push it real good.

before all details have disappeared, let’s pick up where we left off with my pregnancy…

like many nights before, i woke up at 3am to pee. as i carefully navigated my overly pregnant belly back into bed, there was a new sensation…

that past saturday had been the full moon. they say that babies like to be born around the full moon and that dancing helps induce labor, so we ventured out to a friend’s beach birthday rave that night, and i danced under the full moon trying my best to call in the island birthing powers that be. 

but baby stayed put that night. probably for the best since we were an hour or more from the nearest hospital.

that past tuesday, in between final client work calls and baby to-do list tasks, i went to the chiropractor and acupuncturist. they say that these can help induce labor too. if nothing else, they helped me relax in my aching body.

i went to the doctor that next day, my due date. wednesday, october 12, 2022. no baby yet. the monitor showed i was having contractions pretty close together, zero centimeters dilated. all was looking well except that the baby wasn’t moving as much as the doctor wanted her to, but i knew she was just fine. i drank cold water and poked my belly to incite some motion. just as they threatened to send me to the hospital, she woke up. we passed the test and headed back home to wait.

i had never really gotten the feel for what braxton hicks contractions felt like. everyone said i’d be able to tell the difference, but would i? was this sensation just those false alarms? or gas? or cramps? 

and so when i laid on my side and tried to fall back asleep after my 3am potty break, i didn’t think too much of it. however, the cramps or contractions or whatever they were seemed to be getting more frequent. 

i got back out of bed and went to the nursery/office/guest bedroom and sat in our comfy hand-me-down rocking recliner chair. (thanks cadys.) i pulled out the journal i had been writing to our baby girl in for months. 

dear pumpkin… could you finally be making moves after nine months inside me?

as ryan’s alarm went off at 5:15am, i knew these feelings were different. he would not be going to work today. 

i texted my doulas. yes plural, as we had been working with two amazing doulas throughout my pregnancy. the one on standby for today began her journey with me. i often wonder what was happening at her house at 5am that morning as she prepared to be our rock through whatever was in store. 

in preparation for this moment, i had downloaded an app to time my contractions. they were about four minutes apart. the pain was pretty mild. my doula kept telling me to head to the hospital (a 40-minute drive from our house) when the contraction pain took my breath away or made it difficult to speak. but i was still feeling relatively fine. 

and then a lost my mucus plug in the toilet. i’ll save you all the bloody details, but that confirmed it. i was in labor.

it has been seven months since that morning. the details are already starting to fade. did i take a bath? who did i text? what was i thinking? what was ryan thinking? who texted chaz to make sure he picked up bowie? the memories are already a distant shade of gray. 

but i recall that i continued timing my contractions and texting my doula. three minutes apart. my water had not broken yet. i laid in bed with my dog and husband by my side and wondered when we should head to the hospital. just as i made the call to head to the car, my doula sent a text message that maybe it was time. 

i’m glad we both agreed.

every bump in the road made me breathe deeper with pain. the contractions were definitely starting to grow stronger as my old gray mazda 5 headed down the hana highway. how many centimeters dilated would i be upon arriving at the hospital? would they admit me? would they send me away to wait and labor in my car?

ryan dropped me off at the emergency room entrance of the maui memorial hospital around 9am on thursday, october 13th. our nephew’s birthday. as he parked my car, the staff led me to a desk to sign some paperwork. a difficult task when your contractions are now two minutes apart. 

they offered me a wheelchair to take me up the elevator to the exam room. sure, why not. but when they could not quickly locate a wheelchair, i told them to forget about it. i could make it up on my own. 

i do not remember if ryan was in the elevator with me or not. i don’t think so. i think it was just me and a nurse weathering my intensifying contractions together up two floors. i wonder what was going through my mind in that moment. i wonder what was racing through ryan’s brain as he parked the car and hauled in my carefully packed hospital bag.

into my frida mom dark gray hospital gown. selected for softness. and socks. i think i had socks on. 

the nurse checked my cervix. three centimeters dilated. normally, they do not admit mamas this early, but my contractions were very close together. i settled into my delivery room. this was it. my birth journey was fully underway. 

ryan and my doula, jamie, comforted me as i moved between the bed and a yoga ball, between the toilet and the floor. i had a well-thought-out birth plan that was quickly forgotten by my brain as the pain increased. 

my water did not break all at once. it was nothing like the movies. over the course of an hour or so, it leaked out everywhere. there was constantly liquid between my legs. i tried to breath deep and slow. i tried to listen to the cassette tape of christian science church hymns that i was raised on and always listened to when i was sick or sad as a child. i tried to focus on finally settling the debate if the singer was male or female, searching to find any thread of relief as the contractions creeped closer and closer together. 

my doula encouraged me to move and change positions but as the contractions hit back to back to back to back, all i could do was curl up in fetal position on the bed and squeeze ryan’s hand as tight as possible and yell through the pain. 

my yells were loud and guttural. they trailed off into sobs that made ryan’s heart hurt. my eyes were clinched shut for minutes, maybe hours, at a time. blacking out the waves of intensity coursing through my body.

after four hours of this, i was almost seven centimeters. three more to go. the contractions were not letting up or giving me the break i desperately needed. and although my beautifully designed birth plan clearly stated no medical interventions, i heard the words in my head, and then out of my mouth: help me.

the nurse made the call i wanted her to make. i sat up on the edge of the bed, tucked my chin to my chest, tried with every fiber in my being not to move during contractions, and had a man whose face i have no recollection of insert a crazy needle into my spine. 

yes, i got an epidural. and no, i do not regret it. 

although i tried to push through my labor and delivery without the aid of pain medication, in that moment, i knew i needed help to delivery this baby safely and with ease. and within minutes, my hospital room was a whole different space. the fear and pain had left completely. i could not feel or move my legs, but i could stop clenching my jaw and squinting my eyes. i could smile at my husband and crack jokes with the nurses. i was myself again. 

i’m not sure what the next few hours would have looked like if i had powered through. perhaps our baby would have arrived minutes later. or maybe i would have ended up on the surgery table. we will never know. but what i do know, is that i was present to witness the birth of my daughter, not blacking out in pain.

after a nap and a few hours of hanging out with ryan and jamie, it was time to push. we all think i was probably fully dilated before the doctor came in, but oh well, no harm in letting baby girl move a bit further towards her entrance to the world. 

around 7pm, a circle of nurses huddled around my lower half. the doctor spread my legs wide, with ryan by my side, and instructed me to push on each contraction. by this time, the epidural had worn off a bit. i could not feel pain, but i could feel pressure. i could feel the sensation of each contraction pushing baby girl out. 

with everyone else ready, i was told a contraction was happening, and it was time to… push! 

instead, i told ryan to grab the speaker and put some music on. i definitely wanted to push to some music. a dancer can’t give birth without some beats! i didn’t have a playlist picked out though, so as all the nurses, doctor, and doula waited, i scrolled through my iphone trying to decide. i quickly threw on a playlist i had made for snowboarding several years ago called “mountain magic.” 

the first song to come on was the nitty gritty band’s “fishin’ in the dark.” it surprised everyone in the room. not typical “pushing” music i was told… but i was into it.

for 30 minutes, i followed the rhythm of my body and pushed until i thought my head would explode. at one point, the doctor mentioned the possibility of an episiotomy as the baby’s head seemed stuck at the ears (ryan’s genetics i’m guessing), but i just blatantly ignored her and kept pushing. no one was slicing open my nether regions on purpose. 

some gladiator movie, maybe 300?, was playing on the small hospital television. fitting i thought. country music and gladiators raging out. this was definitely how i would want our child to enter the world.

and then, at 7:34pm, there was a rush of liquid and a poop covered (meconium apparently) baby girl with a full head of blonde hair was placed upon my chest. holy crap, i had just given birth to my grandpa. (or myself.) this child was definitely my daughter. complete with her great grandpa bird’s german cheeks and blue eyes.

ryan asked me if i could hear what song was playing on the speaker… i tuned out the chaos of the room and focused in on the music. ooh baby baby baby baby, ooh baby baby ba-baby baby…

that’s right. our baby girl had just been born to salt-n-pepa’s “push it.” i shit you not. i could not have asked for a more perfect entrance for our little matilda maple.

again, the details get fuzzy here, and i am sure i’m leaving out a million of them. but as i held our daughter, all 7lbs. 14oz. and 21 inches of her, i was so grateful for her safe and harmonious arrival. after we had a sufficient amount of snuggles, ryan cut her umbilical cord and watched in complete fascination as the doctor delivered my placenta and stitched me up. (he now is pretty certain he missed his calling as a surgeon and could sew up a vagina if ever called upon to do so.)

we relocated to our recovery room overlooking the iao valley and sacred hawaiian birthing pools and settled in for the next 48 hours. two hospital beds side by side with a cute little bundle swaddled up in between us ready for us to welcome her home. 

what a journey. birth is no joke. beautiful, painful, challenging, easy, disgusting, magical, all the things every mama tries to explain to you but you don’t understand until you’ve experienced it. and unique. this birth story is unlike another. this birth story is ours and only ours.

and maybe the sexy people. and maybe all you fly mothers… 🙂

red flags and faint lines.

whether in our camper van in the back of a washington cvs parking lot or in the apres glow of big sky, montana’s mountainous sunset, at some point in the early weeks of january 2022, i became pregnant. over a year later, this feels like forever ago. and, just yesterday. 

no it was not an accident. and no it was not intentional. it was what i lovingly deemed my fear baby. 

after my older sister consulted a fertility clinic through her pregnancy journey, she suggested that although i was not yet purposefully trying to conceive, it might be good for me to do so as well. just to see what i was working with. i figured, why not? i was a “geriatric” mother (aka thirty-five or older) after all.

so i scheduled a phone consult. 

turned out i had “several red flags” working against me according to the fertility specialist…

i had been having unprotected sex for a year.

i had shorter menstrual cycles than normal since going off the birth control pill. 

i had a family history of low egg count.

i was old as fuck (again, aka thirty-five).

well then! i hung up the phone in a panic. i could feel the fear creeping into my psyche. did i want children? sure. did i need children? meh. my brain bounced through every possible scenario and emotion within minutes.

when my hubby got home from work, i immediately posed the question to him… 

you definitely want children right? 

yes, why?

i have several red flags and we should maybe actually start trying (instead of just pulling the goalie). 

we had been pushing becoming parents down the line as far as we could. perfectly content in the adventurous life we had carefully crafted together. as friends around us took the leap, we held strong, enjoying every child-free moment of ease. i mean, auntie life is truly the best life, am i right?!

but we always knew we wanted to try on the title of mother and father one day. and after that phone call, apparently it had to be one day soon.

so i whipped out the ovulation strips that a recently pregnant friend had suggestively sent home with me a few months prior. i peed on them until the lines confirmed what my body already knew. it was time.

and just like that, my fear about red flags dissolved and in its place a fear baby was born. and although a wise man once told me that “fear is a bad motivator,” this time it was just what we needed to finally take action. 

and that other age-old saying, “it just takes once,” well i guess sometimes it’s true…

while complaining about heartburn to a friend who had recently conceived, she jokingly mentioned i was probably pregnant. i laughed. i hadn’t even missed my period yet. but alas, she forced my to pee on a spare test she had laying around. 

boom. i was right. there was nothing. no line. i was not pregnant. 

she glanced at the test laying against the clean white porcelain sink and freaked out… that’s positive! you’re pregnant! she called my partner and broke the good news. 

i assured him i was not pregnant. there was no pink line. she was seeing things.

she strongly disagreed. just like a covid test, apparently even the faintest line equals a positive test. 

i was visiting family in chicago. ryan was back at our home on maui. i hung up the phone and left him in limbo. i couldn’t be pregnant already, could i?

she sent me home with a few more test strips and instructions to take one every day and see if the faint line darkened. turns out she knew what she was talking about…

and the universe had something else in store. my sister was pregnant as well. due the day before me. our family was about to change.

as the days went by, two naps per day and a bloated belly became the norm. first trimester was kind to me. no morning sickness. no weird cravings. no raging hormones. just an overwhelming exhaustion. sleep beckoned to me at all hours of the day.

as the genetics test week approached, we had to decide if we wanted to know the gender or wait. i’ve never been good at decisions. every day the capricorn in me battled the sagittarius in me. i needed to plan, but also, you don’t get very many true surprises in your life. 

like most major decisions in my life, i made a well-assessed game time decision. 

alone in the oahu specialist’s exam room, the doctor asked if i wanted his best guess. at that moment, with a 3-D image of the being growing inside me up on the screen, squirming and looking all alien like, why yes, yes i did. 

and then it was real. it was a she. the thing leeching all my energy would be a daughter. she would make me a mother. i let myself soak in the news. a special secret moment that would always be just between her and me. my hand on my belly. her tiny barely formed body swirling beneath it. 

it was easter when i told her father. he thought it was a girl. he wanted a girl. and yet, moments after confirming his wish would come true, he was already thinking about the next child. he now also wanted a boy. so much for living in the moment… 

which became harder and harder. 

time was flying by. second trimester came and went. with a renewed sense of energy, i picked back up to my pre-pregnancy pace. surfing, climbing, hiking, yoga, dance. i felt the activities that have defined me for three decades slipping away. the pause button was inching closer and closer as my toes disappeared below my belly inch by inch. 

my bump had finally popped. i no longer just looked like i ate too big of a burrito for lunch. i was halfway through seven different pregnancy and birth books. i was interviewing doulas and making overly detailed never-ending to-do lists. i was researching temporary disability insurance and maternity photographers. my instagram feed was suddenly filled with birth stories and parenting tips. 

motherhood was creeping in quicker by the day, and i had not yet come to terms with this new identity lurking for me come october.

october 12 to be exact. or rather, not exact at all. science’s best guess at mother nature’s timeline. 

in three months, i would be a mother. sure, i was already technically a mother to the human growing inside me, but i was still sara to others. i could still shake it on the dance floor until two in the morning. i could still fly to alaska and trek out onto a glacier. i could still hike out for sunny day waterfall parties. i could still tie my own shoe…

and then i couldn’t. 

we celebrated the two baby girls heading to transform the schneider sisters into mothers at the same time. a joint shower in illinois and a solo one in hawaii. this baby would be loved by all the people who had touched our lives, around the globe. very loved. and very blessed to have such rad humans awaiting her arrival.

sleepiness set back in as i entered my third trimester. i pleaded with ryan to massage my swollen feet every night. i planned my maternity leave and submitted my insurance forms. (although i am still unsure if i was supposed to check “accident” or “sickness” for my temporary disability cause.) i noticed our pup becoming more protective and snuggling even harder than usual.

as ryan built me bookshelves, i collected the necessities from as many second hand sources as i could. i sorted through the wonderful gifts and hand-me-downs we had received and watched my office/guest room quickly become overrun with baby stuff.

i finally decided on a doula and ate as many cinnamon rolls from baked on maui as my two hearts desired.

baby girl was on her way. were we ready?


another late post, just in time for spring…

the biting, winter cold revitalizes a part of my soul untouchable by the warm, ocean breeze. a nostalgia that cannot be replaced by sandy toes and rolling waves. i am born of the seasons. rosy cheeks did not come from the sun but rather from the wind. i understand the true definition of layering and that indescribable feeling upon your face when the sun shines through the snowflakes. 

and i am grateful. 

the beauty of snow-capped peaks looming down over quaint mountain towns… nothing else makes my insides shine quite as bright. and although the midwest may be lacking in altitude, and i didn’t necessarily grow up staring at an epic range, the snowy air runs deep through my veins. 

ice-crusted evergreens and barren deciduous branches bring me back to my fondest memories. sledding the rickety toboggan down the old windmill hill. knocking human-sized icicles from the roof of our big green house.

learning to handle my car in the snow by chucking donuts in the church parking lot at the end of old kirk road. instantly being frozen awake upon exiting my dorm en route to my 8am psych 101 lecture. shredding icy canadian hills with fellow snowboard club delinquents. annual sister snowboard trips to new slopes.

maybe being born in december innately draws me to the magic of winter. or perhaps it is the contrast of the warmth we are forced to find inside set against the stark chill of the dark awaiting us outside. we hibernate. with each other. 

although my thick skin has thinned from a decade away from the cold corners of the country, the sight of my breath on the freezing air makes me smile. i may whine about the below zero temperatures when i return to the midwest in january and joke that i don’t understand how anyone lives in this climate, but beneath my complaints, i am reveling in the sensations.

the snow crunching beneath my salt-stained boots. every inch of my bare skin frantically trying to hide behind wooly scarves, mittens, and hats. odd sound effects jumping uncontrollably from my chattering lips. 

in hawaii, the days never grow short. the sun pushes me to do more, always. but i am a child of winter. i need nature’s permission to slow down. to wrap up in a blanket and sit by the fire with no pressure to chase the day’s last light. for four months, we are subconsciously taught to cozy up. to leave the nighttime play for endless summer evenings.

and yet, after a week of bone chilling, i am glad to be returning to the warmth. to ditch the socks and defrost. 

but i am grateful.

to know winter in all her glory.

an ode to journals.

extremely late to post per usual, from october 2021.

on october twelfth, i finished another journal. i do not have my rubbermaid bin of past finished journals on hand (since it still lives in our portland storage unit), but if i had to guess, this is probably number twenty-something. 

each one has drastically varied in completion time. in the early angsty middle school days, i could plow through the pages of a fresh journal in months. filling the lines with dark poems, hopeless romantic musings, and skewed illusions of the future. 

but this one took over two years. 

sure, some journals are bigger than others. some have lines, some have blank pages, some have dots. some are hardback, some of spiral, some are softcover. but overall, the length of time it takes me to complete a handwritten journal has steadily increased since fifth grade. 

the days of sitting in a dirty college cafe and whimsically crafting stories about the couple arguing in the corner are few and far between. now most journal entries are written thousands of miles up in the air. when i am alone (and without internet). 

like right now. on a flight from oakland back to maui.

and yet, nowadays i must choose. do i scribble in my new cardboard cover moleskine with crisp, fresh white pages? or do i type up something on this blog to keep fueling my father’s super fan status? 

the answer is always both.

buying a new journal is always a fairly ritualistic and meaningful experience for me. as i see pages starting to dwindle in my existing one, the excitement builds. every stroll through the local letterpress shop or bookstore becomes a potentially life-altering moment. sometimes i regret my decision. sometimes i wish there were more pages to fill. over the last twenty-five years, i have acquired some preferences regarding style, paper, and size, but in general, my collection is quite diverse.

the small orange geometric-shape-covered journal that i’ve carried around with me since june 2019 says “you got this” in gold on the front. when i purchased it, i had no idea how much i would need that simple reminder. no idea that its pages would include my mind meanderings over the course of my two weddings, covid-19 lockdown, moving back to hawaii, and starting a new job after eight years with the festival. 

i do not re-read my entries right away. i let them simmer and stew. and then, on those nostalgic likely wine-induced evenings, i revisit past memories, past stories, past emotions. 

what will stand out from this past twenty-eight months? what will be hard to read? what will make me laugh out loud? what will i learn? how did i grow?

what a blessing to have been called to write routinely at such a young age. a chronicle of my life lies at my fingertips ready to remind me of my past, present, and future (minus the one journal that mysteriously went missing in an airplane seat back pocket). 

more than once, my journals have saved me. they have fallen open to the exact right page in the hands of another and revealed what needed to be seen. they have given me a way to make sense of the insensible. they have listened when i didn’t feel like talking. 

today as i filled the first page of my new journal, i felt such gratitude. for the writers before me. for the writers after me. 

and as i went to close my journal and open my laptop, i thought i was going to tell you the story of my twenty mile hike through the haleakala crater. 

but instead, you get an ode to my journals.

en route: another world.

there is a tinge of cigarette smoke in the air. almost thick enough to taste with every labored breath through my sunflower mandated mask. it is so rare these days. to be indoors and trapped with that hint of nicotine. but large neon letters spell out a welcome place to inhale and exhale. right next to my gate.

a constant hum of chatter is interrupted with animated electric beats and jackpot dings and bings and rings. the bright colors flash and spin enticing me to sit down and zone out for a minute, or ten. i resist.

this is another world. 

even before you step outside the airport and into the seething desert summer heat, you are engulfed in the chaos. 

i go to the bathroom twice in the first thirty minutes of wandering around in search of a decent meal to take with me on my long journey across the pacific. not because i really have to pee, but because the overwhelm of the stimulation is unnerving. in the stall, i feel safe. invisible. protected.

i am tired from two weeks of traveling. staying up too late feeding my latest screen addictions. waking up too early trying to squeeze in more love sessions with my favorite people. 

but i am so energized. soaking in the feelgoods that come along with trips down memory lane. sinking into the nostalgia and letting feelings of sheer gratitude ooze out of my every pore. cherished memories of people and places that have made me this girl. this woman. a reminder that i still am this person.

i sit on the end of a row with outlets to recharge. too close to the slot machines, but prime location for people watching.

good old las vegas. 

this is just a layover, but i cannot help but get lost in the glitz. and gloom. it is hard to describe this bubble. its reputation telling its own story before i layer on my own. 

i have been here many times before. as a child, for dance competitions. as a young adult, for amusement. lately, for climbing. but today feels different. i do not remember the airport feeling so… much.

over the past year, i have traveled more than most. despite the pandemic, i found a way to feel responsible and safe. but, here, right now, i am flabbergasted. wide-eyed and staring as hoards of people dance past me in rhythm to the sea of artificial sounds. 

do they know they are part of this performance? 

they dress the part. brightly colored ensembles. escalating movement and frantic meandering. there is a scene from across the universe where a new york sidewalk crowded with pedestrians navigate the chaos to the beatles’ come together. it has always been one of my favorite pieces from that film. 

today i am jojo. slowly and consciously strolling amidst the crowds. taking it all in. watching my thoughts react. and release. and come together, right now, over me.

and then, there is an eerie silence that takes hold of the las vegas airport. all the slot machines are quiet. all the people are quiet. only a faint beeping of a cart cruising past alerting travelers to step aside. 

mmmm. the juxtaposition is unexpected, and so noticeable.

a line is forming in front of me. it is time to get ready. pre-clearance for entrance to maui. proving we are healthy. just like when i fly to australia, i stare at the faces. can i tell who is just visiting and who calls the island home? i imagine what they will do when they land. go to costco to stock up? jump in the ocean? stand in awe of the west mauis and haleakala?

i smile knowing exactly what i will be doing… embracing two of my favorite beings, grateful to be home.

the electronic bass of the nearest money making machine fires back up, and they are at it again. 

settled into unsettled.

publishing four months after writing… i promise one day i’ll get better at posting in the present moment. but airplane internet usually keeps me from sharing my airplane writing immediately. 🙂


my definition of home was pretty concrete growing up. i lived in the same house for 12 years, built by my grandpa’s hands. the big green house on old kirk road. for the majority of the time, i had the same bedroom with the one slanted wall and the weird closet door that led to a hole looking down into the utility/laundry room. i knew everyone on the block and all the places to steal a good view of the minor league baseball stadium’s friday night fireworks display. 

until about 12-years-old, i was settled. 

at which point, my parents got divorced. my childhood home became my part-time home. and i moved six times in the six years following that first move. 

six different spaces to call home. a few apartments, a townhouse, and a couple single family homes. as my mom settled into a beautiful tudor style house for several years, my dad sold our childhood home and moved to a neighboring town with his new significant other. every ounce of childhood consistency associated with a specific physical location evaporated. 

and my cycle of constant movement continued full steam ahead… 

i headed to the university of michigan and lived in a different dorm or apartment each year. four new places (in four years) to call my home away from home. 

after graduation came a new city and three new homes. i was officially an adult (or something resembling one). i planted my roots. i was in love with michigan, in love with grand rapids. finding joy in my work. joy in my hobbies. joy in my community. 

and so i left. 

because, why not?

i packed up my blue chevy cavalier and headed west to portland. four more roofs over my head in the span of two years. my work shifted, and i became fully self-employed. able to complete my work from anywhere with halfway decent internet. so settled into being unsettled that i subconsciously crafted a career that would allow me to continue my rootless journey. 

a journey that led me to my match. 

after being without an official address for a year, i met a man who seemed to be equally, if not more, transient than me. 

it was the end of his year long holiday in north america. we headed back to the middle of nowhere australia and took up a temporary residence in a house he owned. i flew back and forth from the u.s. to australia for two years. sending all my mail to my dad’s house. staying with friends and bouncing around the country with no plan of settling down in sight.

tired yet?

i was. i was almost 30 and starting to think about what it might look like if i stopped moving. what would it feel like? could we do it? would we be content?

we tried it…? in hawaii. for two years. in three different houses on oahu. and then six months on maui. and then three months on kauai. 

during all our island living, i was still regularly flying to and from portland for work. when an opportunity came up to move back to the pacific northwest and create a home on a 675 acre mountain, i thought, okay, this must be it. this must be where we are meant to plant some roots. 

we fueled our travel bug and lived in our ryan-custom-built camper van for six months and then prepared to park her and dig into our new home. our forever home?

but, even there, neighbors to rural families who had lived there for generations, we were unsettled. living out of boxes in a construction zone for a year and finally unpacking into a beautifully ryan-remodeled basement apartment just in time for the covid lockdown. 

months and months of forced stillness. we bought plants. we hung artwork. and just as the leaves began to fall in rainbows on the earth, we packed up yet again. three more months in the camper van adventuring, visiting my mom’s new home in palm springs with her significant other, and seeing the rest of the family in the chicagoland area.

and now we are back on maui. 

and now i am tired.

and now i see the pattern. the habit. the lifestyle.

if you’ve read this far, i applaud you. truly. what a wild ride…

when i opened up this blank document, i did not know what words would reveal themselves. since i’m on a flight from maui back to chicago for my sister’s 40th birthday, my brain was engulfed in the nostalgia of home and family. as i veered towards the topic of home, i did not realize the rabbit hole that was ahead of me. 

that i have been in a constant state of motion for the past 22 years.

and now i am left wondering… will we ever “settle” down?

rambling on returning, in february.

unintentionally we complete our own cycles. always around the lunar new year it seems.

in early february… 

2016, ryan and i decided to move to hawaii and live together (not long distance) for the first time in our relationship. 

2018, we decided to elope and then move back to the mainland to live in a van.

2019, we settled in the pacific northwest to try our hand at life on a 700 acre mountain.

2020, we returned from our australian wedding celebration and entered the crazy covid lockdown phase.

and now, in early february 2021, we are returning to hawaii. (this time with a pup.)

it is crazy how every major life change has happened for us in early february. a time ripe for newness and change. we board a plane and our world shifts. our address changes. our clothing changes. heck, sometimes even our names change (or mine anyways). 

and yet, this shift feels like a return home. an escape back to the known. a place where the sun is warm, where the rain is warm, where the ocean is warm. 

ryan and i have continuously been stuck between choosing the mountains or the ocean. the forest or the beach. we feel at home in both. however, my childhood home was always the forest and his the beach. we bounce back and forth trying to find the perfect recipe of ingredients to satisfy our wanderlust. 

how do you combine two youthful nostalgias into one? how do you redefine what feels like home? 

after seven years of trying to navigate this question, i do not have an answer. but, it feels like we might be on the verge. on the verge of finding what fits for us. for our lives. for our futures.

it is always an interesting feeling to return to something. whether to a place or a job or a relationship. the notion of going back to something can feel like a cop out, like a step backward instead of forward.

it can also feel oh so good. like returning to a routine or an unfinished project or a forgotten hobby. picking up where you left off can be welcoming and comforting. a reminder that perhaps you were supposed to be here all along. perhaps you only left so that you could remember why you must return.

the eternal cycle of departing and arriving. 

so today, we departed. we said goodbye to a beautiful and magical mountain in the wet, mossy, fern-filled forests of battle ground, washington. we reluctantly bid farewell to a community of neighbors who truly are like family to us. and we boarded a plane.

and in a few hours, we will arrive. we will say aloha to the sound of waves crashing on the shore. we will inhale the sweet smell of plumeria (or frangipani if you’re aussie). we will joyfully greet the friends and family we left behind. and we will have arrived.

a new chapter to this crazy story we’re writing… 

our australian wedding (anniversary).

a year ago today, i married my best friend for the third time on our second anniversary. 

let that sink in. 

it has become a running joke… the fact that we had three weddings, one per year for the past three years (2018, 2019, 2020). and now, as 2021 begins, the first year without a wedding, i can’t help but desire a fourth… and a fifth and sixth and so on forever. i think annual weddings should definitely be a thing.

but instead, i’ll let myself sink back into the sweet memories of february 1, 2020. our australian wedding…

what a blessing it was to have my immediate family and a few close friends fly a million hours across the ocean to experience ryan’s home and share in our wedding day. wow. i am still filled with complete and utter gratitude for the commitment and gesture to join us so far away. 

the week leading up to our australian wedding day was unforgettable to say the least. ryan was on cloud nine showing off his country, his culture, and his favorite home town spots. his childlike joy was palpable, and our foreign friends and family were eating it up. indulging his extreme enthusiasm. 

we toured up the coast to airlie beach and the whitsundays with my sister, two childhood besties, and their partners. although it was the rainy season, we still managed to find fun around every corner. and geckos. and frogs. and jellyfish. and stingrays. and magical silica white sand. because… australia.

the classically charming aussie flight attendant force fed them vegemite on the flight back down to the gold coast (ryan’s home), and the weeks of endless laughter and smiles began. 

an intense cold also began for me.

the days leading up to our wedding day were filled with mucus and endless snotty tissues for me. my head was on the verge of combustion for days. but, i put on my big girl pants and tried to be the best hostess i could be. surely i would be well by saturday; it was only wednesday…

more and more guests arrived from america and other parts of australia. we visited the venue – the pacific beach surf club, a staple of ryan’s childhood – and finalized all the details. 

it was slightly difficult to plan a wedding from 7,000 miles away, but with the help of ryan’s family and my extreme love for planning, it was nothing short of amazing. 

on friday night, ryan’s dad hosted all the usual suspects at his house for a barbecue. like the american wedding, my heart exploded to see such love and laughter fill a space. our two worlds colliding. our two families connecting. ryan’s childhood friends meeting some of mine. and through it all, i was laid out on various couches, near death.

was it this new thing on the news called covid-19? dr. don assured me no. he arrived at the party for our late night emergency call (a longtime family friend and doctor). he took me aside with his stethoscope, assured me i’d be fine, and wrote a prescription for some codeine. and just like that… i was healed!

on that miraculous night, we also gained an epic groomsmen. ryan found out last minute that one of his groomsmen was not going to be able to fly in for the wedding, but luckily, friday night shenanigans were able to produce an outstanding alternative and a hilarious tale that will definitely stand the test of time. 

the beers flowed all night, as they usual do at gordie’s house. some intense pool volleyball (or some water sport) went down in the backyard. and although i took my sick butt to bed before midnight, ryan stumbled back to the beachside apartment (that our friend’s so graciously lent us for a couple days) well after that.

but he was happy. oh so happy to be home. 

and then the day was here. technically our two year wedding anniversary. (yes, we secretly eloped at a honolulu courthouse in 2018, but that’s another story.)

when we awoke, i could breathe! it was a wedding miracle! and thank goodness because wedding days are long and full of excitement. i knew, i already had done this before…

we ran a few last minute venue errands, then i met all the women at my sister-in-law’s house. ryan met all the men at his dad’s house. and we did the things… again. 

it is rare you get to relive your wedding day. do your hair differently. do your makeup differently. wear a different dress if you want (i didn’t want). remember to take it all in because the day goes so fast. and it was such a blessing. 

the wedding dj i had hired referred me to a makeup/hair stylist who was on point. her team was amazing. we skipped the professional “getting ready” photos this time around, but my bridesmaids and mothers all looked amazing. we were ready for this beautiful beach wedding.

and i was ready for my grand entrance. driving up onto the beach in ryan’s dad’s beautiful old fb classic car. my father escorting me out of it and down the aisle. sunflowers in my hand. my husband already awaiting me at the other end. a live rendition of nick cave’s “into my arms” filling the air.

wow. we are so lucky. all of our australian friends and family surrounding us with their smiles and joy.

as i said in my post about our american wedding, this is why i had a wedding. (or three.)

there is no other time when all the people from your life will gather in one room (except your funeral). no other time that you can look out over the crowd and share a special bond with every set of eyes you meet. no other time when every one you love is loving you right back at the exact same moment.

and again as i said in my other wedding post…

as we approached the altar, i melted into overwhelming gratitude. my big brother ready to marry me to the love of my life. my mother and father to give me away. my sister, best friends, and sister-in-laws standing by my side. both of our families lining the front rows with pure happiness. what a blessing.

although we followed a similar ceremony, nothing felt like a repeat. this day was its own day. this wedding was its own wedding. reading and hearing our vows for a second time only deepened their meaning, only strengthen our commitment. i was choosing this man, for the third time, and he was choosing me. 


now onto the photos! a complete juxtaposition to our american woodsy wedding. we strolled the beach barefoot and kicked up sand. we ran from the waves and felt the wind in our hair. 

meanwhile, our guests moseyed on upstairs to our surf club reception. as the dj announced the wedding party, i was excited for the fun to continue!

although the venue does not allow live bands (and neither did our second wedding budget), i found a way to make do on the dance floor. i’m not quite sure if i actually left the dance floor at all that night. and as my champagne glass was emptied and refilled and emptied and refilled, i tried harder and harder to force people to join me in my dancing endeavors. once a dancer, always a dancer…

contrary to typical australian weddings which tend to be casual when it comes to traditions, i insisted we stay traditionally. we joyfully repeated the father/daughter and mother/son dances. we listened intently to our family’s toasts and speeches. and i would do it again if i had the chance.

ryan’s dad had used his social “mayor” of gold coast connections to secure us a fabulous chef to provide an assortment of seafood, skewers, and other delicious samplings to keep our bellies full. ryan’s childhood climbing friend happens to be a stellar baker and thankfully agreed to offer us her impeccable desserts. 

by the end of the night, i was reliving those same emotion i had felt in september…

it is so hard to do it all in one night. there were so many people that i barely got to hug. so many friends that i wanted to talk to more. so many family members that i wanted to laugh with more. so many dances left to be had. so many drinks left to be drank. (well, maybe not that last one. our final bar tab was pretty impressive.)

and now, a year later, this post lets me (and all of us) relive it. every moment of sheer joy. every lyric of our impromptu american dance floor singing showcase of “home among the gumtrees.” every scavenger hunt item requested by our crazy dj. every moment of core-crippling laughter.

oh what a night. the perfect addition to our love story.

over seven years of togetherness, and now, today, three years of marriage. 

i’ll let you know when to save the date for our fourth wedding! 🙂

(all professional images by wallflower weddings)

our american wedding.

six months later, i finally found the time to reflect on september 28, 2019. our american wedding…

(all images in this blog post by the fabulous kirsten ellis of beaux arts photographie)

as a little girl, and then as a teenage girl, and then as a young woman, i was surrounded by love stories. books about love at first sight. movies about happily ever after. songs about forever. despite my tendencies to fight against the stereotype, i have dreamt of this day since richard geer fell for julia roberts.

in a college creative writing class, i even wrote an entire essay examining this contradiction. entitled “cynically in love,” my 20-year-old self waxed and waned on the intricacies of love and marriage. finding my way through the different ways love can look. questioning the notion of a soulmate. noting the flaws of forever.

but we did it. i found the perfect white dress. he wrote the perfect vows. and instead of a cake, we cut a perfect homemade pumpkin pie. and it was better than i could have ever imagined.

after six years of loving ryan, it was so easy to stand by his side, in front of 130 friends and family (mainly from our american adventures), and promise a lifetime of memorable moments.

the weekend started with rain. close family and friends came together to help us set up the venue, river bend nature center.

a beautiful 80-acre nature center in racine, wisconsin on the root river, just ten minutes from lake michigan. the ground was muddy, and the air was misty, but i was on cloud nine.

as the lights were strung from the rafters and the sunflowers filled my grandmother’s vases, a smile conquered my chubby cheeks and did not let loose for the next 48 hours. we transformed a dingy little taxidermy-filled lodge into my dream wedding getaway.

friends and family from all over the world began to arrive. as we hugged each and every one of them, my smile grew bigger. my heart on the verge of combustion. a quiet pub in racine bursting with laughter and light. (and this was only friday night.)

although i had drafted a detailed itinerary for the weekend, i plowed straight through our 10pm listed bedtime and basked in the beauty of the life we’ve created.

this is why i had a wedding.

there is no other time when all the people from your life will gather in one room (except your funeral). no other time that you can look out over the crowd and share a special bond with every set of eyes you meet. no other time when every one you love is loving you right back at the exact same moment.

saturday morning we awoke. tired, but ready. excited, but relaxed.

the weather predictions said the sun would come out by 4pm, but rain or shine, there was literally nothing that could ruin my high.

the groom and his ridiculous crew of groomsmen reluctantly got ready in their lakefront airbnb.

my bridesmaids, mothers, and i spent four hours at the local salon repeatedly telling the hair and makeup artists to keep it natural, none of us really wear makeup or do our hair.

around 2pm, slightly behind schedule, my mother and sister helped me into my BHLDN dress.

high neck and cap sleeves. open back and beautiful lace. proudly purchased online on cyber monday for over 50% off (gotta love a good deal).

and then… the hair, the makeup, the dress, i was almost ready. three small wildflowers picked from the land and tucked into my curls. carpe the fuck out of this diem socks and leather lace up boots. transformation complete.

breaking tradition, we did the modern “first look” photos. ryan stood awaiting his bride. i felt his eyes see straight through me as he turned and stole a glance. with the camera and crowd on either side, i felt his shyness shine, but i felt his love shine brighter.

the sun had broken through the clouds. it was chilly, but the rain had retreated. we hiked around through the woods for a couple hours fake laughing to make ourselves actually laugh. trying to look natural, so that we could relive this day eternally. a smile still plastered on my chubby cheeks.

as a classic yellow school bus shuttled guests from the hotel to the venue, i casually waited back in the bridal cabin. without an ounce of stress, i sipped a glass of white wine and reapplied my lipstick. it was time.

each bridesmaid strolled down the aisle arm-in-arm with each groomsmen. a best friend’s old time string band fiddling a waltz. as the last couple took their place at the altar, the music shifted. the band began to play nick cave’s “into my arms.” our song. a surprise for the groom.

waiting in the wings, my father pointed out a honey bee who had made his home on my bouquet of sunflowers, white roses, and eucalyptus. i carefully found him a new home and began the short stroll to my husband.

this is the moment. a daughter being walked down the aisle by her daddy. i am so lucky to have such an amazing man to call my father.

and as we approached the altar, i melted into overwhelming gratitude. my big brother ready to marry me to the love of my life. my mother and father to give me away. my sister standing by my side. both of our families lining the front rows with pure happiness. what a blessing.

we listened to my brother dan’s wise words.

we asked our community for support. we exchanged personalized vows.

we exchanged custom made rings.

we kissed too many times (before we were supposed to). 

and we became wife and husband. but most importantly, we laughed. all of us. together.

there was an unbounded joy that filled the pavilion. an outpouring of optimism that we will work to cultivate the rest of our lives. it was not the beginning of our love story, and it is far from the end, but this chapter will be bookmarked for years to come. so thank you for helping us write the perfect addition to our happily ever after.

more photos, followed by food and drinks and dessert. barramundi, chicken skewers, and sweet potatoes served through a milwaukee food truck window. beer, wine, and whiteclaws chilled and ready for sipping (despite three boxes of misplaced collector edition “better together” wine glasses featuring a kangaroo that looked like a rabbit and an eagle that looked like a chicken, if you still want one or two or ten, let me know). freshly baked mini pies flying off the table, key lime a family fave.

ryan and i sat down outside at a picnic table in the center of it all. old time tunes filling the air, delicious food filling our bellies, and love filling our souls. the perfection continued.

inside the dancing was about to begin. as my brother announced the wedding party, we entered a room transformed by its contents.

we cut a homemade pumpkin pie baked by my stepbrother and his daughter.

we danced our first dance to a jimmy barne’s cover of “higher and higher.” a perfect compromise, an american classic sung by an australian legend.

we laughed and cried through well thought out and not so well thought out toasts and speeches. (in case you were curious about my dad’s blog reference, you can find gratitude day 5, #5 here.)

i danced with my father to tim mcgraw’s “my little girl,” and ryan danced with his mother to elton john’s “can you feel the love tonight?”

all my little girl hopes and dreams came true.

and then, the dancing began.

the rest of the evening is a blur of happiness and glee, but i do believe i was a dancing queen.

even broke the zipper on one of my boots. it is impossible not to tear up a dance floor with a killer saxophone laying down motown classics.


and my sister rapping with the band to “bust a move.” (don’t worry, there is video.) and my aunt dancing with the lead singer during set breaks.

apparently, with all the dancing i did, i missed our late night chicago style hot dog bar and s’mores by the campfire. as well as an ape index measuring session happening out in the lobby.

but it is so hard to do it all in one night. there were so many people that i barely got to hug. so many friends that i wanted to talk to more. so many family members that i wanted to laugh with more. so many dances left to be had. so many drinks left to be drank.

as the clock struck midnight, the music stopped. the lights came down. the tables and chairs were broken down. and the last school bus of guests pulled away.

we sat by the campfire in the silence. sweat dried down by back, dirt coating the lace rim of my dress, and a smile still stuck to my face.

oh what a night. the perfect addition to our love story.

and we get to do it all again. down under…

beauty and a broken bum.

and the last forgotten post. written six months ago…

since the beginning of our relationship, i have heard about the alpaca farm ryan’s friend had in southern chile. how he had lived there for a few months and helped with the alpaca and the fly fishing lodge. how it was the most beautiful place on earth. how he would muster horses through creeks and mountains. how lucky…

five years later, i am also lucky to experience el saltamontes lodge. the gorroño family’s property in the aysén region of southern chile (about an hour from coyhuique) is stunning. a picture perfect mountain getaway. i am so grateful that we could include a visit to the farm/lodge a part of this trip.


ryan’s friend and his girlfriend drove five hours to scoop us up from argentina and drive us five hours back to his farm in chile. we went through the border crossing (a small shack on a dirt road with one guard) with ease and continued on our way into our third country on this whirlwind world tour. 

as we left the high desert of argentina and continued towards the coast, the mountains grew taller and the temperature grew colder, but the sun was still shining bright (apparently not the norm in this area). the barren roads surrounded by nature started to be spotted with tiny farms and adorable mountain homes. my understanding of spanish lessened as the chilean accent strengthened. 

and then, we arrived. ryan jumped out to open gate after gate as we slowly drove by cows and horses and alpaca. a hidden gem. ryan’s stories were right. this was a pretty spectacular slice of this wonderful world. the mountains all around. crystal clear rivers and lakes. 5,000 acres of beauty to explore. 

it was christmas eve, and the rest of lucas’ family and friends greeted us with open arms. they had not seen ryan in ten years. two friends from south africa were down from santiago. they had cooked one of their home dishes, bobotie. we set the table and basked in the christmas cheer, and red wine. 

after dinner, we sat by the fire and opened a few gifts. ryan and i were graciously given a chilean staple, boinas. the hat necessary for true gauchos. we were ready to wrangle the horses!

since the fly fishing season started a bit late this year due to the river, our hosts set us up in a phenomenal riverside lodge with giant windows and quite the view. sure, we’ll test it out for you before this year’s guests arrive… a little bit of an upgrade from the sleeping pads we had been on the past few nights. 

on christmas day, we slept in late. we are really getting used to the south american way… stay up really late, sleep in kind of late. we walked back to the main house breathing in the clear air and feeling the sunshine upon our skin. i’m starting to get used to this whole christmas in summer thing.

cafe and desayuno. slowly we came to life. helping prep the lodge for a christmas dinner with other friends and extended family. and then, taking a break from our chores to enjoy a little christmas day trail ride. 

i grew up around horses. my mom rode horses. my sister rode horses. i rode horses. we love horses.

i was so excited to be back in the saddle. back around these majestic creatures. their gentle gazes and soft noses. horses feel like home. the smells. the sounds. the connection. 

the lead gaucho saddled up a few of the favorites, and we climbed aboard. my horse was a short white one named pelusa. she was the mother of many other horses on the land, and her belly definitely still showed it. 

we walked through the afternoon without a care in the world. this is exactly how i want to spend every christmas. horseback riding through patagonia in the sunshine. i wished my mom and sister could have been there by my side. i knew they would have loved it.

throughout the ride, i kept feeling the saddle sliding to the right, so i would stand up and put weight in the left stirrup to bring it back into balance. exhibit a…

there was a little voice in my head saying that i should probably stop and tighten the girth, but i ignored it. i was sure we’d stop eventually, and we were just on a leisurely stroll at the moment. 

and then the stroll turned into a gallop. 

and then the saddle slipped to the right. 

and then the saddle slipped even more to the right. 

and then i opened my eyes in the fetal position on the ground…


you should always listen to the little voices in your head. 

my head and tailbone smacked the ground and poor pelusa went galloping away with a sideways saddle. as a trained lifeguard, my head was filled with flashes of “what to do if you suspect a spinal injury.” i laid curled up on the grass afraid to try to move. would i be able to move? of course i would, i thought. i am fine. 

and slowly, slowly, i was fine. 

lucas called his dad, and he came to my rescue. after a quick utv ride back to our cabin, i crawled into bed and was even more grateful for the million dollar view from our windows. this is where i would spend the rest of christmas. 

i googled how to treat a broken bum and after learning that all i could really do is ice it, heat it, and rest it. i settled into a pattern of ice pack and hot tub. trying to not miss a thing!

there was no way in hell i was going to let a fall off one of my favorite animals ruin my time in this magical place. 

the next day, i hobbled my way through a picnic with everyone by the river. i had to take the truck with the baby instead of the boat, but i still made it!

and the day after that, i hobbled my way through a boat ride on lago norte and lunch in a glass house in the middle of nowhere.

every new place lucas took us to was better than the last. whenever i need to escape the world, i know where to go now. 

after a few days exploring el saltamontes lodge (and letting my tailbone heal), we drove an hour into coyhuique. the town was a lot bigger than i had expected. 

we filled our bellies at the cafe run by the mennonites in the area. french toast, eggs, and coffee. we walked through the market stalls in the main plaza. we browsed sporting goods stores. we went grocery shopping. we ran errands. we soaked in the “city life”. 

we were leaving the next day. 

lucas made sure ryan got one more dose of adventure as they went mountain biking through a local nature reserve. up, up, up and then down, down, down. i’m not sure i would have made it even without a broken bum, so i’m glad i had an excuse to exclude myself this time around.

we went out to pizza and drinks in town with some friends. our last night in chile. such an amazing time catching up with lucas and sinja, and meeting new friends.

thank you gorroño family and friends for sharing this landscape with us (and taking care of me).

and now…

we fly 9 hours to atlanta. 2 hours to detroit. 13 hours to tokyo. 

hopefully my tailbone can handle all the sitting. not quite the souvenir i had hoped to bring back from south america, but oh well. it could have been worse. 🙂