This is the story of a girl who was so frugal, ahem, cheap, that she delayed renewing her domain name and lost many, many blog posts. So, we begin again. 

This is also the story of our family, as it stands today, sometimes wobbly but mostly strong and thriving. 

This summer, we took an epic family vacation to Denver and Estes Park (and still made it to our beloved Door County for the fourth of July, too). The kids enjoyed an old-school road trip, with many hours spent staring out the window and listening to dad’s eclectic playlist. A Tribe Called Quest and Dolly Parton mixed with DNCE and Cake and others for hours of screen-free entertainment.

In Denver, we visited the zoo, explored a sidewalk chalk festival, and watched a game at Coors Field. In Estes Park, the kids caught trout that we ate for dinner–some of us more reluctantly than others–and we hiked in Rocky Mountain National Park.

The kids started school last Friday–Graydon in 6th and Margaret in 4th. I’m already so grateful for the challenges and joys they’ll likely experience in the coming year. 

They both grew so much this summer. Margaret gained newfound confidence through children’s theatre and museum camp, and Gray deepened his faith at church camp (the same one I attended when I was in junior high and high school). He also told me recently how much he loves our determined little church that welcomes everyone no matter what. (Of note, I heard Margaret on the phone with her bestie one Sunday discussing the dress her friend would wear to church that day. “I can wear anything I want to my church!” she exclaimed, “Even pajamas!!”) 

This is also the story of a new-to-us puppy who is quite lazy, so much so that he often sprawls out in the yard with his feet kicked back even on the hottest of days. As I write this I’m sitting on my beloved porch swing in 90 degree weather. The aforementioned puppy is proving to be both more challenging and more rewarding than I had anticipated. We don’t know his exact breed, but at 30 pounds at just 4 months old, and with paws as big as my admittedly small hands, we’re on a tight timeline to train him before he weighs more than ¾ of our household. 

He’s already lost 5 teeth in our care, too, and for the briefest moment when the first tooth fell, I thought, “Quick! Save it for the tooth fairy,” before remembering that a). He’s a dog and b). By now, my children both know their parents are the tooth fairy. To their credit, when the tooth fairy starts depositing money directly into your bank account instead of leaving you cash, it’s a safe assumption that there’s some parental involvement in there somewhere.

While the tooth fairy has not visited our house in some time, it’s fun to have a new addition to nurture. Oreo–Margaret named him–is very chill. It must be the Great Dane in him, if there is any. I’m dying to do a DNA test, but puppies are quite expensive even when all of their accessories are acquired by the most frugal, nay, cheap, person. So the DNA test may wait. If he’s 80 pounds by Christmas I think we’ll just assume he’s 100% large breed and get on with it. 

The cats are less than amused, but then again, they are cats, and I’m of the firm belief that animals are animals and they will figure it out. Everyone is still eating and sleeping and using the bathroom in the appropriate places after all, so I’ll consider that a win. 

Oreo’s laziness works quite well for our family, too. We play hard and rest hard over here. The weeknights can be so go-go-go that our weekends are often downright luxurious. There’s a lot of reading and family movie nights, with board games and Barbies mixed in. Much to Margaret’s horror, Oreo has not figured out how to respectfully sit near Barbie play without involving himself in the storyline. He’s especially fond of Jade, the lime-green haired Barbie, though she is thankfully teeth-mark free, unlike my left AirPod.

To my horror, I pulled a roofing nail out of Oreo’s mouth the other day. Despite the crew’s very diligent cleanup efforts after installing a very needed, very leakproof new roof, one nail remained. And Oreo happened to find it. 

Crisis–and an expensive vet visit–averted, Oreo happily gave up the nail in exchange for a tastier treat. And I remain thankful for our new roof, which is just the latest project in a long line of projects we’ve taken on in the only house our kids have ever known. Who can forget sanding all of the hardwood floors or digging a trench in our basement and installing not one, but two sump pumps? Next up, a few nearly dead trees are coming down and we’re putting in a fence for the very expensive pup. (While Graydon will likely end up in some far-flung location, Margaret is already staking her claim on our slowly improving home. The other day she told me, “When I get older, I’m going to live in this house and move you and dad into a retirement community.” Here’s hoping I don’t get pushed out before I’m of retirement community age.) 

These dog days of summer feel endless, but I’m comforted by the fact that my favorite season is near. 

We may have to reassess our family’s new tradition, “Screen Free Sundays,” though, once football season starts.

“Football is almost every day of the week,” I said to Mike. “Maybe we could do screen free Wednesdays?” he replied. We are still in talks on that one. More to come later.

This weekly sabbatical has offered our family a chance to tromp in the woods, enjoy meals together in earnest, and spend time with friends who are on board with the directive. It’s amazing how quickly my very different kids play together when there are no other options. The first Sunday we lay in bed listening to them giggling in Graydon’s room across the hall. 

We celebrated Margaret’s 9th birthday this summer, too. She remains as funny and quirky as ever, making us laugh with her made up jokes that she tells like she’s commanding the attention of a dive bar.

“So this farmer had a cow. He gave it mint chocolate chip ice cream, but he didn’t know that the cow really liked cookie dough ice cream instead. In the end, he had to give him an udder one.”

Margaret is uniquely Margeret, with one foot in pre-teen land, and another firmly planted in childhood. Her birthday gifts were a mix of Taylor Swift merchandise and dinosaur toys (unlike Oreo, they are a welcomed plot twist during Barbie play). After opening each gift she exclaimed to her friends, “Oh, you should have!”

Graydon continues to surprise me every day with his empathy and thoughtfulness, mixed in with a heavy dose of teenage boy humor. He’s still playing lacrosse and in band, and excited to try wrestling this winter. The other day I asked him to back the car out of the driveway and park it on the street to clear room for the roofers. Mike looked on in horror, likely thinking I’d lost my mind, but Graydon handled it like a champ. Have no fear, Gray’s repeated requests to drive on an actual street have been denied. But growing up in small town Iowa for a time taught me that driving practice begins when your feet can reach the pedals. 

Mike is as patient as ever, taking on childrearing and dog training with intention and grace. “Why couldn’t I train the kids like this?” he asked me one day while Oreo patiently waited for a command to break his pose. “Perhaps because they weren’t wearing a leash?” I said.

Mike is still working at the Baby Fold as a Therapeutic Specialist, which basically means he deescalates situations when children with behavioral issues or disabilities have reached their max (these skills also come in handy with his often hangry wife). He also teaches other staff members how to mitigate challenges before they arise. He’s a superhero and despite coming home with scratch marks and war stories, he loves the kids at work and they clearly love him. 

As for me, I’ve taken on an entirely new endeavor. I’m working towards becoming a certified financial planner. For years, I’ve been the one who friends and family have sought out for financial advice. During my MBA program, I nerded out in finance class and thought, “There could be more women in this field.” And as it turns out, my suspicions were correct. Of the 104,808 certified financial planners in the U.S. and its territories, only 23.9% of them are women¹.

After taking some intentional time off following my most recent position, I realized it was now or never. I’m approaching the process in the same way I muscled through my MBA. Studying while the kids are asleep (as it turns out, getting a puppy is actually a great way to ensure you never sleep past the crack of dawn) and constantly telling myself, “The time will pass regardless.” I sometimes feel too old for an entirely new career, but also too young to stick with something because it’s what I’ve always done. I’ve passed two FINRA exams so far, and just missed passing the third, so I’ll continue studying for the foreseeable future. One foot in front of the other, I say.

As it turns out, the donor relations world is very similar to serving advisory clients. There’s lots of listening, looking for the best ways to help individuals reach their goals (philanthropic or otherwise), and always striving to deliver on your promises. There are new nuances and technicalities to learn, but underneath it all, there’s the privilege of walking alongside real people who have families, and jobs, and big life events, and celebrations, too. 

I’m beyond grateful to have found a team that supports me in the process of becoming fully credentialed. It’s a delightful place to work where people say what they think, and above all else, genuinely care about each other and our clients. And in between the portfolio analysis and client follow up, we have a lot of fun. Every day I thank my lucky stars to have found a place that aligns so well with my general life philosophy. 

Thankfully, my coworkers also tolerate my inability to golf. “Next group activity we’re doing something I’M really good at,” I shouted at them after whiffing the ball a few times. 

I have gotten very good at what I affectionately call the “squat and scoop,” in which my T. rex arms force me to squat on the floor of the golf cart while the driver brings me close enough to my ball to scoop it off the fairway without stopping the cart. I did many, many “squat and scoops” in our recent best ball tournament. I must note that despite my novice skills, just once, my ball actually was the best ball. Perhaps because the others could not be found, but minor details… Either way, we ended up 7 under par. My team is quite good at golf, and that one time my ball was the closest to the hole probably didn’t hurt.

If I never learn to golf incredibly well, I will live, but my first 18 holes still proved to be entirely enjoyable. What’s not to like about spending an entire workday outside, with endless snacks and Diet Coke? 

As the summer winds down and we embrace all that fall has to offer–U of I football, a Bears game for the boys, dance and girl scouts for Margie, and hopefully, some intentional writing time for me², I remain grateful for all of you, for following along. 

Onwards and upwards,

Laura

1. https://www.cfp.net/industry-insights/reports-and-statistics/professional-demographics ↩︎
2. How else will the rest of my novel get written? ↩︎