washed the home jersey for away games, and vice versa.  my antics irritated my sister, and almost anyone in a position of authority.

don't get me wrong, i wasn't a complete idiot.  i'm just a little more free-spirited than your average apply-oneself-er.  it's not that i got bad grades, they just didn't reflect my potential.  one semester in college, i decided that i would actually try to get a 4.0.  i had 18 credit hours that semester, so it was the perfect time to see if i really had what it takes to ace a challenging course load.  i got a 4.0.  i didn't tell anyone at the time, and i never tried to apply myself so thoroughly ever again.

while i may not have told anyone, i kept track of that achievement in my mind.  if someone out-performed me in school... i could always say "well, if i had applied myself, i would have done just as well."  (comparison: victory for me.)  it is really out of self-preservation that i needed a secret comparison victory like this, because i spent the other 99% of my life feeling bad about the losses in most comparisons:  "wow, that girls has incredibly thick hair, but not frizzy-thick, her hair is smooth, shiny, pantene-commerical-thick. my hair isn't so much thick, as it is big.  not pantene-big, but 80's-big."  (comparison: loss for me.)  "her kids know all their state capitols??  and they recite the old testament in its entirety out loud before dinner?  and they eat the egg whites?  unsalted!?  she is super mom.  i'm the worst."  (comparison: loss for me.)  "but, her kids don't understand dry humor."  (comparison: victory.)

do you see what i mean?  i'm totally sick and infected.  it's like the circular argument i am constantly having in my head:  i am the worst-----> at least i'm not as bad as that guy-------> i am a total fool-------> she acted dumber than i did--------> i wish i could be her-----------> i could probably beat her up in a survival situation-----------> i would never act like that!----------> i can't believe i acted like that----------> i'm the worst----------> i can't believe that i am seriously the best.

sick. twisted. infected.

i hate comparing myself to others.  i usually lose out to some busty broad who fills out her dress like a proper adult... and to make myself feel better, i try to find a comparison victory to make myself feel better.  so, i search and i come up with something like, at least i know not to wear the sock/sandal combination that lady is rockin'.  it's horrible, and it doesn't make me feel better.  it makes me feel like a huge jerk.  which leads to "well, at least i'm not as big of a jerk as...."

if all of you egg my house tonight, i will understand why.  i just egged it for saying this stuff out loud.

so, i have been contemplating the comparison trap.  i have realized that it leads (in my mind) to some perceived loss or victory.  the losses, obviously, make me feel horrible.  and the victories make me feel a little better for a hot second, but ultimately make me feel horrible.  the trap is this: "victories" lead to pride (sickening), or "losses" lead to self-loathing (sickening.)  either way, comparing myself to others makes me more and more self-focused and sickening by the second.  so, i quit.

i am giving up comparisons.  i am choosing to believe that i am fearfully and wonderfully made, and so is everyone else.  no better, no worse.  we are all made in the image of a good and perfect God who is neither impressed by my "victories", nor disgusted at my "losses."  so, i am choosing to agree with God on who i am, and who others are.  i am going to stop measuring myself against other women, and start measuring myself against who i know God created me to be.

this is going to be really hard because it all happens in my head where there is zero accountability.  so, if you see me deep in thought, just slap me right across the face as hard as you can because i am, undoubtedly, comparing myself to someone else.  i will gladly do the same for all my sisters out there who are stuck in this same sick trap of comparing ourselves, and our families, and our gifts, and our faults, and so on...

i'll even bet i can slap harder than you can slap.


life done well.

as i have said, i am working on being fabulous.  more specifically, i am working on living a fabulous life.  and even more specifically than that, i am working on realizing that the life i live is already fabulous, so i am noticing, naming and thanking god for each gift in each moment of my life.

this journey has been a mind-consuming thing.  to stop, and notice.  first of all, the moments in my house that are quiet, totally focused and still?  there have been about four of those moments in the last 7 1/2 years.  my life has felt like a whirlwind, especially the motherhood part of my life.  it all started with a scandalous break-up, where i called off an engagement to an impressive guy that most women wouldn't dream of walking away from.  but, i did and i know it was the best thing for both of us.  then in an even more scandalous rebound move, i met my beloved husband, the kind of guy, that NO woman would dream of walking walk away from.  so, i didn't walk away (for once in my life) and in one last move of scandal we ended up pregnant before we were married.   this is how motherhood began for me.  with a lot of unresolved emotional baggage.  even during those seemingly "quiet" months of pregnancy, where i didn't have any other children to run around and look after... there was a lot of noise.  there was so much noise in my mind.  just noise.  i started the painstaking process of sifting through my baggage.

i sifted.  for years i have sifted the noise of my upbringing; a divorce, a brother's life violently taken, a search for happiness in all the wrong places (and in all the wrong people.)  i sifted through the noise of my young adulthood; the regrettable choices, shame, mistakes.  i have sifted through beliefs taught to me, beliefs introduced to me by books, professors, the world, oprah and friends.  i have sifted through instincts, fears, ideals, and ideologies.  i've forgiven some unforgivable things done to me, things i took years to say out loud.  and i've sifted all the secrets i've been asked to keep, and those i kept on my own.

even before the actual, physical noise of motherhood, there was this inaudible noise of my mind.  it has been such a long, loud life.  attempting to be fabulous in my thirties is, for me, much more than looking great and loving life.  living a life of gratitude can only happen if i have sifted through enough past garbage to have a moment quiet enough to see what's actually happening right here and now.

so, my silly resolution of fabulousness is actually a deeply spiritual exercise in faith, healing, forgiveness and renewal.  i have resolved that as God makes me new each day, that at some point in my thirties He will graciously reveal a creation made new, and so stinkin' fabulous that i will undoubtedly have to write a book.

so, here is a moment of my life.  and in it, a thousand gifts, waiting to be noticed and named and appreciated.  i see the sunlight dancing on the blonde curls of, marlie, my second born daughter, as she pours herself a goblet of muddy-water tea.  she perpetually has one bun-cheek hanging out of her bathing suit.  london walks around.  she is bow-legged, and she's a little pushy.  in her veins, her blood is being pumped at a normal rate and her blood is all her own.  the bags of adult blood that were transfused through her body are gone, and what is left is her own healthy blood.  her bone marrow is doing it's job.  annalee, the eldest and "most likely to be class treasurer," fixes the strap on london's bathing suit, all on her own.  harper, my only son and the one who makes my heart simultaneously ache and leap with joy, dumps a pitcher of water on his own head... and then seems startled by the event.

these are all gifts.  i name these, and i write them down, and i thank God - out loud - for each of them.  i am naming the specifics.  i am thankful for the kids, in general, but something is lost in general gratitude.  i am specifically thankful.  in this moment, though, i am mostly thankful that in my mind, i have sifted out enough clutter to make room for the awareness of 1,000 gifts.

update on London's health

Yesterday, London had her 18 month check-up and we wanted to share how it went with all who have been praying for her.  In the last 2 months, London has gained almost 2 pounds, grown 2 inches, and moved up 2 shoe sizes.  This is the first growth in the past 9 months.  Since her 12 month check-up she has moved from the 5th to the 24th percentile in weight.  Also, she has moved from the 8th to the 33rd percentile in height.  We received back all of the results of her genetic testing and all of the results came back negative. Additionally, her most recent blood test results suggest that she is still happily making her own red blood cells.  We have one more blood test in a few weeks just to be sure, but if those are as good as we expect them to be... we will be done with all medical testing for London.  As you can imagine, this is a huge relief and amazing testimony to God's healing.  The only unresolved issue that remains is her diarrhea, which has been ongoing for nearly 4 months.  Please continue prayer for this specifically.  Thank you all for your prayers and concern, and encouragement!

End of Chapter Two

Since my last update, we got set up at Devil's Hopyard, which was a large State Park that our GPS refused to acknowledge. Madge (which is what we named the lady voice of our Magellan GPS), hates New England. If pushed, Madge will send you down dark, muddy, and (arguably) haunted streets in the middle of the night. More on that shortly, but next, we have a feature story from ATATT.

Those of you who personally know the star of All Tom, All the Time, understand that Tom is not really a guy who risks it all, throws caution to the wind, or goes where the wind takes him. Tom could also be the star of another feature like, All Cautious, All the Time, or All Planned Out, All the Time, or even All Low-Risk, All the Time. This is not to say he isn't brave, or fun, or adventurous... As his fan base, though, that much is obvious. The point is that when Tom leaves the rain fly off, it's because the forecast says that there is a 0% change of rain, clear skies all but guaranteed.

That was the forecast on our first night at Devil's Hopyard, and given such statistical support, Tom decided against the fly. When it started thunder storming (literally leaving an actual puddle on Tom's sleeping bag - everything else in the tent was bone dry) he was understandably surprised and just a tad agitated. We scrambled, once again, like crazy first-time campers and got the fly on.

That was about the same time that I had to leave to go get my dad at the airport. He was flying in to Hartford, CT just after midnight on his birthday. I asked Madge if she could handle getting me to Hartford's airport and back to the campsite... She reluctantly agreed. Just to build her confidence, I stored the exact GPS longitude and latitude coordinates of our actual camp site. No reason to get lost.

As I said in my last post, I don't drive when Tom and I are together. I hate it, and am maybe not the best at it... So, he drives and we're both fine with it. But, I wanted to get my dad, so Madge and I set out, breaking my 3 week dry spell.

I went with Madge's suggestion of Hartford's only airport, which proved to be a very small, private airport for flying lessons and things of that nature. When I pulled up at almost midnight to padlocked chain link gates, no lights or parking... something felt off, like maybe United Airlines is stopping by tonight after all. So, I panicked, not wanting to be late, I chastised Madge briefly and turned to the age-old "ask a police officer" move. Fortunately a group of 4 or 5 officers were hanging out in the parking lot between a bar and gas station. After closer inspection, I am pretty certain that they weren't legit cops, but had more of a "male entertainer" type of look... But, their uniforms were pretty convincing, so I asked for directons and they happily sent me on my way to the international airport just outside of Hartford that Madge forgot to mention. (She's so literal.)

Anyways, I am brilliant enough to give myself plenty of extra time... So I got there right when my dad's plane landed. Mission accomplished. And given my previous brilliance (setting the GPS coordinates as my next destination), not even Madge could slow us down.

I got my dad, was glad to see him and was excited to get back, get some sleep and let the kids give him some birthday gifts that they picked out themselves. That was not what Madge had in mind. Apparently when I saved the EXACT coordinates of our site, she thought that meant I wanted to go down a long, gravel, dead-end road where the Salem witch trials (practically) took place. When I got to the end of Foxtown Cemetary Rd. (which falls between Witch Hill Rd. and Salem Rd.) I gave Madge the cold-shoulder and pulled an agressive U-turn. Unfortunately, my turn was just a bit over-zealous and I backed too far over the edge of the road, trapping my spinning back tires in mud. We were stuck in Witchville, USA at 1:30am, no thank you very much.

By the time AAA came and pulled us out, and we got back to the campsite it was about 4:30 in the morning. Happy Birthday Jack, love Madge. Ok, I guess it wasn't all the GPS, my driving skills are to blame too. In some, minuscule way I suppose.

This made for a tiring morning, but we pushed through it... exchanged gifts, and headed out after breakfast for a brief 0.87 mile hike to an overlook point, called the vista. We found the vista, about a mile and a half later, and turned to head back. About 3 miles later, we actually arrived back at our campsite. Apparently Madge's bad sense of direction wore off on me, and I got us pretty turned around.

Next, we headed into New London, for what would surely be an exhilarating stop at a Maritime Museum. The kids got a brief look at a graphic portrayal of naked African slaves violently overthrowing their white captors aboard the Amistad. While the portrayal was inaccurate, historically speaking, it was anatomically spot on. So, there's that little bit of education for the children. The tour guide was very knowledgeable and passionate, pronouncing foreign names in their original dialect with more gusto than I've seen in decades.

We had great difficulty getting the kids to sleep that night, they were squirrelly and excited (knowing it was our last night camping), and likely overly tired from being forced to senselessly hike a half-marathon earlier that day. But, our visit with my dad was nice, and we got the kids down... Eventually.

Now, we are headed back home. It is bittersweet to leave the carefree adventure behind, but, with it, we happily leave behind the bug spray, the coolers filled with perpetually sogged food, and a potpourri of odors coming from a potpourri of places.

I have never considered scrubbing my children with steel wool before this trip, but it's on the table, I'm not gonna lie.

Our trip was really fun, though, and I am so proud of my family. I am proud of the kids, who go wherever we drag them, (usually) without complaint. And of how they hiked so much, endured bug bites and just a touch of poison ivy, like true camping enthusiasts. I am proud of Tom for doing these trips, for being the kind of dad and husband who actually WANTS to spend his vacation time doing this crazy stuff. And I am proud of myself. For going through with these wild adventures against scoffer's warning, and against conventional wisdom, and against all motherly instincts to keep one's children clean and comfortable. I am even proud of Madge, who failed us time and again, but really stuck with her beliefs about "taking a legal u-turn when possible."

I am thankful that we can take these trips, and I am thankful that my kids will grow up with so many great memories, and unusual experiences. I am thankful that they have a stable, steady father and a crazy mother and a home to go back to, with a bed for each, covered with sweet, precious, clean sheets.

In my thirties, I said I wanted gratitude. The trick is not FINDING things to be thankful for. The trick SEEING and ACKNOWLEDGING everything around me as the blessing it already is. I hope that I really do complain less, and grow a longer temper, and become truly fabulous and have great skin. But, more than anything I want to SEE, I want to see everything as a gift from God before it registers as anything else. I want to look around and really see every gift, every blessing. And it is easy for me to see and acknowledge that this time away was a huge gift, and each person I got to go with is a blessing I am so glad to call mine.

Scoring an Eisenbeiser Ain't Easy.

So, last night we arrived in Rhode Island. The state park we stayed at was more like a hoppin' block party. Which is a plus whenever we get a little too loud, but a little annoying when there is zero privacy. One little bonus, was that the campers before us, presumably the Eisenbeisers, left a children's soccer ball behind. The kids kept taking turns with it, requesting to play with "the Eisenbeiser" next. Even London is saying Eisenbeiser instead of ball. In Castaway, Tom Hanks had Wilson. In Rhode Island, we had Eisenbeiser.

It was a nice night, and we went to a nearby beach, then to a lighthouse, where we cooked and ate dinner on an oceanside bluff. (I am not totally certain I am using the right word here, but it was the bluffiest thing I've eaten on. So, let's just call it a bluff. Bluff it is. I hate the word bluff now that I have said it so many times, so now I'm calling it a 20 foot cliff over a rocky shore of Point Judith, a little peninsula leggy thing sticking off the state of Rhode Island.)

Anyhow, that's where we ate. It was really beautiful and the weather was perfect. So, we slept without the rain fly. We did not realize how risky this was until this morning when we woke up to the wild call of some sort of prehistoric birds. They pooped all over our tent, fortunately they focused their efforts more on the door of our tent, sparing the screened ceiling area (and our faces).

ATATT News Insert: Tom was the unfortunate tent de-pooper, which probably triggered flashbacks... Because he also de-pooped our picnic table the day before. No wonder he has so many fans... It takes a real man to let his woman remain free of such duties. Other duties I have been spared from this ENTIRE trip include, but may not be limited to: setting up the tent, taking down the tent, dealing with bugs, dealing with animal feces, and heavy lifting. Also, I don't drive. I mean, in general I do, but if I can help it, I won't. I haven't drive once in almost 3 weeks. On the other hand, I do all the cooking (except coffee, I make horrible coffee. Just can't get that ratio right.) I also manage roughly 1,350 ziplock bags full of clothes, socks, shoes, pajamas, rain gear, toiletries, cold-weather clothing, etc. For all six of us.). If Tom didn't come, we'd eat well, but sleep outside... But, we'd get mad dehydrated because I can't open the water bottle caps he twists on so tightly. Bad wrists, you know. If Tom did this without me, he would only eat marshmallows, which he would have to roast naked, but he'd have a tent and no animal poop anywhere. So, it's probably good we are a package deal.

This afternoon we did some of Cliff Walk, which is a 3 mile stretch along the coast of Newport, RI. The gorgeous mansions were incredible, and bad for my self-esteem. Then we hit a matinee showing of the new Winnie the Pooh movie. The kids were loving it, and I was loving the AC. I stopped loving the experience when a wrestling match between London and I (over who was at the helm of the juice box holding) left one of my legs juice-soaked and sticky.

We are now headed to our last campsite, Devil's Hopyard State Park near Salem, Connecticut, where we will spend our last two nights. My dad is flying in tonight from Michigan and spending the next two nights with us before we head home.

I am sure that he is in for quite an experience. I think he will particularly enjoy the post-dinner Beatboxing Hour, featuring "DJ Harper and all the Saliva He can Muster."

More on that to come, I'm sure.

winnie the pooh premiere.jpg

Today was opening day for the new Winnie the Pooh movie. So, we hit the theatre in Rhode Island after doing the gorgeous Cliff Walk. This is Harper and London's first time at a real movie theatre. They are very excited, especially because when we passed Home Depot on the way to the cinema, they thought that was going to be our surprise destination. The movies are even better than home improvement stores!

"Let's all go to the movies!" -Daddy Warbucks, in Annie (Sam, don't you wish I was your mom?)

Muggy and Buggy

We spent our first night in Wompatuck State Park being boiled alive in our tent. So much sweat was involved. Tom summed it up best when describing it as "muggy and buggy."

Our second night is best described as "torrential downpour." In between the two nights, however, was a lovely day spent on Cape Cod. We had lunch at a playground after driving the historic "Captain's Mile" which was a 1.5 mile stretch of old Sea Captain's homes.

From there we went to Grey's Beach where we walked a 300 foot boardwalk pier out over the marshlands. At the end, we pet a crab and walked back. After this, we caught our own miniature little crablets. The kids enjoyed naming and releasing them. London enjoyed throwing them instantly back in the water, since she thought they were rocks... or she is a die-hard crustacean advocate. Time will tell.

We then made a half-hearted attempt to see Plymouth Rock. Our lax effort never really paid off, but we did see some other rocks that has no historical importance, but were lovely nonetheless.

We are now in Rhode Island heading to our campsite at Fishermen's Memorial State Park, which is right on the shoreline and should be beautiful.

I know what it is you're all after though, so without further ado... Let's hear it for Tom everyone!

Today in ATATT, we will take a closer look at Tom's rise to fame and get to know a new side of Tom... Not Tom the star, but Tom the camping husband-dad-man.

L: What do you feel is your biggest contribution to the trip?
T: (*Note to reader: Tom originally gave this answer, "I will know later. Next question.") Final answer: "After one failed attempt, and one mediocre success... I was able to rig a tarp just in time for the torrential downpour, which served as shelter over our picnic table. The downside was that it also provided shelter for either squirrels or chipmunks... I don't know which it was. Whichever animal sprays more poop pellets on our tablecloth, that would be the one."
L: How do you feel that you handled the extreme weather conditions over the past few days? And can you describe what you were feeling?
T: (*Note to reader: this question made Tom want to "crash his head into the window.") Final answer: "The hot weather threw me a bit. 95 degrees, in a tent (with the rain fly on) is not ideal sleeping conditions. That night I hated camping. My friend, Paul Robinson, always hates camping. So I asked myself, WWPRD?, What Would Paul Robinson Do? Here is what I came up with, Paul would rip open the side of the tent with his bare hands, tell everyone to 'get up and get in the car,' leave everything at the campsite, and drive 90 mph to the closest hotel. Instead, I laid there and drenched my own drawers and sleeping bag. Next time I will DWPRWD (Do What Paul Robinson Would Do.).
L: The trip will soon be ending, can you tell your fans what they can expect from you upon returning home? Can they expect to see a blog from you in the coming weeks?
T: "I am in negotiations with my agent and publisher about a blog deal."
L: How have you managed to stay balanced during your recent rise to stardom?
T: "I am totally unbalanced. The stardom has driven me to extremes. For a closer look, you should see me on VH1 Storytellers soon."
L: Would you like to take this opportunity to thank anyone? Like, I don't know, someone for supporting you? Keeping you humble? Featuring you on their wildly successful blog?
T: "Nope, I'm good."

@laracapuano