Take time to stop and smile at the pumpkins.

Walking into Whole Foods this morning, I stopped to smile at the pumpkins. I'm not ready to buy any, mind you. No. Still a tad too early. I believe that purchasing a pumpkin prior to October 1st is sacrilegious. It's like turning on Christmas lights before Thanksgiving or still having a tree up after New Years. You just don't do it. But I was happy to see the pumpkins nonetheless. Living in a part of the country where one season flows into the next without much change, seeing pumpkins at the grocery store lets us know, "Hey, look! Fall is here!"

Welcome, Fall. I'm so glad you're here.

• I love the cooler days and wearing long sleeves. Long sleeves and maybe (maybe) a light sweater is as much as you need out here in Sunny CA in the fall. After we moved here we kept our wool sweaters and heavy coats in a bin in the garage...just in case. I finally took them, bin and all, to Goodwill because this is Southern California and you need wool sweaters and heavy coats as much as you need a pumpkin before October 1st (which is not at all.)
  
• I love pumpkin patches and cute little kids in costumes. Some of my favorites memories of the boys when they were little was getting them all dressed up in their Halloween costumes and taking their pictures at the local pumpkin patch. They were so cute it hurt. My mom would come with her fancy camera and we'd hand a 2 year old a 10 pound pumpkin to hold and tell him to smile. (Often these excursions would end in tired tears staining the fronts of their precious costumes, but I digress.) My boys no longer dress up for Halloween. You'd think I'd be sad, but I'm not. I have the cute little pumpkin patch pictures of what used to be and that's all I'll need to keep me warm in the nursing home one day.
  
• I love those Brach's pumpkin shaped candy corns (do those things have a name?) that I pretend not to eat. I saw a bag of them in Target last week. I sped up like an Olympic mall walker and spoke out loud to the Target Gods or anyone else in the store who was listening, "I will NOT buy them yet and you CAN'T make me!" When I do eventually buy them, and I will, they will not be displayed in a cute candy dish on the counter for all to see and enjoy. No. They will be quietly stashed away at the top of a cabinet so no one else can enjoy them but me. In the fall my inner only child rears her ugly, selfish little head and refuses to share her no-name pumpkin candy corn candy.
  
• I love thinking about how the holidays will be here soon, but how they are still being far enough away so I don't have to actually do anything for the holidays yet. I love that it is still this distant thing with plenty of time left to procrastinate, that I can think about things I need to buy or make or decorate but not feel the pressure to actually DO any of those things yet.
  
• I love making apple bread and apple butter (to be eaten separately, not together.) They make your house smell like Fall the way God intended, with clove and cinnamon and sweetness. I made two loaves of apple bread last week with every intention of sharing one with someone, a friend or maybe a neighbor. Nope. Ate them both ALL BY MYSELF. Because I'm talented like that.
  
• I love watching college football every Saturday and having an excuse to make chili or stew in the Crock Pot. Instead of sleeping in on Saturday mornings, I get up early to watch ESPN's College Gameday ("Yeah...we're coming...to your citay!") I could be resting, catching up on my beauty sleep, but no. I don't need more sleep. I need to feel the energy of game day. I have said it a thousand times and probably will a thousand more: the thing I miss most about living in Oklahoma (specifically Norman) is waking up and feeling the electricity in the air on a college football Saturday. It's real, people. Those of you who live or lived in Norman are nodding your heads because you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. ESPN's College Gameday is a poor substitute, but's it's all I've got.

Oh, Fall. What's not to love?

Seeing Hamilton: I was not going to throw away my shot!

I wasn't going to buy the tickets. The minute I found out that the musical Hamilton was coming to L.A., I jumped online to buy tickets. And then I saw the price and I immediately jumped off.

It's no secret that the price of Hamilton tickets, be it in New York or now Los Angeles, has been crazy high. I'm not sure what I expected to find. It wasn't like I was going to find them listed for 50 bucks a piece. I knew better. But I was hopeful nonetheless and was surprisingly disappointed when I saw the reality of what I knew the ticket prices would be.

I put seeing Hamilton out of my mind. Talked myself out of wanting to go. Being overly reasonable, as I have been known to be, I listed many reasons why we didn't need to spend all of that money. There's always--always--something more important to spend the money on. Yes, we didn't need to see a musical that badly. Sure, it's been touted as one of the best of all time. Sure, people have raved and raved and raved about how amazing it is. Sure, it's won 11 Tonys and a Grammy and even a Pulitzer. Don't need to see it even though it's now playing right here where I live. 30 minutes away. No, I'm good.

Then I made the mistake of opening the Sunday paper.

On this particular Sunday, the L.A. Times Arts and Culture section was about Hamilton and only Hamilton. I read the entire section cover to cover. Then I set the paper down and immediately picked up my phone to look for tickets. Again.

"Didn't you already do that to yourself," my husband asked.

"Yes, yes I did. But I just need to look. Maybe tickets have gone down now that it's closer to opening night."

I laughed. He laughed too.

Then my husband said, "Why don't we just go. Just you and I. Let's not worry about taking the boys. They won't appreciate it for the price. Let's just go. Just us."

See why I love him? I love him for lots and lots of reasons, but in these moments I love him a WHOLE lot.

We bit the bullet and bought tickets. I'm not gonna lie. Paying a lot of money to see anyone do anything feels crazy if you think about it too hard. So I didn't. I didn't let myself think about it because if I did I would be filled with regret. Regret that we should have spent that money on something more important or done something crazy with it, like, I don't know...SAVE IT!

So I didn't think about it. I let myself be excited. I let myself enjoy that we were getting to go see one of the greatest shows of all time. And guess what? It was probably the greatest show I've ever seen. No, not probably. It was the greatest show I've ever seen. I'm not even going to attempt to describe just how great it is. But as a huge fan of American history, having passionately taught about the American Revolution, this show made me giddy. Our seats were fantastic and due to my nerdy giddiness and anxious anticipation, from the opening number I felt like crying. (I inherited the "tears of happiness" gene from my mother.) I cheered and clapped and cheered and clapped throughout the whole thing. It was crazy good. Crazy. Good.

So what's the lesson in all of this? Why am I sharing this story? It is to tell you this: Buy the tickets. Buy the tickets, friends. Maybe it's not to Hamilton. Maybe it's to a U2 concert or Sting or Cold Play or whatever artist or show you dying to see. Maybe it's a trip you've been wanting to take but keep talking yourself out of, or a fancy dinner out that feels unnecessary. Listen to me: Buy the ticket.

Maybe it feels indulgent. Selfish. It's not. Buy the ticket.

Stop worrying about being reasonable. Sensible. Being sensible all of the time is no fun. I know because I'm always the reasonable, sensible one. Buy the ticket.

Don't miss out on the experience. Participate in the excitement when you can. Don't regret the opportunity to be in the middle of where the action is. Buy the ticket.

Don't throw away your shot.

Sneak Peek: What's in your purse?

I think the type of purse a woman carries says a lot about her. Fancy, simple, ornate, big, little. Purses come in all shapes and sizes and so do women. But I believe it is what a woman carries inside her purse that tells you who she really is. Imagine meeting someone for the first time saying, "Okay, now, let me see inside your purse." I think you would immediate come to know a lot about who that person really is. A messy purse? Probably a messy person. A simple purse with little inside? Probably a minimalist. A purse filled with books and snacks and lip stick? Probably somebody just like me.

So here's a little peek inside my purse. My purse is my tool box. My medicine cabinet. My carryall. And carry all it does. I always have tissues and wet wipes, ibuprofen and Dramamine. The mom in me still keeps Band-Aids and Neosporin on hand and although I don't need them often, I'm sure glad I have them when I do. I always have a Chico Reusable Bag just in case I forget to bring my own bag into a store. Some healthy snacks like a bag of trail mix from Trader Joe's is always a good idea. And don't forget a book. I always have a book with me. Which means that recently I had to start carrying reading glasses everywhere I go because, you know, 44 is super fun.

I'm also a total sucker when it comes to having multiple cute bags to go inside my cute bag. Sunglasses are a must, which requires a super cute case to carry them in. My Beautycounter Lip Sheers and Lip Gloss go in the handmade BESOS ("kisses" in Spanish) pouch from GAIA for Women. And the little bit of cash I do carry it goes in a super cute Rebecca Minkoff change purse.

So what does this say about me? That I come prepared. That I easily get motion sickness and headaches. That my purse is so clean that I'm either a Type A personality, have OCD or maybe both. That I'm a reader who's eyes are going bad. That I never carry cash (I've often been known to be inconveniently without cash in the times that I need it most), but I have snacks for any hangry emergency that I might have. That I'm all about a cute monogram and love purchasing handmade items. And that I care a lot about our planet, safer beauty, and healthy choices.

Here are my favorites currently in my purse:

Eyebobs, Board Stiff, $79

Monogrammed Seersucker Sunglasses Case, Etsy, $12.95

Omega Trek Mix, Trader Joe's, 10 pack small bags, $4.99

Lip Gloss, Beautycounter, $29

Lip Sheer, Beautycounter, $30

Protect Lip Balm, Beautycounter, $10

Protect Stick Sunscreen (Face), Beautycounter, $18

Lavender Hand Sanitizer Spray, EO, $1.99

Text Pouches, GAIA for Women, $48

Stay tuned for more sneak peeks!

Minimizing My Life: No Room for Luck

This morning, as my swimmer who has a meet today walked out the door, I wished him good luck. Seemed appropriate on St. Patrick's Day. Wishing someone luck. Good luck. The best of luck.

Luck seems to be a big deal in our house. Just the other day my car told me that one of my tires was low. The dealership told me there was a nail in my tire and I would need a new tire that would cost me $285. Ten minutes later after driving with a leaky tire to the local mom-and-pop shop down the street, I was told they could patch it for a quick 15 bucks. When I called Derek to tell him he said, "Good. We needed some good luck." Whenever Derek leaves for a tournament, I always wish him good luck before he leaves. Seems like a jinx if I don't. Yesterday as we sat outside near the pool on a beautiful afternoon in sunny California, Derek and I both mentioned how lucky we are to live here.

We seem to talk a lot about luck, but do we even know what it really is?

The Nerdy Girl Who Lives Inside

My father took me to the Clinique counter when I turned 13. Not my mother. My father. He had been told by my grandmother that he should do this, that he needed to to this for me when I turned 13. That as a young lady I needed to know the correct way to wear makeup and care for my skin. I wasn't privy to their conversation, but knowing my grandmother I'm guessing there was very little discussion about the matter. She was telling him to do it and therefore it had to be done.

He made a weekend out of it. By that time, my parents had been divorced for close to four years so it was only my father and I who headed south to Ft. Worth for the weekend. I can't remember much about what all we did, can't remember all of the details (these are the moments I wish I had been better about keeping a diary), but I can remember the Clinique counter visit as clear as day.

With my father awkwardly hovering, I remember the lady showing me the three steps to clean my face: the big yellow cleansing bar that slid in and out of the mint green tunnel, the tall glass bottle filled with pink liquid that I was to put onto fancy cotton pads, and finally the creamy jar of butter yellow moisturizer. She explained in detail how I was to follow this routine morning and night to keep my skin young and beautiful. I listened intently and vowed I would.

Then came the make up. She showed me how to apply blush by drawing a C from my cheek bone to my temple and how to use my ring finger to apply a little foundation underneath my eyes for coverage. She allowed me to apply blue eye shadow (it was the 80's after all) followed by liquid eyeliner that was applied carefully with a tiny brush. Each product seemed so pretty and shiny and I loved all of it. The packaging was so pretty I remember not wanting the silver cases of the eye shadow getting scratched. They were prized possessions.

I wish you could see the transition when you look at my middle school year books but it's just not there. There was no evidence of an ugly-duckling-into-a-swan type of transformation. If the pics weren't black and white I'm sure you would see the sudden onset of blue eyeshadow but that would be about it. Next to most of my yearbook photos I have words written like "ugly" and "gross" leaving no doubt about how I felt about myself during my middle school years. If you look closely enough at the above picture you can see a faint "X" that I had made over my own face. It makes me sad for the girl I was then.

I am confident enough now to share. I was the girl that wanted nothing more than to be pretty and popular and loved by all the boys but struggled to overcome her bad hair and nerdy book club participant status. I was a pitiful 80's cliché. I believed that one day there would be a boy who would fight for my honor like in "Karate Kid" and find me in his red Porsche like in "Sixteen Candles." I'm sure I'm not the only girl who had those dreams.

In truth I think my father and grandmother had hoped that taking me to the Clinique counter would deliver me from my unpolished ways. But nerd genes run deep and I had an abundance. A three-step skin routine wasn't making that disappear any time soon. Throughout middle school I had a combination of braces, glasses, a bad perm, and bangs that I had no idea what to do with. I wore trendy 80's clothing that did nothing for me. I had no skills when it came to the beauty and was livin' on a prayer that I would eventually grow out of the awkwardness.

Perhaps this is why I still love beauty products so much. Back in 1986 I put a lot of hope into those Clinique products. It was a lot of pressure to put on a big bar of yellow soap and some blue eyeshadow. Clinique did nothing more than teach me to have a good skin care routine, and for that I am grateful. Growing out of the rest of it required more time than I ever realized.

It wasn't until I was in my forties, only over the last four years, that I finally feel like I have come into myself. 90% loving myself exactly the way I am and 10% not giving a shit. Some days those numbers are reversed, but either way it's okay. I like me. My husband seems to like me although he showed up in an old white BMW instead of the red Porsche.

But sometimes, late at night after I've finished washing my face and take my contacts out and put on my glasses, that middle school girl reappears. Sometimes I see her in my own boys as they go through their early teen years. She occasionally shows up on bad hair days or in an unflattering picture that I didn't know was being taken. No one else notices her but she's there all the same. I think she always will be.