When Ben and I started dating in 2005, shipped names for couples were definitely a thing but definitely not called that yet. Still, Brangelina, TomKat, and Bennifer were all over celebrity news at that time, so it didn’t take long for people to merge Ben and I’s names together, too. Except, we didn’t want to copycat and become another Bennifer so we flipped the script and made ours Jenjamin instead. Hilarity ensued when one of my friends actually wrote us a check for a wedding gift made out to Jenjmain Welsch!

Beyond the funny name combination, though, we’ve always had a great deal in common that’s lead us to this point of 16 years married:
1) Planning. My goodness, do we both love to plan. I wouldn’t call it daydreaming because we’re both a little too serious and intense for the stereotypical approach to that act, but we can future cast like no one else it seems. We can also plan and pull off quite a bit in our actual daily lives, too (even though raising five Littles also makes it feel like we never actually accomplish much more than just getting through the day’s schedule). Of course, sometimes our plans go up in smoke but that’s just life I guess. Somehow we keep each other balanced and grounded enough to keep trying and keep our chins up when things don’t work out and celebrating when they do. 
2) Running. This is something we both did as teenagers in high school and young adults in college, except Ben’s was for actual college athletics and mine was for occasional exercise by then. It was also one of our favorite activities to share pre-kids when we trained for and completed two half marathons in 2007/2008. Then we started having babies and even though I’ve dabbled here and there with running since, it’s not been a couple thing for us again until this year (2022). We certainly don’t run far or fast, or even that consistently yet, but it’s good to be back at it together, even if our older, wiser bodies are wondering what we’re doing to them each time we hit the pavement. 
3) Music Appreciation. For those who wonder why our kids play so many instruments (we have four piano players, two cello players, one saxophone, and one flutist so far), it’s because B and I have always had music in our lives, too. I played three different instruments as a kid (violin, just one year; trumpet, for five years, and piano, for who knows – several years at least) and Ben was active with choirs/singing at school and church. The funny part of our musical history stems from being in a Doane College choir together for an entire year and still never actually meeting each other, which is one of the biggest misconceptions about our relationship. Despite that shared class/concerts and three years roaming the small campus at the same time, we didn’t meet until a year after I had graduated and left Doane. But sure enough, once we started dating, his mom found an old concert program with a choir group photo on it and there we both were – several rows apart but not all that far from each other, even. I’m the one who brings the music into our daily lives with now my playlists and pushing us to see live music, but Ben’s always been down for a good lyric and/or the rare turn at karaoke. 
4) Childhood. Even though our school and growing up on a farm experiences were different both in state location and methodology (conventional vs. organic), we understand a lot about each other due to our remarkably similar experiences growing up in the Midwest of the 80s and 90s. We’re just under a year apart in age from one another and our family dynamics were the same in that we each had one sibling of the opposite gender. We even attended the same church denomination (Methodist) for our primary education years before my family joined the U.C.C. instead. We’re also both the first born, and in three out of four cases, the oldest grandchild as well, so we get a lot of what that role was like and how it shaped us into the people we are today. 
5) Homebodies. Once upon a lifetime ago, we traveled halfway around the world together but now our favorite place to be is at home. Maybe it’s the long distance runner/farm kids in us, but we both tend to crave quiet and room to think which folks often associate with their homes. The irony is that during this particular stage and season of life and parenting, it’s rarely ever quiet in our house but neither one of us is big on going out or being away which still makes our less-than-peaceful abode our primary destination of choice. 

We’re opposites in many ways and complement each other in so many of them (his math to my English, for example), but clearly we are two peas in a married pod as well. Here’s to Sweet 16 (and many more runs)!

*Post 17/52.

Sibling Games

Minus the time that I remember him chasing me down the hallway in the upper story of our old farmhouse where he corned me in the spare bedroom and I had just enough time to slam the door in his face before the hard plastic teeth of the toy T-Rex in his hands took a chunk out of the wood as he swung it at me, my little brother John and I have always been friends.

Dramatics and possible embellishments aside (I used to love hiding at the top of the stairs and jumping out to scare the BuhJesus out of him whether he was coming or going, so it’s possible I deserved the dinosaur chase), we really have always gotten along. This is a fortunate outcome because had we not been buds, we would have been SOL as kids living out in the country in the dark ages before internet and cellphones (or at least I would have been because there were no other little girls anywhere close to our house to consider neighborhood friends of mine). 

As it was, John and I enjoyed the heck out of our childhood together and were content to join each other for play time (think LEGO and Ninja Turtles), watching a show (PBS because what other choice did we have, but also, because we loved it), and farm exploration (digging up rocks, riding bikes on the gravel driveway, and exploring the grove – especially when it filled up with snow in the winter). I also spent a rather inordinate amount of time as a kid at our grandparent’s house watching him play Grandma Gert’s original Nintendo. Why I didn’t join him in the games, I have no clue, but my kids would find it hilarious now (given how much I don’t touch our Switch or watch their gaming) to know just how many hours I logged watching him play Mario and Legend of Zelda back in the day. 

Games in general have always been our family’s thing so be it board- or card-based, I have always liked versing John in such because he’s a good competitor. He’s also whip smart with trivia and has long been my go-to person for politics and music recs, including some of my favorite bands like Guster that came to me via his burned CDs back in the day. These days I’d need about a dozen of those CDs to get me through the long drive to TX to see him but recently my kids have followed in my footsteps and found a way to stay connected with their uncle via gaming. It started with creativity during COVID times and Zoom dates so they could play Minecraft and Mario Party together from our respective houses. Not quite the same as me curling up on Gertie’s love seat to see if he could save Princess Peach (or Zelda) like back in the day, but fun all the same and really cool to witness that transfer to a new generation. 

*Post 16/52.


Late in my Junior year of high school, I got involved with our yearbook staff. No idea now why I decided to do that or why I was late to the game, but I remember spending a lot of time that spring and then during the summer after eleventh grade in the journalism office – a small computer lab in the English Wing of Yankton High School that housed the technology and gear used by the yearbook staff to produce the annual Arikara volume and the journalism students to produce the school newspaper, the Woksape. A different student had been spearheading the yearbook during that school year but somehow she ghosted and I found myself, along with two friends, as the de facto Editors-in-Chief, suddenly responsible for completing and submitting the yearbook for that year. So, I did just that and ended up as the solo editor our Senior year. 

I loved yearbook in part because it was a big project that was taken on by a small number of students which meant I had quite a bit of control in how it was laid out and looked. Although we could do quite a bit with computer programming in the tail-end of the 1990s, we still had to use red grease pencils to mark crop lines on photos and hope that we labeled them correctly with submission envelopes of each page, otherwise our final print version would be a mess. So much time was spent in that little computer lab as we worked on pages while listening to a sleeve of random CDs someone left behind and eating our favorite snacks, provided by our dear yearbook advisor, Mr. Fischer.

To look at Mr. Fischer one might first think “Santa” (fair) and to be around him, one might first think “curmudgeon” because of his whole aesthetic, but he was really a total softie and treated us well as a staff (see above about keeping us in stock of our beloved Doritos and Twizlers). He had a super sharp sense of humor and a great smile behind that big old beard. And we were always just early enough to beat him to the staff parking lot during the summer that we could practice our backwards parking skills while we waited (I got intensely good at this during that time). For the most part he left us to our own devices with the yearbook but I remember enjoying his advise and advisorship as I rounded out my Senior year and high school career and I was honored to have him at my graduation party in May, 2000. 

Flash forward 20+ years and I found those same yearbook scramble skills suddenly called back into action via my role with own kids’ elementary school which was in need of its own new editor after the previous mom-in-charge’s kids aged out of Longfellow. Taking on the actual job wasn’t a scramble (I volunteered for it years in advance, actually, but COVID Life got in the way of me learning directly from her during her last two years of service); it was the navigating and learning of the ropes on the fly that became a mad dash to the finish in late winter/early spring 2022. 

Did I need her help and ask her dozens upon dozens of questions my first year to figure it out? Sure did! Did I procrastinate and then freak out about a month-and-a-half before the pages deadline? Totally! But did the job get done and turn out great? Yep, because apparently  yearbook editing is like riding a bicycle in that you can pick it up, dust it off, and still compile a lovely little collection of photos and memories for students to look back on for years to come, even as a small little staff of one. Except now it’s gluten-free Oreos and pistachios getting me through the long hours of collecting photos and designing layouts which are, thank heavens, allll online now and much less clunky to navigate than back in the day! 

*Post 14/52.


In my hometown, middle school was just 7th and 8th grades but was still called middle school, not junior high. Early into my middle school career (we’re talking a week or two in), after-school meetings were scheduled so kids could sign up for fall sports such as basketball (girls), football (boys), and cross country (both). These meetings were held on the same afternoon and I asked my mom to pick me up late after school instead of me riding the bus home because I wanted to sign up for basketball (or was it volleyball? lol- doesn’t matter because I didn’t do it!). Imagine her surprise when I hopped in the van later that afternoon and told her I, never a serious runner, had signed up for cross country instead!

How’d that happen? Because a cute boy in my CHIGA class (Computers, Home Ec, Industrial Arts, German, and Art – our version of rotating specials that we did in five parts of each school year) said he was going to sign up for cross country and apparently I thought that also sounded like a good idea and did the same.

To be honest, I have no idea if he even went to that meeting, but I sure did and I then spent the next five years as a YMS/YHS Cross Country Gazelle (the female mascot pairing to our boys’ teams, called the Bucks). Did I love it? Well, maybe not the actual running but I loved the co-ed team and friendships and comradery that came from being part of team sport that was also uniquely an individual effort at every single practice and meet. The running itself was a constant challenge that I didn’t really come to appreciate until much later.

When you run XC, you’re in it for the literal long game. You train each day (in high school, 2x a day, sometimes) by putting running shoes to the pavement in warm ups, team stretching, and then a work out of several miles as a little pack of runners off to weave their way around town OR, God forbid, run hills for the day. Then, at week’s end, you load up on a bus and head to some golf course or park, suit up in your little running shorts and singlet and set yourself up at the starting line so you can take off and jockey for position to run your 2.5 miles (girls; 3.1 for boys) both as fast as you can but while also not running out of gas before you cross the finish line.

This may not be surprising given my initial reasoning for signing up, but I was a pretty social runner, i.e. chatty. I always ran with friends during practices and sometimes even during meets, to the consternation of my coaches (Coach Harr in MS and Coaches Fitz and Bormann in HS). I remember after one particular meet being told that if I could carry an entire conversation with my teammate during the race, I could run more than just a wee bit faster if I kept my mouth focused on breathing instead of talking. Whoopsies!

Eventually I started to take that advice and the running more seriously. My sophomore year, after a rough and rather disastrous year of running as a flighty freshmen, I decided to buckle down and train with more focus and dedication. For the first time I ran country roads the summer between those school years and sought to stay closer to the Pack (the best runners on our teams) during practice runs after (and before) school.

A fair bit of my motivation for this switch came from one particular race, or rather, course location that I can still see pretty clearly in my head, almost 25 years later: Norfolk, NE. Being just across the river from Nebraska meant we traveled there for some meets, including an annual trip to run on a rather hilly golf course in Norfolk. Cross Country season spanned the heat of late summer all the way to the cool days of mid-to-late fall, but the Norfolk meet always came early in the season which meant HOT and SUN in addition to those hills.

My freshmen year, this was one of my very first meets and it crushed me. I struggled with the weather, the course, and my breath, and ended up coming in dead last for the meet. It felt horrible on so many levels. This was my third year of running and that experience eventually flipped a switch in me that lead to a year-long transformation of attitude and effort leading up to my return to Norfolk as a sophomore, ready to kick butt on that same dang golf course.

The weather was much the same as the year prior with full sun and heat, but I was ready for it. I also had the best earworm in my brain that day – “Flagpole Sitter” by Harvey Danger (look it up; it’s weird) – that was also weather appropriate with the line: “I’m not sick but I’m not well. And I’m so hot ‘cause I’m in hell” which played on a loop in my brain as I took off from the starting line and popped out in the front, not the trailing stragglers, of the JV race. The song served me well in that total reversal of position as later lines sing, “Paranoia, paranoia, everybody’s coming to get me. Just say you never met me. I’m running under ground with the moles, digging holes.” that also looped with my breath as I realized that I was running with the lead pack and was going to end up doing so much better than my freshman flop.

While I didn’t come in with an exact opposite ending of winning the race, I did place 7th which was one of my highest finishes ever and put me on Cloud 9 because it was tangible proof of how my efforts paid off over those 12 months. I continued to crush it that year and was invited to stay on as an alternate for the State Team which would train for an additional few weeks after the regular season and allowed me to travel with the pack on State Day in case someone got sick or hurt and our coaches needed a fill-in runner. I got to do the same as a junior and I loved those final weeks of training in part because, as an alternate, I got all the benefits of team and training but without the stress of actually running at State, although that would have been fun, too, had it happened.

In time, XC taught me a lot about being in my body and my brain because even though you can run and chat with others, you really are your own best cheerleader, and if you really buckle down and focus on the task at hand, you can achieve remarkable results. For me, it was the joy of the finish that kept me hustling in my last two years of participating (my senior year I decided to focus on other activities and finishing my YHS academic career instead of running). I loved a good sprint to the finish line and would often have enough oomph left in my legs to pass at least a couple girls in the last 1/4 mile of the course. My coaches tried to get me to expend a bit more of that earlier/throughout the races but I liked the thrill of the chase a little too much and kept that trend going for as long as I ran those meets.

For our team, it was a pre-race chant that really got us going and stuck with me both on and off the courses throughout high school. After our warm ups and stretches, drinks and final bathroom breaks, and practice sprints off the starting line, we would huddle up, hands together in the center of our circle, and cheer “P.M.A.K.A.! Go! Great! Gazelles!” We never told people what it meant and I couldn’t tell you who started it or how long it had been going, but I’ll break the rules and share with you now that it stood for Positive Mental Attitude Kicks Ass which is just slightly subversive but exactly the right mentality for a runner (and a pretty good life motto as well). 

As it turned out, my own P.M.A.K.A. and efforts in my sophomore year didn’t go unnoticed. At our end-of-season banquet that fall, I not only lettered in XC, but my coaches also awarded me the Most Improved girl on the team, an honor I appreciated and felt such pride in because I knew how hard I worked to get there. 

Running has come and gone for me several times in my life, but each time it returns, I recognize the gifts of spirit and body it brings (and sometimes, if you’re feeling chatty, some good conversations, too). 

*Post 14/52

Jennifer Rae

Apparently I was never destined to be a Jennifer. My mom had completely different names selected for me but then I was born and my dad was suddenly given the opportunity to bestow me with my forever name and that name was not Rebecca (my mom’s choice and my now sister-in-law’s first name) or Alena (my mom’s other choice that was a mash up of her grandparents’ names, Albert and Lena, that her own dad vetoed), it was Jennifer. Why? 40 years later, my dad has no idea (nor does my mom) as to how it came to be that he did the picking or why he picked it (beyond its popularity at the time). 

Growing up as a Jennifer of the 80s, I had to have my last initial tacked on to my name to distinguish myself from the 27 other Jennifers (another song you must hear – “27 Jennifers” by Mike Doughty) in my class, but I found the way to distinguish myself, eventually, by changing the spelling of my nickname, Jenny, to Jenni. Of course you can’t actually *hear* that difference when you speak my name, so to this day 30+ years later, people still don’t always spell it correctly, but Jenni-with-an-I is me through and through, so much so that Jenny-with-an-Y doesn’t even seem like it could possibly be me when I see it in writing.

While I didn’t love having such a common name growing up, I did like the story behind my middle name, Rae. It is a feminized version of Ray, short for Raymond, which was my maternal grandfather’s middle name (Clifford Raymond). Grandpa Cliff and I shared that middle name with pride and I knew that if/when I had a daughter of my own someday, I too would want to take my dad’s middle name (Thomas Lee) and give it to her with a feminine spelling.

Lucky me, I got to do just that! But even better, I also got to take my “Rae” and incorporate it into our presidentially-named-babies theme and create Raegan (instead of Reagan) Leigh when my first sweet girl was born. I love her name so much because it has pieces of me which includes pieces of my grandpa, but then it also includes pieces of her maternal grandpa, just like I wanted, and the layers and symmetry to that are just my favorite. 

But the poor girl has run into a similar conundrum as her mama because everyone everywhere spells her name wrong and it drives her nuts. While I understand her annoyance, I hope she’ll come to see how special her name is, even if other people can’t remember how she spells it and they assume hers is spelled just like the former president’s which clearly it is not. I trust that, in time, she’ll know the uniqueness that is her own naming story makes the confusion worthwhile. Will she continue the trend of oldest daughter naming the oldest daughter after the maternal grandfather into the next generation? Well, that depends on a whole lot of circumstances, so I guess we’ll see!

*Post 13ish/52. Math is hard.


Over the years I’ve collected quite a bit of unique jewelry including a gorgeous array of malas, bracelets, and necklaces. While I do still wear rings, it’s only when I’m out and about, not just around the house, so those don’t get pulled into rotation as much as the other pieces. And even though two dear friends tried in the same year to gift me beautiful earrings for Christmas (they were totally different styles and yet both totally me), I haven’t worn earring since HD was a baby and mamahood got in the way of keeping my holes open to the point that now I don’t have a say in the matter. Wrists and neck, it is and is it! 

I consider this jewelry collection some of my most prized possessions not because they are worth loads in monetary ways but because of how and where the pieces were made or curated in addition to the stories and facets of my life that they represent. But also, I wear and love them because each little one becomes a layer of what I call armor when I need an extra visual of strength, persistence, and resistance: 

 * The extra rings (beyond my wedding ring) that I wear on rare occasion are all family hand-me-downs, including a birthstone ring of my Great Aunt Opal’s (who’s birth-month matches mine), another birthstone ring of my Grandma Gert’s that matches both of my own sweet daughters also born in the month of November, and a mother’s ring that belonged to my Great Grandmother (Martha) Ruth which includes four stones, one of which was for my Grandma Orph. I love these strong female connections to my lineage and ancestors, and even though I never got to know any of them as individual women as much as I would have liked, I appreciate carrying them with me in these ways. 

* My bracelet/mala collection is too extensive to list in detail, but they each come with their own power and origin story. Several have been gifts from friends. Several have been gifts to myself. Some have words etched into their metal, meant to be read by others, and some have secret (swearing) messages tucked away on the underside, meant to be quiet reminders just for me when I wear them. With the natural stone beads, I know many of the makers behind the designs. None of them have been made by me although I used to wear many of my own embroidery floss tie-knot creations back in the day. I grab certain ones to wear on certain days because of their color, their meaning, their origin (and occasionally because of their location – i.e. what I can find quickly before I head out the door). 

* The two most-heavily worn necklaces are my Mother’s Birthstone bar, made by my friend Liz, and featuring all five little Welschie birthstones in birth order, and my RBG dissent necklace, which is a small, metal recreation of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s famous collar that she would wear whenever she had a dissenting opinion on the SCOTUS. After that I have my breastmilk necklace which is something I had made with leftover, frozen milk from Wilson’s infancy, but apparently I’m still in young-mama-mentality even though I haven’t had a baby in almost five years because necklaces still seem like risky wardrobe choices around kids who might somehow break them. Still, these are my most worn pieces because they signal my identity and ideals as a mother and as a human in this world. 

Call me a RBG+Madeline Albright wanna-be, but I like to use my jewelry to speak a message, sometimes in subtle ways and sometimes in quite loud ones. For Christmas the year RBG died, I got myself an actual full-size Dissent necklace and while I mostly wear it for Christmas to be fancy (not dissent), I have been known to pull it out for moments of actual disagreement with societal happenings. These days, in the aftermath of the overturning of Roe, I’m armoring up on a regular basis, not with the big collar but with lots of variety in the smaller pieces. For the road is long and protection of spirit and energy is going to be necessary as we move ourselves into the world that RBG worked so notoriously to establish and knew that we both deserved and could be. 

*Post 11/52.

Birthdays and Broadway(ish)

The spring I turned 21, my aunt Tammy and her husband Tom were living in New Jersey, just a stone’s throw(ish) away from New York City. As an incredible birthday gift, I got to go visit them and do all kinds of amazing big city experiences including shopping, fancy restaurants, and my first-ever musical which just so happened to be on Broadway. We picked Aida as our show and even though I didn’t really know much about it going in, I absolutely fell in love with all aspects of it. I was already a semi-fan of Broadway with Rent being my most favorite soundtrack and that day sealed the deal for my appreciation of great lyrics, beautiful costumes, and storytelling through a combination of dance, song, word, and stage; ironically, during that performance of Aida, I knew I recognized the voice of the man playing Radames; turns out it was Adam Pascal, the man who originally played Roger in Rent! I couldn’t believe my luck to see him live on stage.

While I haven’t been able to catch RENT in person yet in the almost 20 years since my first live show, I have seen a number of musicals in the time since, including Wicked, Hamilton, and Waitress, all of which I love so dearly, for the music and the messages they carry, as well as the people and performers behind their creation like Idina Menzel, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Sarah Bareilles. All three of those shows I saw with Ben and we enjoyed them in part because I learned an important lesson after my Aida experience: familiarize yourself with the music in advance!

Even though I can still see images in my brain of the stage and costumes from Aida, I remember being so confused because I didn’t know the score and storyline at all prior to attending. That made it hard to keep up with all the (literal) moving parts, and so even though I loved every second of it, I know I missed a lot, too.

Since then, I’ve applied my new rule of getting to know the music well prior to show night (or day) and that has served me very well. For Wicked, it was listening to the CDs in my car as I commuted to Palmer, NE and back each day for my first public school teaching job in 2008/2009. When we saw the musical that spring, I was very pregnant with the babe who turned out to be HD, (which perhaps explains his own love for music and good plot). For Hamilton and Waitress, it was listening through Spotify again and again to those lovely earworms and heart-tugging lyrics that both shows contain. And then it was iTunes, as HD and I pregamed for what would be his very first show (and my second viewing of) – Hamilton, his 13th Birthday Extraordinaire Experience, which is something we started planning in Spring 2020 during COVID lockdown.

The B.E.E. is a title of my own creation but a concept I stole from writer Jen Hatmaker, also a mom of five, who gave each of her kids an extra special birthday trip/experience when they turned 13. For us, that looks like picking an activity in a neighboring state and getting to go for a couple nights with the parent of their picking. This was a lovely idea to start brainstorming when we were so cooped up and frustrated during early COVID life and then, in a blink of an eye, it was time for Harrison to B.E.E. first (see what I did there? lol)!

We landed on Des Moines, IA for our destination because we weren’t sure anywhere in NE would host the tour this year and even though HD’s birthday is still a couple months away, we did this trip up in style with great seats, awesome food, and an excellent visit with friends in Omaha on the way home. My kids so rarely get to have solo time like this where they also get to call the shots which also makes this initial B.E.E. a win.

I hope this is just the first of many shows for my Music Man and that he remembers it with as much fondness as I do my first show. I certainly know he didn’t have any trouble understanding the lyrics or storyline because our favorite sparing game these days is to turn statements any person makes into Hamilton references. Case in point; the kid picked a mug for his merch purchase and later showed it to his dad, saying, “Raise a glass to freedom!” Love my almost teenager and his top-notch brain so much!

Red Cloud Retreat

In April of 2022, I signed up for an online yoga teacher training called the Power of Presence, taught by Scott Schwenk; the focus of the 25 hours, beyond presence? Ecstatic Breathwork and meditation. The irony of this adventure is that I no longer teach yoga, so while others were there to learn in order to lead others, I was there just for myself, to learn and grow for my own personal practice. This is the first I’ve ever done a training where I wasn’t preparing to turn around and teach the content and I have to say, that was pretty freeing and magical on top of the already stellar content (Dharma talks and practices + weekly live calls as a group) Scott put together for us. One highlight of the training beyond the actual practices and lectures? Having Scott answer questions we submitted (and making him laugh in a loving way with how I worded mine in Week One):

At the same time I registered for the class, I decided I wanted to reserve a little getaway for myself after completion of the five-week course, to let the lessons and takeaways sink in a bit, and chose The M Guest House in Red Cloud, NE as my destination. I stayed here three years ago with a group of girlfriends, so I already knew the house was adorable and perfect for a little me-time; turns out the little Red Cloud Retreat I put together for myself did not disappointed.

For one, the nice thing about AirBnB’s is that you have access to a kitchen (great for a special diet person like me who needs to cook her own food) and space to do what you want like practice yoga, read in the yard (and on the chaise and in bed), write, talk on the phone, respond to messages, all while not being interrupted by children or chores/duties that come with being in your own house, even if you happen to snag some alone time there. Did I pack a ridiculous amount of stuff for these two sleeps? Absolutely. Do I feel any shame about that? Not a bit because I knew what I wanted and needed to make this time just right for me so I did what was necessary to make that happen. Pack Rat tendencies for the win! (still had to go to Dollar General, though, to buy sunscreen. Whoops!)

The other perk of coming to Red Cloud is that it landed me right smack in Cather Country which ties back to my grad work at UNL for the Cather Project (they hold conferences here every other year as it is the childhood home of Willa Cather and which I missed by all of day of being here) and to the prairie, I did go, several times during my RC stay. The first, the afternoon I got here, actually landed me in Kansas because, again – whoops!, if you miss the little drive for the historical marker/access to the WC prairie, you’re in KS a second later. Easy fix, though, and I explored with a little walk on a wide path along the top ridge of the protected land.

The next morning, after a night of reading and thunderstorms that left me wondering if I might have to take shelter in the house’s crawl space – thank goodness, I did not – I made a mid-morning trek back to the prairie so I could hike around a little more. Even though I died plenty of times from snake bites on the Oregon Trail as a kid, I did not think to pack appropriate pants and shoes (i.e. long jeans and boots!), but fortunately I found the perfect walking stick to accompany me through the narrow paths that explore more of the rolling hills.

Talk about the power of presence and staying focused in the moment! I intended to do a walking meditation with our course mantra anyway but instead it was more hyper-focused than that, even, because I did NOT want to step on a snake (or a cowpie, but really, a snake), which again, thankfully did not happen but it sure kept my eyes wide and aware as I poked my way up the hill.

I’ve always considered myself a prairie-loving girl, but I gained even more, instant respect for the land and the people who have lived on it for generations and centuries because I got super turned around on my return trip from the fence that I walked to (because my stubborn Scandinavian blood told me I had to reach that particular fence line). Somehow the path I followed up was impossible to see as I tried to make my way back down and I ended up going sideways on the slope a bit before I realized I was not headed back in the direction of my van. So, my walking stick and I nervously made our way through the tall-ish grasses, hoping none of them or what they might be hiding turned out to be poisonous. Naturally, of course, I took a selfie of my concern when I stopped for a breather/drink in a semi-clear spot.

Eventually I made it back to the obvious trail and worked my way back down and up to the ridge I walked the day before which I then decided to jog because that’s how flat and open it is (and how much adrenaline I needed to expend after my little adventure and making too-strong of coffee that morning as a little retreat treat here at the AirBnB).

How could I not see this from the top of that ridge?!

Even though May comes with All the Things to be done/go to and a whole lot of Mama-ing, I am so grateful to have done the online training this spring. I’ve been practicing online with Scott for two years now and this was a powerful step forward with my connection to breath and meditation. I’m also grateful to have pulled off this first-time getaway just for me and hope that I can turn this Red Cloud Retreat into an annual (semi-annual? quarterly?!) tradition because I know how good it is for me to step back, take a breath, and be with just myself for a hot second. 

Also, I may have to invest in a good walking stick and hiking boots so I can keep expanding my prairie explorations in a slightly safer manner! 

*Post 10/52.

Foods That Don’t Like Me

The journey back to myself and my health started in April 2021 when I started having chronic headaches that no one could explain or eradicate. What followed was months and months of appointments and therapies and treatments and so many attempts at getting my body to move past the pattern of pain and dis-ease in my system. 

As of this writing, I am almost 14 months out from that initial headache spiral and my goodness, how far I have come. My head is not 100% 100% of the time but I’ve made huge strides in releasing tension from my body in the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual senses. Many of the treatment methods have come and gone, ebbed and flowed, but the one that has stuck since last July (and actually expanded this February) is how I approach food. Or rather, what foods I no longer approach.

This began with going gluten free last summer and for a girl who loves pasta, bread, and pretty much every baked good out there, this was tough. I was cranky, felt deprived, and resented the whole experiment. It also had to get worse before it got better (a detox backlash, if you will) and it took several months before I noticed some changes that could be ascribed to the new diet.

Except, I still wasn’t really back to feeling like myself and noticed some more questions popping up in my brain over the holidays, so with the New Year, I turned to a food sensitivity test kit and found out that I had such a buildup in my system of eggs in particular but also cow’s milk, that inflammation had built up from those as well. Cutting out eggs and dairy was a beast and monumental effort but I’ve been at it for several months now and I can honestly say, at 40 years old, this is the best I’ve felt with and in my body in pretty much forever. 

Now perhaps that isn’t a fair statement because in the last 13 years, I spent 8 of them carrying and birthing and nursing babies, so you know, probably it was a bit expected for my body to feel wrung out, but now that our family is past those stages, it feels good to be paying attention to what I need in and for my self and my diet is definitely part of that. 

These days I eat GF and Vegan-ish (avoiding eggs and dairy but not meat) and I no longer feel so restricted or denied. In fact, I can eat an entire plate of food that is right for my body and feel nothing but satisfied – no bloat or discomfort – just fed and nourished. What a remarkable difference! Where I am also seeing a difference is in how my clothes fit and feel which is a lovely added bonus to know that my body really is responding to the changes and efforts of this last year+ of working to do better by it.

Do I still miss a real pizza crust or some bread with butter on it? Real chocolate chip cookies? Yeah, I do, but I’m learning new ways to navigate those old recipes and who knows – maybe I can eventually cut ties with sugar and those cravings altogether. In the meantime, I’m giving thanks for the access that I have to healthy food, a spouse who helps me prepare it, and kids who understand that Mama has to pay attention to whether or not things are “Glutenen-Free” (thanks for that cuteness, WA!) and Vegan, which has made them more mindful and compassionate along the way, not just for me but others as well. Those and the excuse to buy a new bikini are wins all around! 

*Post 10/52.

(Not-So-)Tiny Teachers

As of this writing, my kids are 12, 10, 8, 6, and 4. Before this project is done and published, each will have another birthday, making them 13, 11, 9, 7, and 5. For some reason those numbers sound much larger and older than their current ages and I find myself taken aback by the thought of them all being that big. But big they are, as evidenced by our Mother’s Day photo from this year. Harrison is within six-to-twelve months of passing me in height and Wilson still seems on track to beat us all, Ben included! But what I see most when I look at their unique but so obviously related handful of faces are not just the physical changes they are experiencing, but the mental and emotional lessons these (not-so-)tiny teachers of mine continue to give me. 

Harrison: my first teacher of what it means to be a mother. He will always be my guinea pig — the one I am learning with and perhaps making the most mistakes with simply because he hits each milestone first. I am literally forever not really knowing what I’m doing with him as he grows and goes, so to attempt to list all he has taught me would fill 100 books all on its own. But perhaps the greatest lesson he continues to demonstrate to me is how to stay true and loyal to what one enjoys while letting the words, opinions, and shenanigans of others slide right off the back. HD tunes out the noise and inspires me to do the same.

Raegan: my mini-me to the 10th degree, this girl. She reminds me what it means to radiate care and responsibility and how one can do both with ease and grace in so many forms and settings. She keeps me connected to my own childhood passion of reading obsessively and taking great pleasure and pride in doing so. But above all, RL teaches me what it means to be courageous. To take on new challenges and activities, yes, but also to face old fears and worries with a chin held high, a deep breath taken, and a good song to keep the spirit buoyed when it feels low. RL inspires me to be bold and brave through it all. 

Lincoln: my one who is perhaps most unlike me in terms of taking after his dad more than his mom. He is my always moving, always playing, always active guy – the one who can turn any moment into a game or a competition and will pick up any sport and play his heart out while doing it. He has taught me about passion and enthusiasm both in his loyalty to his favorite teams and players as well as with his heart that has bleed baseball for years. LT also has a great passion for his people and he teaches me constantly about how to be a fierce friend and how important moments of connection are. Even though he’s almost always in constant motion, he gives the best squeezes and is a darn good couch cuddler, too. LT inspires me to get out there and DO, to practice, and to play. 

Truman: my one who charms them all. This kid has been working it from the day he was born and I am no exception to the power of his big blond head and giant blue eyes. He teaches me to reconsider, to try again, to be silly and laugh about the word “poop” or “fart” even when I’m not in the mood. He is the one who helps my head and heart understand what it is like to be so little while observing such bigness all around you and both wanting to catch up to that but embodying such youth and tenderness at the same time. He demonstrates juxtaposition with his cries for help and independence, his big hugs and his running out of the room when he doesn’t want to stop or hear “no” one more time, his go-go-go and his need for rest and recovery. TJ inspires me to feel all the feels and to enjoy the heck out of the giggles when they come. 

Wilson: my one I never knew I needed. If I’d had my way, I would have had two boys and two girls and been Done with babies. But that’s not how it went and I decided that maybe I wasn’t done and that maybe we’d get another girl if we tried another time, and oh my goodness, I can’t imagine life any other way even though Wilson was a ball of teachings from the moment she emerged. From First Sight she taught me to rely on prayer more than I ever had in my life, but also modern medicine and doctors, too. Since then she’s taught me to be grateful for the small things that are sometimes the

big things and that there is always time and room for one more “huggy” and “kissy.” WA inspires me to wear what feels good, dance to my own tune, and love, Love, LOVE along the way. 

To my five greatest examples of what it means to grow and be in this world – thank you for teaching and inspiring me. 

*Post 8/52.