Going Home Again

As I was doing rounds with my team, making sure everyone was in a good place before I turned my out of office message on, I noticed that someone had an irregular response to my 'have any plans for the holidays' question that seemed generic and harmless. There was a wistfulness in her eye, an assured nod that wasn't fully authentic. And I thought perhaps I asked the wrong question, at a wrong time. In front of a lopsided smile, she said, she did have plans. She would be with her family. But it wouldn't be the same. Her parents had downsized recently, sold her childhood home, bought a place in the city. So instead, they were going to celebrate at her brother's house. It wouldn't be the same. But it'll be fine she insisted.  

Maybe I was being over cautious, but I felt like I was about to draw a tear, so I interjected and shared my empathy. It was part of growing up I suppose - I'd been there - I'd experienced the change in traditions, the shifting definition of what home means, the feeling that it will never be the same. I quoted what my Dad sometimes does, 'you can never go home again.' For some reason literary adages help me feel justification in my emotions while staying hopeful for the future.

I told her about my Thanksgiving last year, at the height of the second Covid outbreak. I had cooked my Dad's, by way of my Grandma's, whole turkey dinner. There were three kids under the age of 7 running around and two infants in their carriers patiently holding it together as I stuffed the bird and put it in the oven. Miraculously, the meal turned out perfectly. It was a delicious beauty of a dinner, and I was proud. Probably too proud. Taxed from trying to make a Pandemic holiday something other than it was, I sat down to enjoy it, but was only afforded about five minutes of gravy laden glory before being interrupted by bad behavior. I nearly lost it, but I carried the resilient smile of a mom. This is life. Standing up, babies in my arms, I toasted to health. To togetherness. And to our household's ability to withstand chaos. 

But this year, I was going home. For the first time in 18 months. And I felt a little bad letting my coworker know that. After sheltering in place, Pandemic paranoia, twins, an inability to travel out of state in order to keep our kids in school, and the opportunity to get vaccinated and boostered, we were traveling to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - the city and state that I still define as home, despite the many years I've been removed from it. 

Yes, it's changed - there are new buildings in the East End, particularly in East Liberty, new additions and restorations on some of my favorite homes in Shadyside and Squirrel Hill, new shops and restaurants, new people who have migrated and adopted a characteristic Pittsburgh pride, new members at the Golf Club, less stuff in my old bedroom, new paintings on my parents walls, more books lining the already full bookshelves in their house, and a few more lines on my reflection in the same mirror that has carried it for decades. But it's still very much my home. And thinking about my teammate, I felt a lot of gratitude that it's still there.   

While only in Pittsburgh for about six days, I tried to soak up as much of it as possible. We had take out from Mad Mex, we went to the Phipps holiday show, we played tennis and squash at the Pittsburgh Golf Club, we took a trip to Little's and to see Terry, Anne, hairdresser to Pittsburgh's glitterati, came over and cut everyone's hair, I ran all through the East End, I walked down Walnut Street, I made a stop at the Giant Eagle, I saw some of my best friends from Ellis, I visited St. Edmund's Academy, and I spent lots of time with my family, which during the Pandemic hasn't always been possible. 

Coming and going, we saw the lights of the city, the iconic skyline nestled between three rivers, the inclines going up and down the hill, the stadiums, the South Side apartment that I called home, and the bridges connecting all parts and people of the city - a symbol of a place perhaps working a little harder to build unity in an increasingly fractured world.   

As we crossed the Veteran's Bridge, leaving the City on Saturday, I felt my own tears coming. And as I examined the feeling, it wasn't just about departing a place I call home, it was about leaving the comfort of what home means to me. It was saying goodbye to those moments when my mom helped me with laundry, when my Dad was playing Chess with Mary and air hockey with Bobby, when they helped change diapers, when someone was cooking for me and cleaning up afterward. It was my brother and sister-in-law hosting Margaret for a playdate and Mary for a sleepover, my sister and brother-in-law helping take care of the kids while I finished up my work and hosting a beautiful dinner for us, the sneaky present from Aunt Dee Dee now growing in our window sill, and the spontaneous hugs of family that will be there for you no matter what. With the majority of my days spent caring for others - the feeling of being tangibly cared for is powerful. And driving away from that is hard.

So maybe, my advice is that if you want to go home again, despite the physical location shifting, embrace the role you played in that childhood home. For me, it's about being a daughter and a sister - not the mom, the boss, the homemaker, and the caregiver. By allowing myself to play those roles again - and accepting the help and care that comes with them - I felt more at home than ever. And I can't wait to return again. 

Lauren

Growing Up

Over the past year, the babies have grown from teeny preemies into toddlers itching for the next size up. I've been through bin after bin of hand me down clothes and shoes at an accelerated pace. 

In the past twelve months, they learned to roll, then sit up, crawl, walk and run on schedule. Or if I'm to brag, a little ahead of the doctor's chart. They learned how to hold their own bottles, then eat rice cereal. They finally got some teeth, Caroline has three and half, Jacqueline still only two. And started using them, graduating from pouches to more solid food. 

They are saying Mama and Dada. They also say something for Eva. And I swear Caroline says, 'love you', but that might be wishful thinking. Speaking our language doesn't slow them down though, they have their own way of communicating with each other. And when you put them in a crib together, they will babble and babble, and then laugh and laugh, side by side.   

They are good sleepers, and even better at waiting in their cribs until someone comes to get them in the morning. Which is one of my favorite moments of the day. 

They are an identical pair, yet so unique. One with fly away hair, the other with hairs that lay flat. One uses a binky, the other sucks her finger. One eats everything on her plate, the other brushes the rest of her food away when she's had enough. (Leading to a 3 pound difference in their weights.) One is a little shier, a little faster on her feet, a little sneakier. And if you turn your back, she will be halfway up the stairs, shaking her head that she's not going to stop. And one has a lot of Bobby in her. She is loud, animated, a total ham, and naturally, best friends with Bobby.  

They are both loveable and squeezable and if life called me to nothing else, I would scoop them up and hug them all day. But given my daily hustle, I tend to scoop them up and put them down again all too quickly. 

This year with them flew by. And I feel bad that I'm just getting around to writing them a birthday post of sorts, that I didn't spend the year sitting and reflecting on each milestone enough, that I didn't take the photos and videos that I should have, that I was a mom spread too thin, focused on the whole instead of the individuals.  

But I guess that's how life is with five kids. You see the family grow up as a group, as a lump sum versus the day to day contribution of each part. Over the past month, as an example, there were glimpses of everyone getting a little older.   

We said goodbye to our wonderful neighbor Marie. Well not goodbye, just see you in San Diego sometime soon. It was the end an era for all of us.   Mary practiced the piano day and night leading up to her recital. On the day of, she asked to have her hair curled a bit and her makeup done. She confidently walked on stage and performed with a level of melodic emotion that I didn't think she had. We went out to dinner to celebrate afterward, which showed a glimpse of family maturity in and of itself.   

Margaret and Bobby finished their fall soccer seasons. Bobby with a couple goals and a lot of progress. Margaret with some new friends and a better grasp of what to do with a soccer ball. 

The big kids didn't let the weather bother them during our visit to the pumpkin patch and apple farm this year. It was chilly (no cold) and rainy, and the farm wasn't running their hay ride. So wagon in hand, umbrellas in tow, we walked the distance to the picking fields and loaded four pumpkins and several apples into the hold, hands getting icier by the minute.   

At our Cider Press party last weekend, the kids took their years of experience and coached their friends. They showed them each step, lined up under the spout to get the first sip, and then helped me bottle fresh cider for the guests to take home. There was a growing pride in the heritage that comes from cider. And I think Double G was smiling down at this next generation handling the wheel so mightily. 

And after many months of dinner table arguments and negotiations over what we would be for Halloween, the settlement of the Wizard of Oz won out. It enabled Margaret to be a princess, Mary to be a witch, Bobby to be a tin man with the hat on, and an astronaut with it off, and the babies to be warm ... which was a win, win, win, win. Seeing them scooter from house to house, filling their bags with candy was so much more advanced than our early days of trick or treating. 

    These were the bigger moments of the past month, the ones that got the photos. But it's the little ones that tend to make each day so special. The hugs I get when I come in the door after a work trip. The way Margaret whispers a secret in your ear. How Bobby describes his drawings and careful printing from his school work. When Mary helps me make dinner in the evening, and practices piano afterward. The babies hanging on the rail of their crib in the morning, so ready to be picked up and to start their day. All these faces around the dinner table, and the stories they share - the contributions they make to defining us, as a family. 

Lo. 

Our Leadership Story

Several months ago, my boss sent me an email with the headline 'Congratulations.' 

I was in a meeting, trying not to multi-task, but the subject line teased me, begging me to open the message. 

So I did. 

The contents were surprising. I had been selected to attend a leadership program for women, made up of multiple modules in the fall. The intent of the course was to prepare me for a senior executive role in the future. The president of the U.S. business was copied. Huh. 

I forwarded it to Peter, with the headline, 'Well this is interesting ...' 

'Not interesting, amazing," he responded. 

I sent it to my parents as well, and they echoed Peter.  

I honestly wasn't too excited. More worried that the time commitment would jeopardize the precarious schedule and routine that protects my sanity. But in the next couple months, I learned more about the somewhat secret program: about past alumnae, other companies participating, what the course entailed, and the sponsorship that came with it. I realized it was really something. So I cleared my calendar as I was told, and went into the first in-person module last week ready but a little intimidated of the room and potential career ambition I was entering.

On that first day, we were split into five women peer boards. These were to be our trusted colleagues throughout the program. There was a high-power lawyer, an investment officer, a director of engineering, and a VP of population health in my group. Day one was centered around developing your "leadership story", leveraging the peers at your table as sounding boards. 

Before we were allowed to go forth and craft the narrative, we listened to an example. The woman who started the program took the stage and beautifully, carefully took us through her leadership journey. From a debater in high school, to being top of her class at Cornell and Booth. She had a seat around the leadership table early in her career. There was a surprising and painful turn when she left the workforce to take care of her young sons. Sorrow as she talked about the passing of her role model. Inspiration when she returned to the workplace, again rising in the ranks. And a final chapter where she took her love of teaching and started a program that has empowered and enabled aspiring corporate leaders.

After I wiped a tear from my eye, I opened my workbook, along with the rest of my table, to page 8 and assessed the diagram where we were supposed to plot our career milestones. Above the x axis, the positives. Below, the challenges. And from there, the insights within each phase.

25 minutes. Go. 

The lawyer to my right was writing quickly. The investment officer with her beautiful handwriting was slower, deliberate in each word. 

I  couldn't decide where to start. Hesitant to go back that far, but determined it was meaningful, I wrote my childhood. The household in which I was raised. Two highly ambitious professionals, three kids. The sacrifices and struggles that my parents might have felt, juggling two careers and a young family, never affected me. They were first and foremost, my parents. And I saw my Mom as the friend I went shopping with on the weekends, as my cheerleader on the field hockey and lacrosse field, as the best hug and kiss goodnight, and as the laughter I needed at the end of a day. She was so much more to her partners at the law firm, to her clients, and to the young women lawyers rising in a profession dominated by men, but to me, she was mom. And she played that role perfectly. 

I marked off high school next. All girls, lacrosse, the stage. And then went on to college. More lacrosse, studying art history in Rome, and finding my faith. Following college, I dipped my pen way below the x axis and wrote, 'the bad place.' My friend Kate and I named it that. It's more anecdotal, less terrifying, if you call it something and find humor in it. The bad place was about joblessness and then a job that wasn't what I had dreamed for me. It was being unkind to my body and image. I had exited stage left and lost my spotlight. While others started to climb, I kept taking steps backward. I felt that I had failed someone, even if it was just myself. 

In 2007, in direct opposition to the low I had charted, I sketched a high. MBA school. The start of a literal redirection in life. And the line right next to it had Peter's name on it. With a little heart floating on top. 

After MBA school, my career story became a mix of having kids while trying to navigate corporate America. Mary was first. A high. But down below on the chart, was coming back to work, after dropping Mary at daycare. I cried for three days straight. We ran numbers at home. Could we make it work on one salary? While the answer was yes, it lacked confidence and conviction. So I went back, each day getting easier. Each negative line getting shorter and closer to neutral. 

I drew a line way up north and put a star next to Eva's name. A year into my title of working mom, she became the star that enabled a bigger ambition. 

Bobby came along, and I had no worries about going back and being able to do my job while my kids were getting the best care. 

When I was pregnant with Margaret, I thought that it came at a bad time. I was finally getting somewhere - after so much hard work, people were recognizing my talent - taking a step away again would mean a delayed promotion while others moved up. I talked and then started crying to my VP who had become a champion for me. I didn't want my third maternity leave to inhibit my career trajectory. A couple months later, he was out, and a new VP was in. The idea of building my reputation with yet another leader seemed impossible - and I didn't want to keep waiting for what I felt was overdue to me.  

I scheduled time with her. Without blinking an eye, I told her about the weight I had been carrying for years, the accomplishments of the team, driven by me. I took hold of the spotlight for the first time in years, and shined it back on me. I told her I needed a promotion. And if it didn't happen, I would need to look elsewhere. She listened and thanked me for my transparency. 

I was promoted a month after returning from maternity leave. 

That VP enabled more growth after that. Promoting me up to Sr. Director, a job I was nervous to take on as I found out, right around the same time, we were going to have twins. 

But it worked. Rather, it's working. And here I am. A new line. Above the x axis, thinking about the potential of becoming a senior executive some day. With five kids. And in the last five minutes of our thinking session, I started wondering how this happened. How I got here. 

I looked for the insights and the triggers on the page that made the pendulum switch. If I'm honest, I never thought I would have this opportunity and the matching ambition. I thought it was something my Mom and Dad had. That my brother and sister inherited. I thought I'd be a wife, a mom, a contributor. Comfortable and confident in those titles alone. 

But there were people along this plot that changed my opinion of who I could be. Jennifer, who took a chance hiring me. Kasey, who imagined that a girl who did non-profit marketing could also do a job in menu strategy. Lance who figured out how good I was. Linda who took me under her wing and taught me how to think, shape, and communicate. Senior executives who have become sponsors and advocates. And that shining star, that makes me not question if my kids have the best care during the day. 

But perhaps, none as important as the heart on my page. When I needed it most, Peter showed me that my reflection was beautiful as it was. He taught me that I was just as smart as the other people in the room. (Which I still don't believe, but I'm good at faking it). He brought back the confidence and sense of competition I had on the lacrosse field. During dinner, when I bring work into the conversation, he always listens, recommends, champions what to do. And most recently, he told me I shouldn't be afraid of what comes next. That we are in this together. That we'll make it work.  

As we were asked to start sharing the narrative, I realized that my leadership story, is really our leadership story. And one that extends as much into our home as it does into the workplace. I realized that my ambition is a result of his love and support. And true to me, as I started to sharing this with my peer board, I let out a couple tears. 

Peter and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary in California earlier this month ... 

          

the twins first birthday shortly after ...

and a return to Notre Dame, where we first met 14 years ago. 

While the next chapters in our journey are very uncertain, I think they will bring adventure. Some pages might be above the x axis, and some below, but I know that the heart way back in chapter four, will keep mine beating. And make sure being a Mom always come first. 

 

Lo. 

Golden Girl

On one of her last days of Pre-K 3, Margaret got to celebrate her birthday at school. I virtually read a story to her class, Mrs. O'Hara crowned her birthday queen, and she wore her paper hat the rest of the day and week for that matter, claiming that she was now and forever a four year old. 

She's been celebrating her golden birthday or rather, the anticipation of it since then. That is, until it officially came to a close last weekend, after Nana, Opa, and Aunt Dee said goodbye, after she dropped Aunt Erin off at the airport, after she received one more card from Aunt Kay, then Aunt Meg and then Aunt Bridget in the mail, and after Daddy pulled out one more present from Uncle Andy. Okay, it's over now.

She's such a sweet girl, it's hard not to keep celebrating with her. Margaret as an official four year old is such a joy. Peter said it last year and I can't think of a better way to describe her this year; she is just so loveable. 

At four, she's bigger than the lobster we had for dinner on our last night in Martha's Vineyard. Although it doesn't look like it in this picture.  

She has an extremely full closet of dresses and loves to wear just about all of them, often changing two or three times a day. 

Despite her allotment of clothes, she loves when Mary opens her closet to let her 'shop.' She's already claimed certain things within my wardrobe as well.  

 

She loves her dolls and can sit in play with them for hours, using a very vivid imagination that transports her worlds away. That is, until her cheapo plastic mermaid breaks yet again.     . 

She loves to sing and dance and story tell and has the most amazing expressions as she does all three.

Whether it was dance class or Aunt Erin, she has learned how to pose. And when everyone else grumbles at another photo op, she takes center stage. 

This is her preferred method of transportation.  

   

She still loves shroot snacks, but her favorite food might now be shrench shries. 

Too many times this year, she has fallen asleep in my bed as I work at night. She will sneak out of hers, into mine, and cuddle up. I could put her back in her bed, enforcing the rules, but I can't find it in me.

She adores her family. Her baby sisters, big brother, and 'best big sister' as she calls Mary. And guess what, here she is wearing Mary's clothes again. 

There are times when she'll tell me to come closer to her. She'll get right up in my ear, kiss me on the cheek, and tell me how much she loves me. She does the same to Peter. And it melts both of our hearts. 

  

We are done celebrating, little one, but we will never stop loving you. 

And loving you ... 

And loving you ... 

And loving you.  

Happy golden birthday, Margaret. 

Love,

Mommy / Lo.