Girl with Autism

Boss baby. Queen. Our family is driven from the caboose.  Stubborn. Obstinate. Determined. Hard headed. Particular. Whip smart.

For years I’ve had euphemisms for Mabel. She was the “hardest” baby / toddler/ child I’ve raised. Whatever that means, I’m not sure... but I can tell you what it felt like. I resigned to her whims. I got the pink cup from the drawer because I knew that was the one she wanted. I let her watch too much iPad. I served many chicken nuggets. Water. No ice.For a few years, Daniel could do no right. Everything he did was wrong in her eyes. I was her only comfort in the world. And did she have tantrums. We (the family) became a diligent team to move her through these “moments of distress”, each of us bringing a skill to the situation. Then there’s the outfits. Mabel wore outlandish outfits with accessories. So many accessories y’all. I chalked it up to being seasoned parents who were choosing their battles. I could tell my mother thought I was too lenient with Mabel. I could not articulate it at the time but I can now. I have been Mabel’s advocate for her special needs. In January of this year we received official word from the school district that Mabel was found to be on the Autism spectrum. 

Nope. I didn’t know. I had no idea. The statement “evaluate her for ASD” knocked around my head like the silver ball on a pinball game. The ball would kick up a memory which would lead to a realization, ding ding ding, like the game.  We did paperwork. We had meetings. But Daniel and I knew the outcome. All the things that place Mabel on the spectrum were all things we could see, for sure! We didn’t know the big picture. We could identify every tree but we didn’t know we were in a forest.

I don’t know how to wear this new layer yet. I’m a super friggin newbie to being a special needs parent. How does this work? Did I say the wrong thing already. Shit. I don’t know what she needs in her IEP. HALP. There’s not much parenting preparation in this world period. (There’s that one car seat check from the hospital.... is that it?) There sure the heck ain’t prep for things outside the “typical box” (again, whatever that means). 

I want to mention how special it is that Mabel even got a diagnosis. Especially at her age, she is 6, by the way. Girls are under diagnosed? Under represented? Under tested? Or just genuinely affected less? Whatever the answer to that is, we have entered a sacred circle of girls with autism. I may not know what I am doing yet but I promise you, we are capable of this. Typical is not a value we hold in our family. We’re gonna rock this. 

Mabel if you read this someday, I’m sorry for all the hair brushing. I miss your plastic high heels. Your ability to give no f*cks is inspiring. I hope that I have given you the tools to adapt to the world; when the world can’t adapt to you. 

My feet are sweaty

I previously mentioned a lot going on for me this week. First, Season 3 of my podcast started Wednesday. The next day was the culmination of a gigantic project in my life. Almost 3 years ago, my husband and I visited San Angelo TX. We visited for a camping weekend. I wondered aloud, “how many coffee shops do you think San Angelo has?” We owned 2 coffee shops. That sentence changed our family and business trajectory.

Making the decision to uproot our firmly planted large family, was a gut wrenching one. We lived in small town. Our children had lifelong friends. We had 10 acres of land to build our “forever home”. But our kids have really ambitious parents who are capable of making cool shit happen. We moved to San Angelo in July of 2019. We took some time to breath that summer, then got to work to find a place to bring our dreams to fruition.

After 2 attempts, the third time was the charm and we found a commercial space. It’s a former car wash and service station. We got to work on the lobby portion of the former car wash. We would get to the car wash portion at a later date. We demo’d the place. Daniel worked on plans. We got to work, hoping to open around June if 2020.

Then we all know what happened in March of last year. Our industry was hit hard. I categorize us as Service industry in a tourist economy. Woof. We were expecting growth in 2020, certainly not hitting a brick wall and worrying about keeping our existing businesses open. For 3 months, our new venture sat virtually untouched. We were pulled away to keep what we had going, albeit from afar and four young children were now home full time.

When summer began, my husband and father resumed worked at the new location, Buttercup. My retired father has gained countless new skills this year as my husband’s crew mate. My dad has swept the floor of Buttercup with the love of a father mixed with his love of orderly accomplishment. I have compensated my dad with food, either Sunday brunches or weeknight dinners, I’m always inquiring “didya eat?”

My husband has been a general contractor, project manager, Tim the Tool Man Taylor, fueled by his never ending ambition and abilities. He stared the project by stretching his skills into making legit plans for the place. Then he dove into his beast mode and went hard the rest of the year. He has put blood, sweat, and tears into the walls of our building. The man can DO SHIT y’all. “He built it” is a phrase I use often. He will inspire you to unleash your own skill set.

Once the children were back in school, I joined the crew. My dad called me “the new girl” and lamented I got away with shit because I was “sleeping with the boss”. (My family is funny) The worksite was less than ideal. I would run to the wal-mart bathroom across the street whining “when can we get the bathrooms done?” We’d eat lunch on cardboard boxes covered in dirt, sharing 2 chairs left over from the previous owner. It was hot. Did I mention there was no AC? I live in TX. My dad and husband spent the summer working in the un - conditioned texas heat. My dad took to working at night, or early morning, during this time. I will be paying him back in sunny side eggs forever.

All the while, a pandemic raged on and an economic shit show carried on. There was never any doubt that we would open Buttercup. It would just be a lot longer than we planned. The project has felt INTERMINABLE. It’s been stressful AF. It’s not been pretty. We’ve certainly not been our “best” this year (whatever that even means). But it’s finally done. We did it. Buttercup is open.

2 days ago we hung a sign up and whispered to our social media followers “we’re opening the drive thru tomorrow”. It’s a “soft opening”. We are only serving coffee, out of our beautiful drive thru window, for the time being. Every week or so, we will add an offering and more employees.

We have worked every day and most nights the last month. It’s hard to explain the details put into this kind of project. And y’all, we did it all. (That state permitting would allow lol) Friends asked “Who did the floors for ya?” We did. Who pained the parking lot lines? We did, with the help of our friends last weekend. Who made the website pictographs? I did. (That husband of mine suggested that I could figure out Adobe and had that Apple Pencil) I Marie Forleo’d that shit. I figured it out. Who painted it? We did. Did y’all do that tile? Fuck yea. That light fixture….. you guessed it.

I am as tired as a new mother. I know this season is just that, a season. I will get proper amounts of sleep again. I will get back on an exercise schedule. I always do. Through the fatigue and brain fog, I am feeling so proud and grateful and accomplished. We are entrepreneurs in the truest sense of the meme as we “build the parachute after we’ve jumped off the cliff”. We finished sewing the parachute this week, it’s been a long free fall.

My heart is full, my feet are sweaty (family joke about being tired), and my hair is dirty. I’m going to fall asleep on the couch during Friday Family Movie night. Big love y’all. Big love.

Jessie & Daniel Browning at Buttercup January 7th, 2021. Photo taken by Mac Sedino

5,000 downloads

Keep your eyes on your own paper and measure your own success. The amount of followers you have doesn’t matter, it’s the engagement. Follow your why and the rest will fall into place. Great advice. I believe it. I really do hope to embrace that attitude and not care about measurable metrics, someday.

Until then, I can’t take my eyes off numbers. I am a numbers person. I love spreadsheets. Quickbooks is my JAM. There’s a total download count on my podcast hosting site and I’ve watched it. No shame. You give me something to measure. I’m there.

Today my show Prickly & Blooming crossed a milestone: 5,000 downloads! And I’m celebrating it! Yes, earlier today, I also texted and emailed a couple trusted sources, “this is worthy of celebrating right?” I asked for their input. Is 5,000 downloads like celebrating a score of 100 in Scrabble? Truly, my concern was for needless celebration of what could possibly be a mediocre achievement. Welcome to my wrestle with worthiness. Don’t fret, I can (and do) pull my head out of my ass.

Guess what this milestone is? It’s a big deal. Because I said so. Podcast analytics are super relative. Do I want to compare my show to Joe Rogan, Jen Hatmaker, or This American Life? Fuck no. Podcasting is this brilliant medium that professionals and novices create the same product. But, comparing yourself to anything and anyone else is pointless.

My conundrum is simple. Keep your eyes on your own paper. Measure your own success. Congratulations to me on the 5,000 downloads. Fucking Hooray.

DIG deep says Brene´, an anniversary story

My husband, Daniel, loves to project an image of ease for our marriage. He’s wrong. Marriage is not easy. Ours included. I put forth, our dedication to each other is easy part. I never doubt where he stands. He always stands next to me. Sometimes, I’m running to catch up to him because he moves so damn fast and can’t ask for help… but that’s another post. Honey I love you but it’s not easy, here’s a story…

We built a deck this last weekend; the deck being a replacement gift for a Mexico vacation. “I’d like to build that deck for our anniversary/ birthday but I’ll need your help, he said. My face : 😑 “Sure, sounds great”. I did not mean that it sounded great. Previously, I’ve told my dear husband that I do not enjoy construction projects.  Hard work in the Texas sun as a reprieve from the physical labor (without AC) we've been doing for months at our business, isn't my idea of celebrating. But, here we are. 

At the end of day 1 of deck project, hubs was digging holes for the deck posts. He was wrestling that rented auger like a beast. He was finishing his last hole when I noticed the level of water in the hole was rising. The kids had played in mud earlier in the day, so water was already present. But my discerning eye, from inside, could tell the water was rising. He was noticing this as the same time. I witnessed my husband throw a fist to the air. It was confirmed. He had hit the water line. AGAIN. 

My husband has repaired more water lines than you’d guess. This is the second water main break at this house.  I did what any supportive wife would do, I took out my phone and messaged my friend. AYFKM, I’d say. I would need her support through this. It was in the 6:00 hour on a Saturday night. Daniel turned off the water to the house. I told the kids “we only have 1 flush in each toilet”. Farrah went to get bottled water from the car. I contemplated filling a bucket from the lake to give us more flushes (did you know you can flush a toilet by pouring water into the bowl? Pro tip). We always jump into action. 

I finished making dinner of chicken nuggets, French fries and coleslaw. I sat down and watched my husband prepare the area and collect necessary supplies for a night time plumbing repair. He then came into the house to eat some dinner. My annoyance is present in the room, like a fart hanging in the air. He smells my annoyance but he knows it’s temporary. I never say “AYFKM to him”. I reserve that for my friend. I have messaged her more. She has encouraged me to think of who I want to be in this scenario. I don’t have to think. I know who I am in this scenario. I am the supportive, albeit annoyed, wife. I gather the bottled water. I remind kids to use Hanitizer. I make food that doesn’t involve water. 

My mantra: you are annoyed at the situation, not him. There’s really not a good way to know where those water lines are. I don’t think assuming where they are is the best solution but really, what else is there? This is not easy for me. I have to work at Grace. Also, I have my period. I need a flushing toilet. I need to wash my hands. I’d also like a shower. My husband would like a shower. We’ve been outside in the dirt and sweat all day. Before he runs off to Home Depot Daniel said jokingly, “you can start digging the hole out if you want”. It’s a joke because, I do not help with fixing these plumbing problems. I know why. I blame him for the accident, so I think he should be the one to fix it. I will mention that I keep the ship sailing during all these emergency times. I keep the kids calm and focused on what we can do to survive in the moment but I never show the kids how to get us out of it. That’s his job, he got us into this muddy water. He can get us out. I have the mindset, ‘this too shall pass’ but I stop there. 

I have recently re-read The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown. Here’s a quote that has lingered with me : “When I’m tired or stressed, I can be mean and blaming - especially toward my husband, Steve. If I truly love Steve (and, oh man, I do), then how I behave every day is as important, if not more important, than saying “I love you” every day. When we don’t practice love with the people we claim to love, it takes a lot out of us. Incongruent living is exhausting.”

I put on socks. I put on my LL Bean mud boots and I fucking went outside. I would actually dig this hole out while he was at Home Depot. I would surprise him. I surprised myself more. I would practice love, damn it Brene. I would stop blaming him for accidents and help get us out of it. I found the limited tools I could, including Tupperware, garden trowel, one of those skinny shovels, and my hands. My dad happened by the house and quickly became my assistant. He held the tools, towel for me to dry my hands, and then a light when it was time. I delicately dug out the hole racing the sunlight. When Daniel arrived back he was shocked to see me covered in mud and digging in the earth. I proudly announced “I dug the hole! You didn’t think I would but I did!” I showed up not just in my words (and child management), I showed up with my behavior. 

I don’t think Brene meant for people to actually dig when she named her DIG deep button (page 3 of Gifts of Imperfection). “You know the dig-deep button, right? It’s the button that you rely on when you’re too bone-tired to get up one more time in the middle of the night or to do one more load of throw - up- diarrhea laundry or to catch one more to plane or to return one more call or to please/ perform/ prefect the way you normally do even when you just want to flip someone off and hide under the covers. The dig-deep button is a secret level of pushing through when we’re exhausted and overwhelmed, and when there’s too much to do and too little time for self care…… Men and women who live wholeheartedly do indeed DIG Deep. They just do it in a different way. When they’re exhausted and overwhelmed, they get 

Deliberate in their thoughts and behaviors through prayer, meditation, or simply setting their intentions;

Inspired to make new and different choices;

Going. They take action.“

Just days before our 15 year anniversary I am still learning how this all works. I am still learning how I can show up for my husband. It’s not easy. I did not want to spend my night digging in mud, after a day of demo, after weeks of laborious work. Managing our life is not easy. Maintaining our connection amidst chaos, is not easy. But my dedication is effortless. I discovered my ability to DIG Deep, and dig in the mud, is present and alive. Saturday, I spoke my husband’s love language, I got dirtier than he did. Then, thanks to both of us showing up, we were able to shower that night. 

Awaiting further instructions

This morning, I opened a safari tab to my bookmarked Yoga with Adrienne video (is that not the most white girl sentence?); as it was loading, I got an alert on my Apple Watch. Jen Hatmaker was going live with Lisa Sharon Harper to discuss “White Women’s Toxic Tears”. I chose the Jen & Sharon video because I’m woke y’all. I took notes. I learned. I listened. In case you missed it, read about the incident in NYC last week for an example of White Women’s tears. 

I am an able bodied, heterosexual, 40 year old white woman. I was born in Massachusetts (a Northern State) and I’ve lived in Texas (a Southern State) for 20 years. I am married to a white man. We have 4 white children. Love rules our family, and acceptance is our North Star. We are modern and progressive. I do yoga, have a 25 year old copy of Howard Zinn’s People’s History of the Unites States, and I will tune into talks about white women’s tears. I am polite, jovial, and candid. I am That White Woman. 

The White Woman who doesn’t feel articulate enough, so I’m going to say mostly nothing at all. I will repost things but I never write my thoughts down. I value politeness over my values. I’ve bitten right through my tongue. I feel shame so I avoid it. I am privileged, so I have nothing to add to the conversation. 

I feel out of my depth writing about racism. I am no authority on the subject. I have lived in my privilege for 40 years. I’ve come to learn that I’ve been operating with learned helplessness. I’ve been, like every polite young lady, awaiting further instructions. Someone who knows what to do will be by soon, until then, I’ll wait politely here. I won’t add to the problem. But, I’m certainly not doing anything to help dismantle racism. I’ll being righteously indignant from a safe distance. I’ll change my Facebook photo in solidarity. I’ll be an ally.

The word ally connotes partnership, ‘a white ally in the fight against racism’, if you will. As if, this fight against racism, is for People of Color and we, white people, are here for support. Wrong. I might be considered late to this realization but this is our fight. White people this is ours to take on. It’s time to be more than allies. For example, women are not responsible (or capable) to end violence against women. Same goes for POC and racism. 

Instructions aren’t coming y’all. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for and it’s time to get to work. A couple things going forward: do not look for accolades. This is not about us. Do not look to be recognized with a pat on the head, for being a good white woman. Secondly, do not look to the POC in your life for directions. Google it. Read books. Listen to podcasts. Etc. The information is out there, we need to access it. 

I feared being imperfectly white, that I was gonna fuck it up. This fear kept me from any real action. Yesterday I went to a protest in my city, at the prompting of my oldest kid. I was reminded that I need to show up, engage, learn, and act. Today, I am doing something I can do. Show up vulnerably in my writing, hoping that someone else can connect to it. 

We can do hard things. 

1 year + 8 days

I knew it was getting close. But I missed the anniversary. I launched Lajoie Society on May 7th 2019. So, it’ll be a 1 year + 8 days celebration 🍾 🎉 🎊 💃🏼! YAY ME, I DID IT! AND CONTINUE TO DO IT!

Over the last year, I’ve written many blog posts and realized I have a natural writing ability. I launched a podcast. I made connections to followers. I made a bad ass logo. I launched a companion podcast, Prickly & Blooming. I met amazing guests of P&B, that have turned into friends. I learned so many new skills, like podcasting & audiograms. I created Merch. My writing was featured on Scary Mommy.

It’s been a year full of firsts for me. I’ve pushed myself. I’ve been nervous, anxious, and overwhelmed with gratitude. I’ve felt connected and isolated (solo projects can do that). I’ve been vulnerable like never before. I’ve felt like I’m stepping into a calling. I’ve felt imposter syndrome. I had haters in the comments!

We’ve all heard buzzworthy term, “what’s your why”. My why for the Lajoie Project is to reach other mamas who are struggling with motherhood and encourage them to put themselves back on their priority list. I want to normalize therapy. I want to inspire morning rituals. I hope to create community. Shortest version of my why: create connection. I look forward to the next year of this project!

Thank you all who have been a part of this; by reading my musings, listening to my podcast, buying merch, reviewing the podcast, commenting, engaging, supporting. My thorny sisters, you mean the world to me!

✌🏼♥️🌵🌺

xoxo ~jessie

mama lost her head

The dishes never end.

The diapers are shit.

The laundry piles up.

Mama lost her head.

The legos are landmines.

The dog needs a walk.

The shower is scummy.

Mama lost her head. 

The nights are short. 

The days are long. 

The years are a blur. 

Mama lost her head. 

The kids whine.

Hubs wants naked time. 

It’s time to go back to work.

Mama lost her head. 

The wine is coping. 

Facebook is connection.

Identity lost.

Mama lost her head. 

It goes so fast.

Cherish every moment.

They’re only babies once. 

Mama lost her head. 

In honor of Mother’s Day I wanted to write about this sculpture my family gave me last year. My husband bought it off ebay and apparently the seller isn’t aware of packaging standards. This heavy, wooden, and large sculpture was barely wrapped in a scant amount of newspaper. No surprise, when this sculpture arrived, the head had broken off the mama. My family glued it back on and added a scarf to the Mama to accent her repair.

I immediately identified with the mama from this sculpture. “oh girl, I know. I lost my head and glued it back on too”.

To all the mamas out there who have lost their heads and the ones looking for the glue, you got this. To all the mamas who have glued their head back on, let us never forget what it feels like to have lost your head.

Happy Mother’s Day my queens. You’re doing a great job mama.

we gave her grace

Mabel is everyone right now. She got really mad she couldn’t get “into the school” on her roblox game, so she threw her iPad. It shattered.
She came to find me, maybe you can tell I took this photo from the new bidet toilet 😆. “I’M IN THE BATHROOM WHAT!!” She showed me what happened and the grief cycle began. She bargained to use another iPad and “promises to not break it”.

Her regret was palpable. She was hysterical. I hugged her and said it was okay. I didn’t want to tell her it was okay to throw her iPad. I also didn’t need to help her feel any worse. I mentioned “oh no, that’s how you’re doing school” and saw her slip further into disappointment with herself. “No no, it’s okay, we have other iPad”. It was a tense moment.

I am not thinking as fast as I usually am. So we FaceTimed daniel and told him what happened to give me time to process how to handle this as a parent. She felt her feels. Mostly, she was so mad at herself. I get it kid. No one is at their best. She took some alone time (watched Up) to calm down about breaking the iPad and stressing about the game. We gave her grace. Even the kids are stressed out.

JSS

This blog post has been on my mental to do list for a week now. I had not done my laundry since the first week of March. I am showering, on average, every other day. Once a day tooth brushing has become a norm. My kids ate Pizza Rolls for breakfast yesterday. I have worn sweats more than not lately (I have dubbed a matching sweat shirt and sweat pants my pandemic outfit). I have not worn make up in 3 weeks. I don’t have a bra on as I type this. I am 5 episodes behind on My Favorite podcast. I lost my months long exercise streak. I am stress eating Cheetos and crystalized ginger. We hadn’t read Harry Potter since before Spring Break (bedtime routine, book 5). My emotions are on a wild roller coaster ride. We’re up. Then we’re down! Hang on folks! 

My house….. looks like someone turned it upside down and shook it like a snow globe, there’s shit everywhere. I put my contacts in once lately, to go to my last in office therapy session…whenever that was. Which reminds me, time is a real doozy right now. I thought today was Friday, it’s Tuesday (I checked). I’ve never talked about Toilet Paper so much in my 40 years on this earth. 

I am not having an idyllic pandemic experience. I am not able to “Soak up extra family time”, or “dive into that crocheting hobby” or watch The Tiger King show. I don’t have the bandwidth for any of that. We are in full blown “just survive somehow” mode. JSS is something I’ve plucked from the show “The Walking Dead”. Just. Survive. Somehow. 

I am not thriving. This is not the time to thrive. Thrive comes from a place that I can’t seem to access right now. My brain is being occupied with a zillion details between all these needs: personal, family, business (existing and almost open), podcast, social-life, homeschooling 4 children, grocery ordering, getting sleep, remembering to eat, maintain social distance, mental health, physical health, and maybe some laundry. I am busier now than I was last month. Free time became a thing of the past. 

About a week into this JSS existence, I realized something. It all felt familiar. I had been here before and you probably have too. This pandemic is eerily similar to maternity leave. The lofty goals of the first time pregnant mom for her maternity leave, sound a LOT like lofty pandemic goals. The similarities are abundant. When you bring that baby home, you’re suddenly homebound! You’re hyper aware of sick people in your orbit. You’re adjusting to one income. You and your partner suddenly become obsessed with the BMs of your baby (toilet paper talk, if you will). 

How many pregnant women think you’ll have time to read when you brought your first baby home? Or that you’d be able to maintain your exercise routine? Getting a shower every day was a luxury with a newborn. Your routines around meals are all out of whack. New moms lose track of time, lose track of days, lose track of themselves. We throw our hair up in a bun. We continue to try to maintain social contact from the confines of our homes. Your house becomes and untidy war zone of diapers, wipes, take out containers, missing iPhones (it’s in the couch cushion), and you’re suddenly spending a lot of time with a child. You’re not sure about this new reality. It all feels slightly overwhelming and you’re trying to just survive somehow. Your emotions are all over the map; overjoyed with this new baby and scared to death that those nurses let you take this baby home. 

Scene: baby is taking a precious second nap of the day, you jump on Facebook and read some comments on a recent baby photo “enjoy every moment”. In that exact moment, you haven’t showered in 3 days, your shirt is stuck to you because of a dried milk stain, the dog threw up but you haven’t gotten to clean it yet because the baby is sleeping on you, you are not sure what day it is, you’re broke from your unpaid maternity leave, you haven’t seen your friends in a month and all you want to do is go to the gym. You are not enjoying this moment. Mom guilt starts to surface that you are not enjoying every moment with your baby. You *should* be enjoying every moment. But you are not. So now you feel even worse. 

All sounds familiar, don’t it? “Lean into extra family time during this crisis!”

I had the same reaction to to the newborn “enjoy every minute”, as I’m having to the “make the most of this pandemic” messages. STFU. I am just surviving somehow and adding guilt that I’m not making the most of this time, to my mental load, is not helping anyone or anything. I know that we will be fine after this pandemic. I know that after my husband and I do some financial gymnastics, we will be fine. I also knew that I would survive having babies. I knew that we would get through it. I know things work out in the end, but I am not willing to ignore the present stress, worry, anxiety and overwhelm. I won’t trade my present for a future. I fight to stay present everyday. My present is not prefect, I will not minimize my feelings, that is never the path through them. I refuse to take on guilt that I’m not performing enough during this pandemic. I’m writing about this in case you are feeling the same overwhelm then subsequent guilt about your overwhelm. 

What I will do: I will take the wins when I get them So, here are my wins: I am taking time to talk socially on zoom or facetime. I am journaling. I am keeping my food log, yes, even my Cheetos and ginger. I am not drinking to cope. I actually did my laundry, while writing this. (I’ll let ya know how long it takes me to put it away.) I am keeping my gratitude practice alive. I am just surviving somehow. 

PS: banish the word should from your lexicon as a first step. No more should! 

We have endured.

I am an entrepreneur. My husband and I own coffee shops. We have 2 locations. We are about 80% of the way to opening our 3rd location. The first 2 locations are hybrid businesses. They are also laundromats. Both of these locations are in Far West TX, the economy that supports us is tourism. Our industry, as you know, is suffering right now. Today we are closing our first location, until April 9th, because a “shelter in place” order has been issued for the city. 

We have endured as adaptable entrepreneurs. We are feeling all the feels that we can’t “pivot” anymore, we have to accept temporary defeat. We will endure this. We will come out the other side, we have no doubts about that. We find a way. We always have and we always will.

We were back at our business 5 days after I had our first child. We endured. We opened our first location in the midst of the 2008 financial crisis. We endured. I worked my way through 3 pregnancies behind the counters of our businesses. We endured. We’ve been stolen from and lied to. We endured. We’ve been broker than jokers. We endured. We grew our family from 2-6 since we opened our business. We endured. A massive wild fire swept through our area in 2011. We endured. We have been open 7 days a week, 363 days a year (closed for thanksgiving and christmas) since 2008. We endured. It has been no small feat to keep these businesses open and functioning in small towns for as long as we have. We endured.

This day has lots of feels for my husband and I. Small business owners ARE their business. We have put all our time, energy, money, emotions, sweat, tears, and blood into our business. We have nurtured our coffee shops into the community centers they are. People meet there. Tourists congregate on our patios. Our shops are heartbeats for the towns. The heartbeat has slowed with social distancing in place. We know we will feel life within our walls again after all this.

We will endure. Catch y’all on the flipside. 

tide stick failure

Yesterday I arrived home from 4 days in Orlando. So much walking. I’m still queasy from roller coaster 🎢 rides and inevitably getting gluten contaminated. It was a glorious time and I love my family tribe. I adored seeing Daigon Alley. 

I want to share a story from the Orlando airport yesterday. The line at the TSA security was wayyyy shorter than I thought it would be. We saw it when we landed, it was long. So hubs and I are chugging bubbly waters and Starbucks canned double shots while walking briskly snaking through the lanes towards the checkpoint. My last sip of the double shot, I dribbled. I rushed my triumphant can toss and received a coffee spot on my white t-shirt. Feeling FLY that I knew right where my Tide stick was, in my bag of liquids, of course! I pull that out and before the coffee even dries I’m dabbing away. 

I’m feeling like a MAMA BOSS! Then I smell something. It smells like cheese. Like stinky cheese. I apply some Tide Stick to my hand 🖐. I pull it up to my nose and dear lawd, it smells like rotten cheese. I now smell like rotten cheese. I have dabbed rotten tide stick on my shirt right under my own damn nose 👃🏼. 

We’re now approaching the conveyor belt. I grab my Alaffia coconut face toner, also, conveniently located in my liquids bag. I spray the shit out of my shirt; trying to mask the vomit 🤮 rotten cheese smell coming from my V neck. “Y’all! I stink! Do you smell rotten cheese!!?” 

We get through security. I continue to apply the lavender hand sanitizer every few minutes while we ride the shuttle and once more while in line at the rest room. I can still smell rotten Tide Stick. After I relieve myself, I wash my hands. (Can we side bar for a minute, ladies, over the 40 years of my life, I can’t believe how many women just walk right out after the stall. 🤯) Finally, I get some water onto a paper towel. Success! The smell is gone. 

Moral of the story, wash your hands. And check your Tide Stick. But seriously,  I love love love these moments when I think “I got this! Look at me rocking it!” Then BOOM. My natural goober, nerd, uncool, “not put together” self comes racing right back. 

I am reminded of the moment when I was 23 and was ascending the steps of my Mecca (at the time! Don’t judge!), the MTV offices in LA. I had wanted to work in television. I had worked for MTV real world in Austin for a hot minute. In that moment, I was achieving a dream of mine! I was going to their offices! I was so excited, I was running up the steps. And, you guessed it, I fell the fuck down on my hands and knees. When I rolled over, people had assembled around me and I was in hysterics. Laughing. I was diabolically laughing. 

That is me. I fall when I am running to places I’m excited to be at. 

That is me. Trying to fix a coffee stain, feeling fly that I got my shit together. Only to make myself smell like I’m smuggling cheese from 3 weeks ago, in my bra. 

This is me. This Tide Stick story, is the story I want to share from my vacation.

Go find her.

For a long time, I lived in a cognitive dissonance. I was alive but muted. I had become an expert at ‘making myself small’. I hid behind the shield 🛡 and honor of being a mother. I deferred all sorts of personal glory to my husband. I excelled at letting others shine. I made my needs small. I hid talents, gifts, skills, knowledge and my light.

But, it was always there. I always knew what I was capable of. I always knew I could do more, be more, say more, feel more, and love more. This is where the dissonance occurred. I knew I wasn’t giving it my all. I wasn’t seeing a reflection of who I felt like on the inside.

Till now. I will not deny the light shining from this image of me. I will celebrate the woman in the photo. This line drawing is based off a photo of me. When I saw the photo, the dissonance ended. My thought ‘there she is, I knew she was still in there’

My light is on. It’s fucking shining bright, I can light a path for you now. I will light a path for you now.

Do you feel like you don’t know the woman in your own photo? She is in there. Go find her.

Line drawing by Lauren Rust based off of photography by Lesley Villareal.

hyena no more.

For Christmas Santa brought me an Animal Spirit deck, how did he know that’s what I wanted!He’s really clever, that Santa. Every morning I draw a card and read the corresponding page. The cards are pretty and I adore the insights that correspond. You know how you always read a horoscope when you come across one? That’s how I feel about the cards.  

There’s a card reading for ‘who you were, who you are & who you will be’. I did this on January 1st this year. I got the hyena card to represent ‘who I was’. Read the card insight here: 

Hyena - humor, wit, sarcasm 

The Hyena personality is a jokester and crowd pleaser, but below the surface there are unfulfilled dreams to be realized. When the hyena card appears it’s time to reflect on your reliance on sarcasm and humor to express your truth. Are you using jokes to hide old resentments in relationships, or to mask things that you feel uncomfortable discussing? What would happen if you took your goals seriously?

When in balance: charming, witty, fun to be around

When out of balance: scrappy, petty, suspicious 

To bring into balance: sobriety

———————————————————-

Mic drop. Creepy cards. 

Yesterday as part of a class, I had to write down what my spouse, and closest friends, would say were my strengths. I put my sense of humor on the list. After that, I took an online quiz to rank my strengths. Yep, you guessed it. First one, humor. 

On my own, before a card or a quiz or a list of my strengths, I had been telling myself to let go of this coping mechanism. I have been letting go of sarcasm as the default. I have been embracing joie and enthusiasm instead. 

Sarcasm is easy. Sarcasm is lazy. It’s a million times easier to make a joke than lean into awkward. 2 years ago my kid made a joke when we told them something deep. I thought that’s my kid! I’ve got better stuff to teach them, it’s time to get to those lessons.

podcast dreams to reality

5 years ago, during my New Years Eve celebration, I found myself in a regrettable situation. That’s what I did for many years, regretted it. Shamed it. Blamed myself for it.

I consider that night my “bottom”. Sure, it could have been worse. But that’s a comparison and I’m not into measuring my life against anyone else’s. It’s not a competition. From my bottom, I got to climb 🧗🏽‍♀️ back up. On stable ground again (or maybe for the first time ever?), I want to share myself with other women who find themselves at their dark bottom. I want to be a guide for them to find their way. I did it. You can too. I’ll hold the flashlight 🔦 , follow me.

Starting in January, you can literally and figuratively listen to me. I’m launching a podcast, LaJoie Society. I will be interviewing other bad ass ladies who stopped the spinning in their lives and found their joie. Change can feel like a lonely road. But you’re not alone, mama, there’s so many of us who are prickly and blooming.

love, jessie

✌🏼♥️🌵🌺

playing the long game

‘You let them wear what they want?’ The teacher inquisitively asked me at pick up. ‘Yes. I do. I want them to make the choice, so they feel confident in their decision. Therefore they feel confident overall.’ Another teacher chimed in, ‘see, I don’t do that. I should, but I don’t’. 

I let my school age children pick out their own outfits for school picture day. This apparently isn’t common. At this point in my parenting career, I have zero reservations about letting my kids pick their look, style, haircuts, shoes, clothes, or timing of haircuts. Maybe when my oldest child was younger, we would discuss what I’d like her to wear for a school photo, but I’ve learned a lot over the years. Also, my ‘give a fuck’ is broken. 

I’m playing the long game with my kids. I want them to be confident, caring, and capable humans of the world. I can get them there by modeling that behavior with my life and I can encourage these traits from within them. Letting them dress themselves is one achievable way for them to feel autonomy and authority over their lives. 

We talk about the weather when getting dressed. My kids ask ‘so, long sleeves? Pants? Light jacket or my big jacket?’. We have an understanding that PE shoes must be worn on PE days. We absolutely have had meltdowns with our youngest child about jackets (I do insist on a winter jacket when its 33 degrees) and she has been late for school twice because of it. I let them make outfit mistakes and they bear the natural consequences of those choices. They learn the most from those moments. They have felt cold feet on a day they should have worn socks and I promise you, she won’t forget the socks next time. 

Do you fear letting your kids dress themselves because ‘what will people think?’. Listen up, If someone is judging your worth as a mama based off your child’s outfit, you don’t need that person, or their shitty opinions, in your life. 

If you always pick your child’s clothes out, I challenge you to let your kid have control over their outfit one day a week. See what happens. Or conversely, if you’re a judgy Judy about kids and their mismatched outfits, take a moment and examine where that judgment is coming from within you. 

10 years

A picture is worth a thousand words, I could definitely write 2,000 photos about these 2 photos. The woman on the left has no idea what this decade was going to bring. She was worried she would never have another kid. She was broke. She had no $ for contacts. She doesn’t know it’s all going to get much darker before it gets light again. She doesn’t know that she will love yoga one day. She doesn’t know she has an autoimmune disease that is killing her energy. She doesn’t know how to smile (I told y’all!). She doesn’t know that 3 more children are on the horizon. The days are long and the years are long.

The woman on the right, what does she not know? Because, she HAS figured some shit out. Smiling, for one. She almost has the buttons and big boobs figured out. She lives overlooking a lake. She has the big family she knew they were destined to be. In 2019, she sits at the precipice of something great, she can feel that. She still has the Bakelite earrings that she bought for 50 cents! The days are short and the years are also now short. Both these women make me proud.

2009 & 2019

holiday half ass

I see you and your Christmas tree going up the first week of November. I see you buying the snowflake socks from the CVS. I honor your ability to give every person in your life a holiday mug filled with hot chocolate mix. I respect the hell out of the time you took to make all the cookies, cakes, and pies. I see you channeling your inner Martha Stewart and you’re making magic happen for your family. I bow down to you and your holiday goddessry.

But I also see someone else. I see me. I have 2 mantles now; neither are decorated. I have no special towels, pillow, or blankets. I have no snowmen, elves, or Santa statues to put out. Nor do I want to have this stuff. Even before my minimalist crisis of 2016, I have never had the decorating gene. I am The Proud Holiday Halfass. I put a tree up and think ‘isn’t a tree INSIDE my house enough?’ There’s a TREE, which is normally an outdoor member of the world, INSIDE. That’s quite special, imho.

I’m not a total Scrooge! My kids feel the holiday spirit, I promise. I choose the KISS method for my holiday cheer. (Keep It Simple Stupid) What I do for the holidays: put a wreath on my door; fresh wreaths need only apply. I use the Spode dishes, that I was gifted many years ago, between Thanksgiving and New Years. (Note to self, it’s December 3rd, get those Spodes out.) We put up stockings, of course. (Another note to self, get the new cat a stocking.) The tree obviously. I’m not much of a gift giver. I stick to my kids (read, $$$$) and that’s about it. I make holiday dishes when called upon for a school function. We will make cookies once their kids’ holiday break starts, to leave one out for St. Nick. I stick to a level of cheer that I can maintain  authentically! 

I may be a holiday halfass but I’ll never ever ever buy a fake tree. NEVER. My grandmother used to keep her fake Christmas tree covered up in the corner of her basement. Year round. The family would assemble downstairs in her basement for the Christmas holiday. Yes, in a basement. In Massachusetts. In December. Cozy, huh? So, I may be a halfass, but I’m making progress for my lineage. Every generation is getting a little more cheerful! 

Tell me in the comments, are you a Proud Holiday Goddess or Proud Holiday Halfass? 

it’s just saturday

My husband and I have been married for 14 years. We have 4 children. We have 10 employees. We have a lot to talk about. We are in constant communication, yet, we never finish a conversation. Sometimes we take this constant communication out to eat and drink, without our children. A date! I do my hair toss, check my nails, I’m feeling good as hell. We have assembled a babysitter. And we’re off!

When we arrive at our dining destination, and are seated, we have noticed throughout the years that we got the same question over and over from the wait staff, ‘what are we celebrating tonight? Birthday? Anniversary?’ My husband and I will look at each other and say ‘nothing, we’re just on a date’. My husband might say ‘I’m taking my lovely wife out to eat, we don’t need a reason other than that!’. Or I might say ‘Well, it’s Saturday night, that’s our only reason.’

The assumption is that married couples (especially couples with young children), only escape the house arrest if they’re celebrating something major like an anniversary or birthday. Why do the waitstaff assume it’s a major event? Because it’s true. Show of hands, who is guilty of only going out when it’s a major event?

Why do we forsake nurturing our relationships for the sake of….. our children? ‘I don’t want to leave my babies, I only get so much time with them after school and on the weekends’. For the sake of our comfort? ‘I don’t want to get dressed up, I’m too tired’ For the sake of money? ‘We don’t have a budget to go out, daycare and diapers are so expensive.’

Those are all excuses. Drop them. Get a babysitter. Put on your dress (or whatever is your A outfit, maybe its your nice t shirt. It don’t matter what, you do you. The point is to feel fly). If your marriage is a priority for your life, make it a priority every damn week of the year. Not just the major events. If it’s a priority you’ll find a way, if it’s not, you’ll find an excuse.

Last night my husband and I went out to a wine bar. I put on my nice white shirt that is dry clean only and some heels. I applied my darker lipstick. We had a glass of wine, a topo Chico each, and shared some truffles. We talked intensely for 2 hours, then we got back home for bedtime at 9:30 (weekend bedtime). It was just Saturday.

And, ask someone to take your picture on the sidewalk.

dried cilantro leaves

I’m not going to give you tips or tricks or printables or checklists or actionable items list or strategies for your kids screen time or instant pot recipes. Hard nope. I’m not your gal for that.

I’m going to tell you that when I eat standing up in the kitchen, I prolly shouldn’t be eating that. I’ll tell you that this year, at age 40, I’ve finally worn make up regularly. Kinda. I’ll tell you that I didn’t go to prom. I never lived in a dorm. I’ve been in 1 wedding, my own. I didn’t shave my arm pits or legs for many years. I will tell you that you should definitely know how to drive a stick shift. I’ll tell you that I’ve never owned a duvet. I’ll share my journey as a recovering black thumb. I’m here to tell you that I don’t give a shit what my kids wear. I’ll tell you that I don’t understand fads. I’ll share that I feel like a fraud at nail salons. I’m here to tell you that I never pluck my brows and barely cut my toe nails. I will admit that I am a q- tip fanatic. I’ll show you my shittay tattoo from 20 years ago that now looks like Spongebob. I’m here for real talk.

Tell me about your hemorrhoids. Tell me that your kid can be an asshole sometimes. Share with me that holidays make you feel overwhelmed and you’d rather dust then attend one more classroom party. Tell me you never dust. Tell me that your fridge is covered in fingerprints and you stopped caring about fingerprints on stainless years ago. Tell me your produce drawers also have a corner of dried cilantro leaves. Tell me that you lingered on the toilet when your kids were babies, just to get some Facebook scroll time. Show me your scarring from your septum piercing. Tell me you sometimes wish your husband traveled for work. I’m here for listening.

happy mama

I can get behind this message. I was so happy to see this in Target today. I thought: yes, THIS is the messaging. This is where we all need to be and aim for. THIS is the answer to “mommy needs wine” movement that I can’t abide anymore.

I am going to wear this shit proudly. I have earned this sweatshirt. I was not a happy mama for a long time. I was an overwhelmed lost mama. I have done, and continue to do, the work to BE this happy mama. This is not just wearing a shirt for me. I am wearing this mindset. I hope y’all are happy mamas too. And if you’re not, in the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald, I hope you have the courage to change your life.

Be a happy mama. Your happiness is the greatest gift you can give to your babies. Hard stop. For real. Your happiness is fucking crucial to your babies’ lives. And not just wear the sweatshirt, buy the mug, read the book, and you’re done, kind of happiness. The inner you, down in your marrow, inside and outside contentment. The IDGAF about anyone and anything that doesn’t serve my life, kind of happiness.

be a happy mama. Unhappy mama, I see you. We’re here when you’re ready.