Anyone who has ever been in a long-distance relationship knows how difficult it can be to maintain. Exchanging emails, texts, and even chatting “live” via Skype often leaves people feeling more isolated from their loved ones. And while many couples make distance work, so many relationships fail as a result of it.

Recently my 8-year old son came home and said "Mom, I had another racial incident."  Everything in me stopped, including my breathing.  Though he had experienced some misguided joking in the past, I could see this time was different. He went on to explain, "My friend's dad said she can't talk to me anymore because I am African-American." 

“It’s only hair you know,” I told my mother in law last week. She had agreed to watch my daughter during my hair appointment at the mall, even though she was helping her mother in law plan her father in law’s funeral. My daughter’s great grandpa, a WWII Naval Veteran had passed away a few days before my hair appointment. I was worried that my mother in law had sped from the church to the mall for the sake of my highlights.

For two nights in a row now, I have refused dessert. I entered my late thirties today and celebrated with a quick four mile run after the faculty meeting. My parents offered me cake, but after a dinner of creamy-dressed salad and gourmet burgers, I refused. When we arrived home, my husband cut me a piece of the cake which I eventually threw in the trash before getting ready for bed. Last night, I celebrated my birthday with my husband’s family.

2012 has been fantastic, explorative, crazy, frenzied, and busy for our multigenerational nest.

I launched my coaching practice, fulltime, at the start of 2012. What a transition for our entire family. With me having a home office, I know (for certain) I skunked my mother-in-law’s groove in how she conducted her day-to-day business and living in our house. She and I both had to figure out how to adjust to this flow without going insane, giving each the stink eye, and getting distracted by a major change.

Last year when I competed in a duathalon in my town, my daughter was only eleven months old.  Still nursing, pumping and extremely sleep deprived, I was surprised to have completed the bookended 5K’s at slighly less than an 8 minute mile pace and the hilly, seventeen mile bike ride sandwiched in between the runs in less than an hour.

Considering how hard I work, one would think that on a day off, I would spend the time relaxing at home with my daughter. I find that my days out with my daughter last about as long as the school day.  I have always been a social person, and usually schedule to meet up with one or more friends on my days off.

Last weekend, in preparation for selling the house, we filled a debris box with 40 years worth of stuff. Most of it was junk we should have tossed years ago, but some of it was not technically "junk." And it was emotional. I had to ask my daughter to toss the plate with our wedding picture on it. (A friend gave it to us for our 40th anniversary last year.) It was sad to see the big autumn leaves garland go. It had decorated the front door every fall for years.

Does your state have a heroine? Do you know who she is? I recently spent the day visiting the former home of my state’s heroine, the courageous Prudence Crandall.

My father’s heavy, white Oldsmobile, in neutral, had just begun to pick up speed at the top of the three mile hill.  By the time I careened by him on my blue, steel, Japanese twelve-speed; his speedometer climbed to fifty miles per hour. The twelve-speed, Centurion, a gift to mark the start of my teenage years, provided more of a ticket to freedom and danger than most parents would have expected.