Hey, I’m Bonnie. I’m 32 years old, I have long blonde hair, two tattoos I love and one I regret, and I’m doing my very best not to begin this definition of myself with “wife and mother.” (Oh shoot, did that do it?) I digress.
I AM a wife and mother, and while those two roles don’t define me as a person, they sure are my favorites to brag about. More on the folks who gave me those hats later.
I grew up in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. (Think Tulsa, if you’re not an Okie.) Regular old nuclear family: Dad, Mom, brother, dog and cat. I was a “bossy girl,” which I now take great pride in. I’m a natural born leader. I was damn cute, too! But that didn’t really matter as a kid. Instead of noticing how cute and clever and wise beyond my years I was (ok, I’m really pushing it now), my elementary school classmates teased me about my arm hair, my last name, my slow run and my natural attraction to the smart kids (#nerdsruletheworld). I’m not a smart kid myself by any means, I just like to hang out with them. I even married one! Well, he grew into one at least. He may have failed freshman Spanish (like, how even?), but that MBA was cake! God, I love that man.
We met in high school. I was “not dating” this other boy at the time - he was “saving room for Jesus” or something - when he introduced me to his best friend in the cafeteria trash line. Enter, love of a lifetime. Sorry not sorry! We’ve been together ever since, with only one small hiccup before marriage and one very big, almost fatal one after. When they say a lasting marriage is a union of two good forgivers, man, they aren’t kidding. We’ve been through the ringer, as most imperfect, messed up people can say by the time they’re in their 30s. We've also been to Jamaica three times, the top of the (Vegas) Eiffel Tower, and every LegoLand between Dallas and Kansas City, laughing so hard my cheeks hurt all along the way. He’s my greatest gift, my most favorite human, my unending source of love and delight. He brews a mean IPA too, and his favorite chore his laundry. Swoon.
We moved from Oklahoma to Kansas after college and the wedding for Hubs’ first real, grownup job. That’s where we made our babies, Sonny and Luna (not their real names, don’t judge) (actually, judge away because the more I call them those names the more awesome they sound).
Sonny is almost nine now, going into third grade. I could write an entire book about this precious child, and maybe I will someday. He’s good. Not just well behaved, although he is very well behaved indeed, but what I mean is he is GOODNESS personified. He is a highly sensitive soul, which we’ll go more into depth with on some other post some other time. He’s intuitive and empathetic and damn is he ever smart. Like, blowing educators’ minds left and right smart. He is obsessed with Legos, board games and weight lifting (what?), loves and makes the greatest puns, and thankfully, as a compliment to his tender heart, he inherited his mother’s gifts of astute and fluent sarcasm. If the world doesn’t break him - which is my greatest fear that keeps me up at night - he will break it wide open and put it all back together again, for the better.
Luna will conquer kindergarten this year. She’s almost six. Now, when I say “conquer,” that is not an accident. She’s nervous about it, and will hide behind my legs and use a quiet baby voice that drives me batty when she’s asked about it in the Costco sample line. But when the first day of kindergarten comes to an end, Luna will refuse to leave. Mark my words! She will not be ready to go home because she will not yet have the classroom in order for Day 2. Luna will OWN that school, because Luna is The Queen. She’s absolutely everything I feared about having a daughter, and by that I mean she’s exactly like me. She’s karma strutting through my kitchen; she’s the reason my mother comes out of my mouth. She’s STRONG. She’s obsessed with babies, human or otherwise. Obsessed. She loves to color and stays inside the lines better than all the adults in our family (which is why we are no longer permitted to share her coloring books). She collects rocks and makes friends wherever we go, and is always the first to offer help when I’m overwhelmed by the dishes or laundry or watering all the new trees. Some days it takes absolutely everything within me, and then I have to find a little more, but I will not squash her “bossy girl” spirit the way mine was squashed. I am determined to raise a world changing daughter, and world changing daughters in this day and age have got to be both gentle and strong. And they’ve got to be LOUD about it. She’s the perfect candidate.
Kansas is where s**t got real, if I’m being honest. Even though we were “adults” already when we made the move, our nine years in Kansas were the years we really grew up. Our marriage met heavy turmoil; we kicked its ass. We lost two pregnancies. We rented a crappy townhouse, then an even crappier apartment, and then we bought the cutest freaking little house you’ll ever see and painted it blue. The kitchen was butter yellow and the front door was wild cherry red; I don’t know why the colors feel so relevant to the memories but gosh, they really do. The Blue House is where we learned what “home” feels like for us.
In that small town in Kansas, we made some of the most valuable friendships we’ve ever experienced. Through my own pregnancy and motherhood journeys, I discovered a deep love for birth work and became a doula. We overcame lifelong challenges with our faith and learned that it's ok to not be exactly sure (or even a little bit sure) of everything all of the time. We let go of some ideals and convictions, which maybe weren't really ours to begin with, and created a whole new set of them. We connected with the life around us in all new ways: gardening, backyard chicken farming, drinking beers at a tiny brewery in the woods with our tribe. I started dancing.
Hubs got a promotion (of course, 'cause he's awesome) and we moseyed our way back to Oklahoma. We were so lost and confused - returning "home" to the place we were raised, leaving the place we truly BECAME. We spent one full year in Cry Me a River mode, living in a rental, toggling daily (hourly) between "we've got to suck it up" and "we've got to move back."
But no more. Our dream home fell into our lap, for an amazing deal on an amazing piece of land. We're getting chickens again, y'all! And ducks! And bees! The kids are LOVING their school, I'm teaching dance fitness classes and feeling healthy, despite my love of tacos and pizza (gluten free, please), and Hubs isn't even sick of all the mowing yet. We're ready to move this train forward, and my writing is going to be a big part of that. Writing is one of my very favorite ways to spend time because not only do the words flow out of my fingers quickly and easily and MUCH more elegantly than out of my mouth ("fluent sarcasm" often equates to Foot in Mouth Syndrome), but because I believe our words hold the power to our connections. And what happens when we connect is pure magic.
Thanks for being here.
Let's connect!
