The Mystery of Me

A huge thank you to all of you for sharing my blogs with your peeps. I am so grateful for your help in growing our inch by inch family.

xo, allison

As I grow older, I spend more time reflecting on how I became who I am. It’s pretty evident my overwhelming hatred of mayonnaise was born from a bad fish filet. My complicated relationship with money comes from growing up worrying about making ends meet. My fear of water is from almost drowning and fear of flying started when a plane I was in caught fire. 

More puzzling is why seeing trash strewn alongside the road physically makes me sick? Or why witnessing someone degrading or mistreating an innocent human or animal makes me fireball mad? Why standing under a canopy of trees makes me emotional? Why I obsess over twinkle lights and glitter? For years I’ve always wondered “the why” about these parts of me and I finally found them—on Main Street in Disney World.

A few months ago, I traveled to the “Happiest place on Earth” with my daughter and daughter-in-law. For months every Wednesday evening we’d watch a favorite Disney movie and plan our trip. As they researched endlessly, I could just hope for a good trip. My last two Disney trips were less than stellar. The first was a trip my husband and our young children took. By noon it had fallen apart as ride wait times, everyone’s impatience and the heat became unbearable. The second trip I fell asleep on a bench in Disney Land and realized I had the flu. 

But a couple months ago, with our bags bursting at the seams with fast pass bracelets, itineraries galore, matching outfits & ears and good walking shoes we arrived. We checked-in, unpacked, ate dinner and got a great night’s sleep to ensure we hit the ground running. Through the gates we zipped and there, straight in front of me in the early morning light was the castle. I felt my heart free fall to my toes. 

Ever since I was an itty-bitty girl, Cinderella has been my absolute favorite. Life wasn’t fair for her, but she remained optimistic and kind. I so admired that about her. She rose early with a smile on her face, whistled and sang as she did her endless chores, befriended birds, spoke to animals, wished on stars, hoped for a Prince and had a fairy godmother. That’s my kind of girl!

As we made our way deep into the park we came upon the Winnie the Pooh ride. That stuffed bear and all his friends shared with me what some would say is my ”North Star. The thing that inspires, influences and directs all things me. It has hung in every classroom I created, each of my child’s bedrooms and today hangs in my office. It’s what Pooh’s melancholy friend Eeyore said about friendship, “A little consideration, a little thought of others, makes all the difference.”

It was Tinkerbell, the Fairy from Peter Pan, who introduced me to the magic and happiness of Pixie Dust. For this reason alone, I shall forever be indebted to her. Often referred to as “glitter” by humans, I always had a bit of glitter in my pockets as a teacher in case a child needed a moment of hope. I fully believe in its magical powers.

I still apply what Snow White taught me everyday, “Remember, you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine.” 

Pocahontas and I share a love and respect for our Earth and I still believe this truth today, “If you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you’ll learn things you never knew, you never knew.” 

It is true Belle from Beauty and the Beast and I both love books, but it was her lesson about valuing inward characteristics such as kindness over other superficial qualities, such as wit and appearance that became a life pillar of mine.

In Lion King, Mufasa explains to Simba a crucial lesson about the Circle of Life; “Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance …You need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures.” Hence, why I do not like killing spiders.

Mary Poppins sang a bedtime lullaby to comfort the Banks children who were missing their mom who’d passed away. In doing so, she mended my heart and I now share it with you. "So when you need her touch and loving gaze, gone but not forgotten is the perfect phrase. Smiling from a star that she makes glow, trust she's always watching as you grow. Find her in the place where the lost things go.”

It was the bravery of a few Dalmatian dogs coupled with a community of compelled strangers who put aside their differences, joined forces, worked together and defeated the bad guys. Their lesson gives me hope for our country today.

And so, as our day came to an end, my girls and I found a spot beneath the sky above Cinderella’s castle. There I stood amongst those responsible for teaching me some of the most important lessons of my lifetime. I closed my eyes and saw a little girl watching Cinderella on a small Zenith television. I gazed at a young mother placing her newborn down for sleep. I looked on as a teacher and her students cleaned up their school playground. I observed a woman scribbling ideas for her very own children’s book filled with little lessons for a happier world.  

As the exploding colors began to fall from the sky, tears fell from my eyes. When the fireworks burst wide open, so too did my heart. I was overflowing with emotion, gratitude and happiness realizing it was Disney who had a hand in molding me. As I watched Tinkerbell fly off into the distance I whispered up to the sky very sincerely-

thank you for it all,

A little thing you should know: From the moment we arrived at the airport until we left, we were overwhelmed by kindness. So we created a Kindness List just to remember all the gestures by strangers who made our time more memorable. Here are just a few…. Airline check-in didn’t charge us for our overweight luggage, Manuel made us special birthday pins, Pietra gave Nathalia a Mickey Mouse ice cream sandwich for free to celebrate her birthday and that’s just to name a few...

Love to read your comments and thoughts-please leave them below!

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Love to read your comments and thoughts-please leave them below! 〰️

Ripples

Hello again, I am so wowed by how quickly our blog family has increased. It always amazes me how a group of like-minded people can accomplish a task. And to those of you just joining, welcome to the family! If you are not sure you’ve subscribed, just fill in below and I will sort it all out for you. As promised, here is my latest piece to brighten up your world. honored, allison

I found myself alone in a swimming pool today; just me, the pool and I. The water temp wasn’t much chillier than bath water, so I eased right in past that sensitive belly spot. As I rested against the pool’s edge, I noticed a water ripple. I watched intently until the last ring disappeared, and the water became still. I looked up, looked around and realized it was me who created that ripple.

Seems ironic a gal who feared water most of her lifetime would be fascinated by water ripples. But alas, it is true. Had my mom not dove into a pool to save me when I was four years old, I’d probably not be here today. CPR, a quick trip to the ER and the rest is history. Fast forward 57 years and you’ll be happy to know I finally overcame my aqua phobia, learned to swim and wash my face. Yup, even water on my face made me very uncomfortable. 

Okay, so back to me in a pool all to myself. I lifted my toes up and peeked them out of the surface of the water to hopefully recreate the ripple effect. It worked and I gleefully watched as the circles traveled across the surface reflecting the sunshine. I did this a few times, each time with a little bit more force. Though the ripples appeared stronger each time they always eventually disappeared too quickly. There was something about the simple cause and effect of my actions that had my full attention. Yet, no matter my effort they always seemed to disappear too quickly. I then began paddling my toes to keep the ripples going. Beautiful, but eventually my legs grew tired. As soon as I stopped, so too did the ripples.

It got me thinking, how many moments must I miss in a day? I mean had I not been looking down into the water, the ripple may never have caught my attention. How many times am I looking down at my computer or my phone, lost in thought? I climbed out of the pool on a mission.

Sitting beside this pool were people from all walks of life, cultures and countries. My husband and I chose this particular spot to decompress for a few short days. A beautiful place where we had few decisions to make, never left the property and our only goal was relaxing in the sunshine. There I sat watching the world around me, newly determined to not miss a thing. I noticed birds I didn’t recognize flying high overhead. I heard people speaking with beautiful accents and a few different languages. I watched groups of friends laughing. I noted how the pool attendants opened up umbrellas with precise detail. Ironically, I was so engrossed in people watching, I almost missed the lady in a modest swimsuit trying to get my attention. 

She’d been doing laps and wanted to know what time it was to determine if she’d completed her self-imposed goal. I eagerly set my timer for her and encouraged her with a few friendly cheers. When the timer chimed, I lowered myself back into the pool and gave her a joyous two thumbs up. 

She swam towards me and said, “Thank you, I was really struggling until you cheered me on.” To which I said, “And you inspired me to get into the pool, so I thank you.” With that, two strangers from different worlds started doing laps together. We had more in common than either of us expected. Both proud Jersey girls, mothers, daughters and wives. Both love flowers, reading and didn't think we could survive without our girl-friendships. It didn’t surprise us we both had degrees in Education. But most of all we agreed self-care was non-negotiable. Before we knew it, we’d spent 45 minutes lapping and becoming friends. Eventually though, our skin began to prune, so we parted ways with a wet genuine hug.

People say I can make friends with a rock, and they’re not wrong. I believe acknowledging someone you come across is not just basic kindness, but also not accidental. There is always a reason. Perhaps for us to learn something. Receive a message. To slow us down, or to put a smile on someone’s face. My philosophy is to always leave a trail of kindness wherever I go. Meeting new people reassures me we are far more alike than different. We are all just humans raised by a different set of parents, in a different place.  We may speak a different language, eat different foods and be of different faiths, but people are simply friends we have yet to meet.

Today at this pool, I started a ripple. A ripple of kindness to be exact. I interacted with a person whose path I might likely have never crossed, until today. Odds are I may never see her again, but for this moment we sparked a friendship despite our cultural differences, upbringings, religion and perhaps nationality. We were both respectful and kind to one another. Our world needs more of this … Today I found mine poolside. Who knows where I’ll discover it tomorrow, but I’ll surely be looking because I don’t want to miss it. 

with ripples,

A little something you should know: Some refer to kind deeds as mitzvahs—a good deed done from religious duty. Regardless of label, I’ve preached it, practiced it and lived by it my whole life long. People often remark about how kind I am, but truthfully it is because kindness empowers and gives me purpose. So much so, my fourth children’s book, What Can I do Today? carries this same message of how small actions can create big changes. These books are my heart's work, created to help children (and their grown-ups) discover the joy of making our world a happier place. I've left a link below if you'd like to explore them.

My Life as a Jack-in-the-Box

I’d like to take a quick moment to thank so many of you for sharing my blog. And to all of you just joining us, welcome to the blog family! Make sure you subscribe below so I can email you each time I write and post a new blog. I really do believe my blogs can help brighten up our world one reader at a time- so please continue to share my blogs with those you care about.

x’s and o’s, allison

It’s 2 a.m. and I am wide awake. My mind is swirling in a sea of thoughts and emotions. I toss. I turn. I flip my pillow to the chilly side. I meander into the bathroom. I grab my dog and snuggle him up close. When none of that works, I know what needs to happen. 

I tiptoe downstairs and brew a fresh pot of coffee, pull out my trusty computer, place my fingers on the keyboard, sit back and let the flood gates open. I’m not surprised words come pouring out of me since I’ve been tearing up for days now. Happy tears, to be sure, yet I’ve found myself just staring off into space. I’ve caught myself shaking my head in disbelief. All this in an effort to wrap my head around this past football season.

This 2024-25 Philadelphia Eagles season began with a tinge of apprehension which was to be expected due to the prior befuddling season. Of course there was fresh merchandise to peruse, new players and staff to meet and bring into the fold. There were the usual number of suspects interested in attending a home game or two with our family. Our tailgate tradition carried on. The games came and games went. We lost some and won a lot. However, nothing felt exceptionally noteworthy. 

To know my husband, Jeff, is to love him. He’s a rough, straight-shooting nose to the grindstone kind of guy and coaches the same way. He never fluffs or softens anything he says. That kind of noise usually leaves me weighed down and anxious. I am more of a gentler, positive kind of gal. I’d rather hear nothing than something negative. I’d also rather be pleasantly surprised by good fortune than plummet from high expectations. 

photo courtesy of Ellen Sweeney

So for half of a calendar year, I take my vitamins and what my husband says with a grain of salt. I avoid news media, sports talk radio and keep it short and sweet with people who hope to talk ball with me. This gameplay helps me navigate through the long arduous season. It helps ensure I sidestep some drama, negativity and some unnecessary anxiety. Do not misunderstand, this is not because I don’t care, it’s because I care way too much. 

A football season can run anywhere from July-February. During those months, when I look in the mirror, I see a Jack-in-the-Box staring back at me. You know the one, where you crank the handle bit by bit, uncertain of when Jack will randomly pop out of its metal cage and scare the bejesus right out of you. Welp, that’s me. All season long I attempt to keep my anxiety level from cranking up, all in an effort not to spring open. I keep my expectations low and my head down. I celebrate wins, but never too much. The losses are disappointing, but I’m determined not to let them bring me to my knees. I don’t look back nor ahead, but hover right in the week and game at hand. You might be wondering why all this effort Allison? Why not just enjoy it all? It’s simple really, because losing just hurts too much. From my perspective, losing is far more heartbreaking than winning is joyous. Take a moment to reread that line, please, I’ll wait right here. 

I know it might seem contradictory, but both events take the same amount of effort yet have polar-opposite outcomes. Think about all the time, studying, practicing and game planning. All of that to either wake each day with a smile on your face or a pit in your stomach. Happiness is much easier to digest and live with, yet the pain of losing is brutal and can be debilitating. It’s the waking up day after day reliving what you wish you could and should have done differently and yes, better. Second guessing every single thing over and over and over again. Doubt and failure are such heavy burdens to carry and affect not just the holder but those around them. And yes, even I, the wife of a football coach, carries some of that burden. I wonder which part of the loss I need to take hold of.

You see, up until recently I was like many fans and believed I was responsible for making my difference. Not sure if it is my “mature” age or the 30 years of experience under my belt, but I have finally come to terms with my influence on the game. Sure, I can scream for our defense until my eyes bulge out of my skull. I will be whisper silent when our offense is on the field. However, as for my toenail polish, lucky pendants and bracelets—they have zero effect on the final score. Those superstitions I see now are to comfort me, help me feel somewhat in control over what’s clearly out of my control. 

So as the season rolled on, the critics were deafening, the fans were disappointed and many angry, but the Philadelphia Eagles just tuned it all out and focused on the next game at hand. The season was long, very long actually. Felt as though it might never end. With each additional game my husband would look at me and say, “This could be our last game,” but apparently, he was crying wolf. That is, until the final second of the Super Bowl.

I am still in disbelief. I’ve had time to process the victory, wash the piles of laundry from New Orleans, partake in the parade of a lifetime and respond to endless messages. Now it’s time for our family to get back to a “normal” way of life. We call this season, “Re-entry”. A time to fit our coach back into a routine we created so we could survive without him. It isn’t easy, and sometimes pretty tricky, but thankfully worth it. So today I happily packed up my Jack-in-the-Box. It’s stored out of sight with our stadium blankets and binoculars—at least until next season rolls along.

with a deep breath,

A little thing you should know: Re-entry is no joke. It’s the ebb and flow of feelings and emotions. It’s very similar to constructing a family game plan- respecting the road the family created that got them through the season, but understanding the need to make changes. Perhaps I put the Jack-in-the-Box away too soon?

Photo courtesy of Ellen Sweeney

Celebrating Success and Sacrifice

Before you read my blog… I’ve been noticing lately our world could sure benefit from more kindness, love and acceptance. I believe my blogs can help, even if to just grace a smile on someone’s face. Would you please help by sharing my blogs with someone who needs their day to be a little bit happier? with gratitude and love, allison

Hello Parade,

Oh, how I love you. You outdid yourself Friday in Philadelphia as the sun shone brightly, the sky a vibrant blue and a brisk breeze lifted the green shades of confetti high into the air until it swirled around the double-decker buses and down into the crowd. Those crowds, those crowds … how you quite literally made space for millions of Eagles fans for as far as the eye could see, and then some. You welcomed over a million people from all walks of life, ages and nationalities to squeeze into a five-mile parade route and cheer side by side, and on Valentine’s Day no less. 

Courtesy of Claudette Noriega

Courtesy of Rosy Moorehead

In a time where our country seems to be breaking apart right and left, you gave Philadelphians a safe place to come together. A place to let our guard down, smile and feel hopeful. People were laughing, singing, dancing, crying and screaming from the tops of their lungs from bus stop tops, rooftops and treetops. Generations of families, endless groups of friends, youth football teams, old men standing alone, babies wrapped in blankets who’ll one day ask again to hear the story of how they were present and accounted for. And to all the law enforcement who handled the rest so we could relish in this once in a lifetime moment. And handle it they most certainly did. 

Courtesy of Claudette Noriega

How do I know all this? Because I was one of the lucky ones who had a seat on a great big beautiful double decker bus. I witnessed it all firsthand and felt all the emotions too. I saw grown men cry and by grown men that includes not just the fans, but the coaches and players as well. It includes the video guys who break down hundreds of practice, game and meeting films. It includes the wives and significant others realizing the days of running the house and being solo were coming to an end. It includes buses filled with front office, building and cafeteria staff, equipment crew, fundraising gurus, bus drivers, media and ticket team. Perhaps not sexy roles but nonetheless imperative to ensure the smooth operation of the Philadelphia Eagles organization. I watched them all staring down Broad Street in utter disbelief.

Courtesy of Rosy Moorehead

Don’t get me wrong, winning the Super Bowl was wonderful and all, but it was wrapped up tightly in the unknown, anxiety, responsibility, pressure, and hope. But this day right here, in this moment of time was nothing but pure celebration and joy. No pressure, no keeping my expectations at bay, no worrying about the next game, next job or injured players. Today was to celebrate all things; relief for a job really well done. Gratitude for a team that held it together when others might have crumbled. Grace for a fan base that loves honestly with everything they have. Respect to an ENTIRE organization that makes me want to scream from the rooftops how proud I am to wear an Eagle on my chest. Admiration for all the spouses who handle it all, and I mean all, while their “person” works tirelessly at the football office. Lastly, compassion for all the children who lend their parent for the good of the team and have occasionally been known to defend their honor on a playground. 

Being this is my second Super Bowl parade I had an idea of what was to come. I recall seven years ago being so overwhelmed I blacked out from emotion. This time would be different. I would be present. I made eye contact with those who held their spot for hours, and with the little ones pressed against the barriers. I worried as the crazy folk hung from tree limbs and balanced on rooftops. I cried with those who wore tear-stained faces. I tried like hell to stay present knowing our three grown children would document the day. With every inch of that parade, I felt the pure happiness, love and devotion of a crowd who wanted to give back the love they felt to their team. A feeling that was palpable and beautiful.

As the parade wrapped up and we headed home, I knew. I knew I had just experienced something monumental. But also, I knew this moment was coming to an end. I knew a certain kind of sadness was moving in. These people, this team, these coaches, these fans, this beautiful sunny cold February day was a once-in-a-lifetime moment to be cherished for always by everyone.

 Hopefully we meet again my friend,

allison

A little thing you should know: This parade was one of the highest highlights of my entire life. It is abundantly clear to me I was born to parade! Need more proof? I also love a good tiara. Perhaps in a prior lifetime I was a Miss America? Or a Princess or a Queen? Regardless of the how or why, it is true. I could feel the crowd’s energy coursing through my body. I felt right at home sitting atop a bus going down Broad Street. I was waving, making eye contact, tearing up and yes, even blowing kisses too. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. And with every happiness comes a little sadness … it’s all a part of this thing we call life. 

It's all led to this and that

Seven years ago I wrote this blog. Things have changed plenty yet things have also stayed the same. I am older, grayer, wiser, stronger and have learned how to properly use the word, “No”. Our children are grown up, successful adults and we’ve welcomed an amazing daughter-in-law into our family. Players, coaches and their families have come and gone, but we’ve stayed put. The Philadelphia Eagles and our home have remained the same for thirteen years, it’s still something we do not take for granted.

With having just won yet another Super Bowl, I felt this blog deserved to be consumed for a second time. It’s important to remember from where you came and realize where we are going is often a total surprise.

Go Birds and all the rest…. x’s and o’s, allison

I met my husband at a bar in New Haven, Connecticut. As local lore goes, he took one look at me from across the room and knew I was going to be his wife. I took one look at him after he told me he was a football coach and I thought he must be a dumb jock. Instead, I found him to be so personable, charming and good looking. I thought what the heck, we’ll dance. In my defense, I was raised by a single mom and all I knew about football was it was played on Sundays. Oh, and there were two teams and once a year there was a really big game that involved lots of food. Despite my ignorance, six months later he proposed to me in front of my classroom of kindergarteners.

Looking back now, after more than 20-plus years of being a college and pro football wife, I see now I was being heavily recruited. He recognized talent when he saw it; a strong, friendly, outgoing woman. She loved children, wanted a family and had fast muscle twitch fiber. Yes, you read that right! No joke, pretty early on in our dating he threw a clementine at my head and I caught it. Within one year, or season as we refer to calendar time, we were married. 

It wasn’t more than three months into our wedded bliss when my world was turned upside-down. Jeff was offered a job we both decided he could not turn down. He moved one week later and I was left alone for six months to finish out my teaching career, pack up our home, find the perfect new home in a place I knew nothing about, and say goodbye to the life I loved. In fairness he had explained that with his career we might move one day. I might have to leave the town I called home, my friends I grew up with and a job I loved endlessly. Yet in my mind, I thought if he just did his job, and he was such a hard worker, that we would never leave. At last count that was the first of six moves our family has endured. 

In the last 25 years we have lived in nine places—each one we’ve called home. We've trained three dogs, raised two children, coached six teams and adopted over 400 players as our sons. As we moved along, we left a path of friends of all ages whose concept of watching football as a fun pastime turned into a stressful job often riddled with emotions and superstitious behavior. It is safe to say that our journey has been filled with enough tears to float Noah’s Ark; happy, sad, anxious, overwhelming, joyous, shocking and yes, sometimes angry ones too. The most recent of those stops for those not familiar was Philadelphia . . . and the Eagles. 

Tears are filling up my eyes as I sit in the middle of our two children on a plane headed for Minneapolis, Minnesota for Super Bowl LII. When I allow myself to take in the magnitude of this opportunity it seems surreal to my heart and head. All my husbands hard work, endless hours away from home, years of missing most family events, report card meetings, kid’s sporting events and our daily life has led to this. Our choice for me to leave my career and stay at home and take care of our kids, our home and just about everything else has led to this. We are not strangers to big games. My husband spent two seasons at Alabama, which happened to coincide with back-to-back national championships. And then there was last week against the Vikings. All that has led to this. 

To our families who have supported this life dream-this is for you. To all the neighbors who shoveled snow, walked our dogs, decorated our home after a win, helped us pack up, painted our home for resale, mowed our lawn, befriended us, supported us whether we won but especially when we lost-this game is for you. To our friends who continue to stay in touch despite the miles between us-this is for you. For all those people who embraced the “new family” and helped us understand and appreciate the history of a program we knew nothing about-this is for you. For all the football players who came before this team today-this is for you. And to the city of Philadelphia and all that it is and all that we LOVE-this is most especially for you. Like our fans, we hope this will be the first of many trips to the big game. As sports realists, we understand it might be our only one. Soak in every moment. We certainly hope to.

Enjoy your really big game with lots of food,

A little thing you should know: In December of 2003 our head coach was let go and so started the limbo of who on staff would be retained or let go. Traditionally our football program would send “Santa” to each of the coaches homes for a visit. That year when our 7-year-old son was asked what he wanted he handed Santa a note and said, “Santa, all I want for Christmas is for my Dad to get a job.” Sad, happy and truthful tears filled every pair of eyes in that room. And fourteen years later his father was hired to be the Offensive LIne Coach for the Philadelphia Eagles.

The Football Wife

Many of my blogs are related to my life as a football coaches wife. There have been happy blogs, sad ones but always honest and always from my perspective, until today.

This blog I share with you today is written from the eyes of someone else whom I share a 25 year long friendship with.  He wrote this after spending a long weekend immersed in our lives that culminated with attending the NFC Championship Game. He knew well the hectic schedule our family lives and the inherent risk of a possible loss. But with true friends it’s never about the win, but about supporting.

He emailed this piece to me as more of a thank you note, but I knew right away I needed to share with all of the football people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and loving over 30+ years of coaching.

It’s said that often others see you better than you can see yourself. Thank you for that Mark!

x’s and o’s,

The Football Wife

The amazing power of a football wife. Not the newly married isn’t this exciting wife, but the I’m in this for life, I’ve moved my family, defended my husband and shed more than a few tears wife. No disrespect to the newbies on the journey, I just haven’t spent time with many of you.

In the best of times, she is the leader of a piece of crazy that few people experience. The organizing, packing, traveling, tailgating and making sure that all the right things happen, in the right order, on game day kinda crazy. Entertaining, coordinating and trying to let friends and family get a taste of her world while always knowing that the taste may be glorious, or it may be unbelievably bitter. 

She rides highs and lows that most don’t experience, sometimes over a season and often in a single game. She knows when to be quiet and when to encourage. She knows that on occasion she will make the wrong call, and it will crush her spirit.

She knows that with success comes change and that change comes with failure as well. She knows that she can love a city, but maybe not too much. She knows that when she moves somewhere warm, she should probably hang on to her cold weather gear as well.  She can love her colors, but favorites can become hard to match in a single offseason.

She knows that much of her life may be more public than she likes, but that comes with the job. She knows her kids will experience some of the best of life and some of the very worst, simply because their dad is a coach. She knows some friends stick and others are for a moment in time. 

She prays that a new home will be as good as the current one as she uses superhuman strength to make it so.

She balances a checkbook wondering how it will ever work out, and then one day may experience reward that comes through family sacrifice that most cannot imagine.  She feels a tinge of guilt in her newfound options and isn’t sure she can break from the patterns of modesty it took to get here.

Sometimes she celebrates on the field surrounded by people, cameras and excited fans. Sometimes she is alone in a tunnel, waiting quietly for a husband that is beaten and defeated in the final score; and in his energy to face the people who love him the most. 

Sometimes she wears cute outfits and relishes the cheers of fans. Sometimes she wishes her choice of clothing could help her family escape the stares, glances and words that no person, let alone a child should have to hear. The highs are high. The lows are low. Not much lies in the middle.

Yet always she is the family cheerleader, protector and mamma bear. She grinds through another game, season, college or city. She feels great when it all comes together and like a failure when the best laid plans don’t quite turn out that way.

Football wives were meant to be strong, because they have to be. They are also soft because they have to be. They can be a little bitchy because sometimes it is the only thing that will work. But mostly they are the perfect combination of all of the above. They have to be. Too many people rely on them for everything at just the right time and in just the right circumstances.

They are the rock, the heart and the glue of a sisterhood that is not unlike the brotherhood of the sport itself. They are made for the biggest of stages and the smallest of moments. In short, football wives are here because without them there would be no football families. There would be no amazing kids that either embrace it all or survive despite taking a path that ignores the family business.

Thank you, God for football wives. Give them the strength and courage they need each and every morning to shoulder their amazing job. Embrace them, encourage them and plant a knowledge in their heads and hearts that an entire industry is made possible because of who they are and what they do. Lift them up because sometimes, maybe too often, You are the only one who will. Let them rest in themselves, each other, their families and ultimately in You.

Thank you God for football wives. ❤️

Knock-Knock

Knock-knock…

Me: “Hi! Can I help you?  Oh, you want me to start writing that novel I’ve been dreaming about? That sounds like a wonderful idea. Is it possible for you to come back a bit later, please?” 

Knock-knock…

Me: “Maybe- if I don’t answer, perhaps they will go away. “

Knock-knock…

Me: “So, you are back. Knocking at the door of my writers mind. I see you through the peep hole. I know you are there. I am just not ready yet. I am so busy with so much to do. Check back with me later.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “Is it that time again? Boy, time flies. I know I promised to be ready, but things came up. They always do. Family needs. Home responsibilities. Baking. Thrifting. Football season. Just about anything. Let’s reschedule.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “I’ve been waiting for you. If I cannot count on anything else in my life these days, I can count on your persistence. Shall we look at next month when things calm down a bit?” 

Knock-knock…

Me: “Okay, let’s do this. Let’s meet every morning, early, before the sun rises and everyone wakes up. That’s the time of day I am most productive!”

Knock-knock…

Me: “Yeah, so apparently baking is also super wonderful during those early morning hours. I’ve also learned if I don’t workout first thing, it never happens. Early morning may not be the best plan, let’s try nighttime.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “Well, that was a debacle. I’ve never been a nighttime gal. I mean I can hardly put together a dinner meal each night, so it looks like it’s back to the drawing  board—I mean writing board.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “I was thinking perhaps I need a proper office dedicated to writing. Maybe with a fresh new space I will be inspired. This is a sound plan.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “Seems the office is so perfectly located I spend much of my time watching out my window and dreaming up ways to lure the sweet birds to my outdoor deck. Once I have them eating regularly from my homemade teacup suet feeders I should be ready to write.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “I know a promise is a promise. Maybe blogging will get my writing juices flowing. That should remind me how much I love writing, and the rest will fall into place.”

Knock-knock…

Me: '“Welp, birds are fed. Office is relocated and renovated. Blogs are flowing. What other excuses and distractions can I possibly come up with to postpone sitting down to focus on writing the novel in my mind? Oh, I know, I’ll organize all the notes I’ve taken over the past many years which are scattered upon my desk, computer and numerous notebooks.” 

Knock-knock…

Me: “I could not believe just how long it took for me to sort through all the little papers, notebooks, looseleaf pagers of scribbles, diagrams and writings. I bought a beautiful accordion folder with an individual space for each character. I sorted every last piece and even drew up a Ven diagram. Surely the time has come.”

Knock-knock…

Me: “It seems nothing is working except for procrastination. Oh and in case you were wondering, that’s firing on all cylinders. Perhaps, this just isn’t meant to happen.” 

Me: “Hello? Woo hoo? Is anyone there?  I understand if you are struggling to trust me. To be fair, I’m hesitant to trust myself. However, I thought you should be the first to know I think I am ready. I had breakfast with a dear friend the other morning, and she rekindled the little flailing ember in my writer’s heart, and I can feel it coming alive. I think the time has come. At least I pray it has.” 

Knock-knock…

Me: “Well, hello there. You’ll be happy to know I spent four serious hours working on my novel. I began by unearthing and trying to make sense out of all my little bits of paper with ideas on them, accordion folder full of character development and diagrams of how I wanted the story to unfold.”

 Knock-knock…

Me: “Come on in, and let me show you what I did. I spent the morning working on not just one character, but two. I detailed their lives, giving them depth and color. I delved into where they live, with whom and what they watch on television. I even spent some time researching their jobs so the story will be true and believable.”

 Knock-knock…

Me: “If I do this every day it should become a habit, right? I hope so, because I am really enjoying finally focusing on this idea that has been in my soul for so long. I’ll tell you this, the book has the patience of a saint to have waited on me to write it this long. I look forward to your knock tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that … and thank you for not giving up on me.”

 Me with determination, love and a plot,

A little thing you should know: When it comes to developing characters, I’m solid. I know their names, what they look like and what they like to eat. I know where they like to shop, what their dogs name is and where they live. They’ve even begun to share their deep, dark secrets with me too. Some of them I love. Others I am not so enamored with and others I have yet to meet. My heart breaks for one, roots for another and dreams about all the others. Writing is not a little thing you should know about me, it’s a great big beautiful wonderful thing.

My Little Black Box

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can pinpoint the moment an obsession begins. I visited with my friend’s parents a few years back, sharing a cup of tea and catching up. There were the usual updates but one in particular piqued my interest. Their dear friend had recently passed, and they were awaiting the arrival of his black box to help “sort” out his affairs.

“Wait, what?” This was the first I’d heard of a black box of this nature! I’ve lost important people in my life and there was never a black box to sort through. My mind was racing, and I had to know more. Attempting a balance between respect and curiosity, my barrage of questions began. What did this black box look like? What was inside? Was it truly black? How big was it? Were there family secrets carefully folded up inside?

I was expecting this box to be filled with love. Turns out, its contents were all of the legal variety- deeds, titles, bank statements, wills and all the rest. Logically this made perfect sense, but emotionally it felt like a missed opportunity. Here was a final chance to safe keep “gifts” of love and gratitude. The fact that it wasn’t was the very moment I needed my very own black box.

I could not shake this concept. It’s said, “Every girl needs a little black dress.” I think we all need a little black box as well. Some may think this a morbid concept, but I believe this may be the greatest idea of all. My black box will not just keep important legal papers, but pieces of my heart as well.

I’m sure you all know how much letter writing means to me. What you do not know is every single time I’ve helped clean out a loved one’s home who has passed away, I hope to find a letter they’ve left for me. I have yet to find one, but I want my loved ones to find one. My black box will keep them safe so they will have my words forever at their fingertips whenever they need them.

As you can tell, I’ve been giving this whole thing a bunch of thought. In thinking it through, I’ve decided to be cremated, final answer. I love flowers, trees and spending time in my garden, but I am just too claustrophobic to be placed in a box/coffin. Yet, I also don’t really desire to sit on one shelf collecting dust. My solution is if my loved ones will find comfort in taking a bit of me with them or others want to sprinkle me in their garden… why I’d be more than delighted. 

To this end, like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter, I am collecting small unique antique jars, bottles and tins. I envision a place at my funeral where you can choose a vessel and take me “to go.” Keep me beside your favorite chair so you can chat, and I will listen. This way, once again, I’ll never be too far away.

Of course to carry this whole thing out I needed to find the perfect black box. I spent the last few years on and off searching many box options; fire boxes, plastic tubs and even decorative, sleek, handled and locked boxes. And yes indeed, it is black. My plan is to paint bright colored flowers on it, but, I have time for that. I pray..

pondering and purging,

A Little Thing You Should Know:  Sadly many of my friends are saying goodbye to loved ones. It’s our age I am afraid and part of the circle of life. With this comes cleaning and sorting out their homes as well. It is a grueling and overwhelming task. Every single item demands a decision. Does this have emotional or monetary value? Do we pass it onto someone, sell, donate or dispose? Then it’s sorting into the proper bag or box for endless trips to the dumpster or donation center.

Either end involves grueling hours of placing a value on items deemed valuable by our gone loved ones. Items once gifts from their loved ones. Many were purchased with their hard-earned money. And some from the generations that died before them they themselves felt too important to throw out. Each one is a thing, just a thing, but each one must be handled. When the task is complete, not only is the home empty of things, but so too is your physical, mental and emotional state.

I love things, but I do not want my loved ones to endure this process so have begun the “Big Purge”. Letters, trinkets, gizmos, pictures, memorabilia once important enough for me to move around with me, now I am eager to dispose of.

Hey, here’s a thought?! Maybe at my funeral next to all the vessels there could be a table of my “things” as well.

60 Allison Truths

Each birthday I celebrate by taking account of my life. This year is sort of a big one—the kind where people gently ask you how you are doing? So, in the spirit of it all… here are 60 Allison truths.

1. I am happiest making others happy

2. The more glitter and confetti, the better

3. Friends are my life’s trophies

4. Just as soon as you get pretty OK at something, it always seems to change

5. Being a parent never ends. It just changes

6. I am a collector … hearts, glass bottles, garden trinkets, great coffee mugs but my best collection of all are the people in my world!

7. Anything and everything I love brings me both happiness and sadness.

8. Thank you notes still matter

9. Standing under a tall tree is life changing

10. Feeding birds is pure happiness

11. Rescuing a treasure from someone’s garbage is thrilling

12. Volunteering is the definition of a win-win

13. Music directly affects my heart

14. I was born to be a teacher

15. Being grateful isn’t always easy

16. My phone is both my friend and enemy

17. Chalkboards make me smile

18. Recycling is a passion of mine

19. Hugging cures sadness

20. I actually like my “glitter” gray hair

21. You’ll still find me in the kitchen baking if I’m sad

22. Morning coffee, the color of a paper bag, is still my jam

23. Pastina is my go-to sick food

24. Social media brings me closer to some and further from others

25. “No” used properly, is the move! 

26. I still do not enjoy gambling

27. And still despise mayo

28. I believe in angels

29. Making friends is my superpower

30. I continue to talk to my plants and backyard birds

31. Don’t believe I ever want to live without a dog

32. Basement stairs without backs still petrify me

33. It’s a Wonderful Life is still my top movie

34. Disney songs reign on my playlist

35. I am braver than I ever thought I was

36. Twinkle lights are magic

37. I think of the people I love more than they might imagine

38. In the game of football, I cannot root against friends, even though it would be beneficial

39. I take notes at funerals—for future reference 

40. I drive in hopes of letting someone merge or cross

41. Conversely, when the person in front of me steals my opportunity, I get angry

42. My sleeping pattern has returned to my toddler years

43. Now it seems I am forgetting I’ve forgotten. That’s progress, right?

44. Perhaps my give-a-damn levels are rising alongside my years

45. I greet my home every time I drive in our driveway

46. The people I chose to surround myself with is stronger than any force field

47. I still avoid stepping on sidewalk cracks

48. My most productive hours are between 4 a.m.-11 a.m.!

49. A stadium filled with fans singing The Star-Spangled Banner makes me cry

50. I love being a sister, daughter, aunt, niece, and cousin

51. I am an empty nester for a third time now. It’s easier this time

52. I absolutely love a nice salad…and crispy french fries

53. I appreciate the sunrise more than the sunset

54. Words run through my veins

55. I adore time with people I respect, but also cherish time alone

56. Violence and hatred shake me to my core

57. 73 and sunny is my favorite weather day

58. I admit it, I wear Birkenstocks now

59. I cannot tolerate meanness 

60. I’m far from perfect … but I work on getting better each year!

I am beyond overwhelmed, touched and delighted at how many people choose to love me, and am eternally grateful for each and every single one of you….

with love from your birthday gal,

Reality Check-in

I feel it. I know it’s there. It’s a hint of what’s to come perhaps. A peek into my future. Neither good nor bad, just is. Picture yourself hearing a distant rumble before a powerful thunderstorm rolling in. It causes you to pause and question whether something really happened or you’ve just imagined it. That, my friends, is the very moment it’s already begun.  

A month or so ago I heard the distant rumble. I attended our Annual Kick-off Dinner for the football Coaches Significant Others. It’s a chance to meet new staff additions, hug the ones ya’ know and catch up before the season charges in. Always enjoyable because football coaches tend to choose life partners who are independent, efficient, adaptable, smart, strong, resilient and generally exude positivity. Yes, I may be a bit biased, but I also know this to be true through years of experience.  

But with those years comes the “honor” of being the oldest on our staff. Yes, I know my husband has been coaching over 30 years. I am keenly aware most of the other coach’s children attend school. I see I am the only gray haired one in group pics. I notice my game day attire doesn’t particularly match up. This isn’t a pity blog, though. It’s merely a reality check.  

I remember starting out as a coach’s wife and being drawn to the older wives and the comfort, motherly hugs and sage advice they shared. It seemed they always knew just what to say. They were wise, witty and had an air of calm about them. Or was it a don’t give a sh*t attitude. Perhaps it was a combination of both, but I stand in their shoes today. Like them, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve survived many moves, said goodbye to many friends and neighbors, acclimated to new communities and attended too many football games to count.   

It’s an honor and privilege to step into this role, but it comes with a price. That price is aging and it hit me dead in the face on a trip with fellow football team spouses. We boarded a bus for an away game, shared some bubbly and wonderful conversation. Our first stop had to be a bathroom. There were about 11 of us and just one working bathroom. A man walked up to see us in this forever line, and me, being my kind self said, “We’ll give you Headsies if you like?” And with that one sentence as he was eagerly running away, I drew a deep aged line in the sand.

Mind you, not a bad one, as we’re all still laughing about it to this day, but one there was no turning back from for me. I was now the old lady who says unintentionally inappropriate stuff. The stuff that was perfectly innocent in my day, but not these days. You see, “headsies” was a kind gesture of letting someone get ahead of you if there was a long line. Today it is an entirely different type of kind gesture. Times and language change. Every generation at some point realizes the history they were taught in school sometimes becomes defunct or worse proven invalid and very politically incorrect when spouted later in life.   

As that young girl I also wished for time to pass quickly so I could grow up and sleepover at a friend’s house. I dreamt of the day I would finally get my period like all my friends and wear a bra. I saved eagerly for my very own car and a place to live on my own. Most of my life I couldn’t wait to be a teacher, wife and mother. But with my 60th birthday on the horizon, I’m seeing age differently. There is absolutely no way I am living 60 more years and therefore wishing now for time to slow down.   

Are the rumbles I hear getting louder and more frequent, or are those my knees creaking? Am I working out harder or is getting sore just easier? Has my hearing changed a tiny bit or have I finally mastered the art of selective hearing?  Am I getting more forgetful or do I just really enjoy retracing my steps all day long? Is my ability to retell the same story to the same person the work of a skillful torturer or someone proficient in forgetfulness? And who knew I had such a knack for creating new passwords every single time I log into my endless accounts?  

As with life, there are pros and cons. I am healthy and happy therefore fortunate to be alive and aging. I work out and go walking most days. I have people I love to share my stories with and who love to listen. I move and go more than I sit. Sure, I don’t always remember why I go upstairs, but today, at least I’m still climbing those stairs.   

Moral:  Aging requires a new level from you. You’re gonna have to embrace change to get to the other side.   

just being realistic,   

A little thing you should know: A family friend passed away and left behind a simple black lock box. I was so intrigued by the concept and what might be inside, but alas it was filled with just important paperwork. I’ve decided to follow suit, except I plan to paint flowers all over my box and fill it with not just the important stuff but letters and mementos for those I love, untold stories and any other things I deem worthy. That is, unless I forget. 

Another thing: Love and gratitude to all the beautiful football faces I included in this blog xo, allison

Something borrowed- something blue

The first wedding blog I attempted was absolutely lovely—just like our son and daughter-in-law’s wedding. Yet, it was missing all the bits- the ones that brought angst, uncomfortable situations, difficult decisions and potentially hurt feelings. For me, balancing the traditions I grew up with versus those of the younger generation were at times uncomfortable. In my day, we followed traditional wedding guidelines but this generation questions everything including those traditions. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade sharing this experience with them for anything, but the moment the ring slid on our daughter-in-law’s finger the struggles began. 

photos courtesy of Abbe Foreman Photography

Abbe Foreman Photography

They tirelessly searched for a unique intimate wedding venue that offered both outdoor and indoor space to no avail. That is, until they stepped foot onto Appleford Estate. A beautiful 300-year-old stone mansion tucked into a quiet residential neighborhood on the Philadelphia Main Line. Its acreage loaded with weeping willow trees alongside a pond, an arboretum, waterfall and endless, yet meticulous, gardens. Now they had their dream venue, a wedding date and the solid number of guests that could be invited.

That meant making a list and checking it not just once or twice but a hundred times! Being a rule follower and worrying about hurting people’s feelings made this my worst part. Apparently, these days being a family member does not guarantee an invitation. A meaningful pre-existing relationship was their requirement before an invite was to be considered. I only pushed back a few times, feeling excluding certain people was, as my dear friend always says, “Not worth the stain!”  Truth be told, the kids had the right idea all along and I learned a very important life lesson. Traditions can and sometimes should be broken. What helped us all agree on the toughest decisions was this singular question, “When you see them at your wedding will they make you smile from the inside out?” It was after all, their wedding, not ours.

With venue and guest list done it was time to focus on the Gift Registry. I had anticipated a registry filled with housewares and such. Instead, it was a comprehensive list of experiences. Wine tastings, pasta making, air & train tickets, hotels, etc.  I felt awkward they were basically asking for money. They felt since they were already living together, they would much prefer and appreciate honeymoon memories they might not be able to experience without the support of those they loved. As their “gifts” rolled in, it was clear these two and their generation were indeed onto something brilliant.

Somewhere along the way, the topic of a Day of Wedding Coordinator came up. As a gal who loves a good themed party and attention to details … I thought we could do without. I WAS A GAZILLION PERCENT WRONG. Jess began as the final month pressure rose. Our first meeting she listened with a full heart, kept us all on task, had solutions for all questions and handled our concerns like she was taming a tiger—calm yet strong.  Wedding day she donned angel wings and a Ringmaster’s hat. She masterfully reassured nerves, juggled strong personalities, kept us hydrated and fed, appeared magically when needed most and managed our wedding day timeline like a pro. She was a wedding game changer without a doubt. 

Abbe Foreman Photography

As for my MOG dress. I already covered this in a prior blog (click this link), but here are the promised loose ends. After months of stewing, I selected the dress my friends, family and most importantly, the bride chose. They loved Krystle, the one I thought was too bright, too risqué and perhaps too much. She wasn’t. What she was though was comfortable, beautiful and made it easy to find me in the crowd. Poor gal is still recovering in a heap on my bathroom floor. 

I can relate. As the night came to an end, guests went back to their lives and days weren’t filled with lists, jobs and planning, I couldn’t help but feel blueish. As mother of the groom, I was beyond happy and couldn’t love our daughter-in-law any more, even if I tried really, really hard. But I knew though a new chapter was beginning so too one was ending. Blueish hung around a bit longer than I had anticipated and left me dazed and flitting between elated and exhausted. But as special packages in the form of texts, phone calls and pictures arrived from loved ones I very slowly returned to my natural shade of happy.

Abbe Foreman Photography

Abbe Foreman Photography

Your true blue friend,  

allison

Abbe Foreman Photography

Moral: Just as I said in my wedding toast, “…choose your people carefully and wisely, because it takes a village to maneuver all life throws your way.”

A little thing I think you should know: A wedding is all about the personal touches. Hotel boxes for our out-of-town guests. Personal handwritten letters from the bride and groom waiting for each guest at their seat. Rosemary infused olive oil in glass bottles as wedding favors. Zeus, their dog, was the ring bearer. Tables names depicting places with special meaning to the couple. The ceremony was led by the groom’s uncle in English and bride’s sister in Portuguese, so all the guests could follow along in their native language. Homemade traditional Portuguese dessert Brigadeiro was served. The night ended with each guest taking home a late-night snack from the newlywed's favorite bagel store at the Jersey Shore. All those details took endless hours and people to execute but will forever live on in the hearts of those who shared in their special day.

Abbe Foreman Photography

Abbe Foreman Photography

Abbe Foreman Photography

Abbe Foreman Photography

It's the Final Countdown

If you have football family blood running through your veins I’d bet anything you understand this musical reference. If you don’t, let me help you. This song pays homage to the final week of summer vacation for the man of our house. He goes by husband and dad in our home, but in one week’s time he’ll be answering to Coach pretty much all the time. Please take a moment to listen to this perfect little ditty.

See, this is the last week of his summer hiatus before he returns to his job as a full-time football coach. So for all intents and purposes, this week marks the end of summertime for our family as a complete unit. 

Check your calendar, it’s a thing people! I should know because this year marks my 27th final countdown. Yet each year it somehow sneaks up on me. Usually it’s the comments that get me, “You know, this weekend is probably the last time I’ll be able to go out for dinner until next year.” Or, “We better do that this week. You know this is my last week, right?” Or, “This’ll be the last time I take out the garbage.” It may sound like am taking literary liberties here, but I promise you that I’m not.

2019 family vacation to Cabo San Lucas

Why it catches me off guard is a conundrum. I see the fall-scented candles starting to line the shelves at the mall. I can smell the extra cinnamon in the air at our local coffee shop. I am sure the other morning walking our dog I felt a slight chill in the air. Oh, and of course I noticed our 2019-2020 season schedule was released the other day. But, it’s amazing how our family can get caught up in the new norm of having him around full time. We jam pack this special time with our treasured family vacation. Often we road trip to visit family and friends. We try to start and complete a few projects around our home with his help. In other words, we get comfortable having him back around the house. So I suppose it is a good thing it still catches me off guard. 

Our week began innocently enough tuning into the 2019 Wimbledon Championship Men’s Singles match. What was to be a backdrop to our lazy Sunday morning turned into a match of historic proportions and a 4-hour, 57-minute commitment. You should know I am a one sport gal. My heart only has room for one sport and I choose football—more specifically the Philadelphia Eagles. After all, they graciously employ my husband and in turn provide us a wonderful home and life we truly love. The Philadelphia Eagles organization is an extension of our family and so all of my heart is fully committed to them. 

Oh how I empathize with Mirka Federer during her husband’s match

But, this tennis match ambushed me. The camera panned the crowd and settled on the players family members. In a nano second I felt their stress, angst and sense of helplessness run amuck in my body. Moms desperately kissing good luck charms hanging from their necks. Wives running their hands through their coiffed hair and picking apart their manicured fingernails. My heart raced and my anxiety increased and I morphed into my emotionally vested sport watching self. I pounded the countertop, cheered emphatically for my guy and fist pumped the sky. In other words, I was all in. My husband was literally stunned. While I was thoroughly engrossed on the match my husband was focused on me. In 27 years of marriage he had never seen this side of me before. You may be wondering how in the world this is possible. Because he is always on the field coaching and I am always either in the stands or at home watching when my Incredible Hulk persona takes over me. Lucky for us both, I look really good in green.

And I can relate to the original HULK-Bill Bixby

So, as this countdown week creeps closer to zero I took a quiet moment alone to listen to my heart and assess the season ahead. I am hopeful yet cautious. I am excited for the promise of what is possible. I am indeed rejuvenated and ready to tackle another football season. I am prepared. And in the background I hear, “Allison, can you cut my hair today? It’s my last one for awhile, so let’s cut it very short.”

XOXO,

A little thing you should know: I truly hope all my fellow coaches’ wives have stored enough rays of sunshine and wonderful memories for their family to last the long, always exhausting and emotionally draining upcoming season. May you have more wins than losses, smiles than frowns and cheers than jeers!

Searching for Middle Ground

A few months ago, I traveled to Florida, and it got me thinking. I’ve been visiting the Sunshine State my whole life. I can remember my grandparents parading me around their Senior complex like a prized possession. I can taste the meals my grandma taught me how to cook in her kitchen. I was lucky enough to accompany my Aunt and Uncle as their babysitter on a few family vacations. And surprisingly enough, I can even recall a few bits of my epic Spring Break trips. But always dear to me was when my husband and I took our children to Walt Disney World.   

It's changed from Baby Oil to SPF 50. Bikinis to tankinis. Carry-ons filled with kid friendly entertainment items to now just my computer. I’ve sat in pools amongst senior citizens chattering about the good ole days and way too warm kiddie pools. Now you’ll find me in a quiet, shaded corner.  

This most recent trip was two-fold—first bit was relaxing with my husband after a very long football season. We relaxed on the beach, ate delicious meals with friends, rode bikes on the boardwalk and it was really nice.   

The second part was visiting with my mom and sister to catch up on quality time, too. Unfortunately, my mom's husband was not faring too well, so lending a helping hand was the priority. Caring for someone who isn’t well is both physically and mentally exhausting. On our drive across the state, I planned to switch from relaxing to supporting mode. Not so much, as cars were traveling 85-90 mph jockeying for position until the next sudden traffic stop. Feeling overwhelmed, I slid over to the middle lane and that’s when it hit me—this drive is just like my life.  

During that five-hour drive I noticed everyone, everything and everywhere seemed to have changed, including me. The roads are bigger, wider and more complicated. Gas and toll prices are so much higher. I know what you’re thinking: Allison, you've changed and are older too. But I’m not talking about another birthday candle kind of old. I’m talking about the getting older that changes your life and can complicate things, too.   

The four days spent with my mom and her husband gave me a front-row seat to that kind of getting older. I’m not here to say it’s all doom and gloom, but definitely a jarring wake-up call. One day you’re scheduling golf matches and dinners out. A few months later its doctor appointments, trips to the bathroom and eating home because it’s just too much effort to leave the house.   

I see tiny glimpses of this happening in my life. I’ve taken to going to bed earlier and enjoying waking before the sun rises. That means dinners are earlier too. And if I am being honest, sometimes lunch happens at 11 o’clock. That’s what I felt on that Florida highway, sliding over to let those rushing past me have a clear path.   

I’ve been telling myself I'm choosing this new “not caring to keep up” life philosophy. But just maybe it is age. My knees creak. I find myself asking people to repeat themselves more than before. I often don’t “get” the lingo used by the younger crowd. My cellphone, computer and television are far too complicated. I’ve even caught myself saying, “When I was a kid…”  

Yet, I still believe I am a long way from what I witnessed. A man on the front line—one who sprinted between life as a real estate attorney, college professor, golf and tennis player and his families. Now, he shuffles with a walker to sit on his lanai quietly watching the golfers play past. He seems content and perhaps peaceful, or is that what accepting your fate looks like to someone who cannot comprehend what’s around the bend?  

As the old saying goes, “Don’t judge someone else until you’ve been in their shoes.” Except, I know today, I don’t want to be in his shoes, but expect neither did he. I’m baffled why so many people leave this earth from disease and sickness. It shakes my deep belief that being a good and kind human secures you a dignified and peaceful death. I know dying too soon is heart crushing, yet it seems staying here on earth too long seems to be just a different awful kind of the exact same thing.   

Or perhaps it is just the wisdom that comes with age. When we’re younger we’re concerned with longevity. As we get older it tends to shift to being more about the quality of our life rather than the quantity. The reality is that I want both, elusive as that may be.  

 searching for a middle ground,  

A little thing you should know: My mom’s husband passed away just a few exhausting, emotionally difficult and painful months after my trip. Though incredibly complicated, he was a father figure to me for more than half my lifetime. During my last visit we spent hours together finishing a jigsaw puzzle. Adding yet another memory to my Sunshine State album. 

Saying Yes to the Dress Ain’t Easy

If you’ve been the mother of a groom or bride, then I’m pretty sure this blog will strike a chord deep in your soul. If not, then consider yourself forewarned. From the moment our son’s forever person said yes, I entered my personal portal of hell.  

Before we get started, let me make it blatantly clear how grateful I am. You see, this July our son is getting married. He found the most wonderful person to spend the rest of his life with and we couldn’t be more delighted with his choice. She is kind, loving, thoughtful, intelligent, respectful, hardworking and a family girl. She betters our family in every way possible and we couldn’t love her any more than we already do. That’s not the problem.   

The problem is choosing a dress to wear for their wedding celebration. I want to meld into their day just like she melds into our family. I want to spend little and look great. And yes, I am fully aware how shallow this worry is but sharing my personal struggles with my readers is what I do.  

My friends were quite vocal about their shock that I hadn’t begun my dress search yet. Similar to the way I historically dismissed advice about childbirth and parenting, I smiled, respectfully listened, but in the end dismissed their sage advice believing that would never be the case for me.  

Welp, apparently my friends were right—finding a MOG (Mother of Groom) dress was indeed complicated. My first waste of time was going to department stores only to be redirected to their website. Once online, I crammed to comprehend each of their return policies as if I were taking the Bar exam, only then did I begin my search.   

I wasn’t looking for anything ridiculous really. I just wanted a beautiful, flattering, unique dress that would match the happiness inside my heart. I wanted to put it on and know right away it was the one for me. I wanted love at first sight. After endless hours of hunting for the right size, color, style and price point I ended up ordering over seventeen gowns and picked up nagging carpal tunnel, too, from all the time spent clicking to browse and buy.  

As the boxes began to arrive it became crystal clear I had absolutely no idea what I was doing or what I was searching for. It seemed I was choosing gowns that looked good on the models forgetting they are typically 5-foot-11 or taller and have the body of a giraffe when I hardly hit 5-foot-1 these days and resemble more of a koala. So, when I say every dress was pretty ridiculous on my “small frame”, I’m not exaggerating. It wasn’t even just the styles but the sizing was all off, too. With each dress my self-esteem sunk, and my insecurities rose.  

For some levity I began giving each dress a name. There was Glinda—blue, sparkly, just missing the wand. Baby Ruth was metallic bronze, fitted and, well, you can guess the rest. Three dresses looked like I was working a street corner; Vivian, Kit and Julia. Lest we leave out Cleopatra, Carmela Soprano and Violet Beauregard.  

Good news is I was able to return them all for a full refund. Bad news was I was back at square one. That’s when my friend dragged me to a few local wedding shops. It’s there I learned what did and didn’t look good on me, but most of all I learned buying a size up makes a seamstress’ life much easier. My mind grasped that concept, but my heart wasn’t on board at all.   

Armed with this new knowledge and another friend with a no-nonsense attitude coupled with great fashion sense, I ordered five more dresses. After praying to the dress gods above I have whittled it down to two. One dress captured my heart. I call her Robin. She needs quite a bit of tailoring, okay maybe a lot, but when I am in that dress, I feel my heart flutter in happiness. The other dress fits me perfectly. It’s comfortable, flattering and beautiful. Most of my people like this one best. But when I am in it, I feel like I belong on the set of “Dynasty.” I call this one Krystle.  

 I’ve been pondering both these dresses for weeks now. It reminds me of my younger days when I was dating. All my friends liked the nice safe pretty perfect guy but I was attracted to the gorgeous risky one who wasn’t a perfect fit for me. My friends were right, he wasn’t for me. I wonder if this time around I will smile, respectfully listen, but again dismiss their sage advice?  

 Torn between two…dresses,  

 A little thing you should know:   

Robin, Krystle and I met with the seamstress. She eyed them both up and admitted she was torn too. She gently suggested I get Robin one size up to be able to make all the alterations I was suggesting. So we wait … and in the meantime, I am now hunting for undergarments. I say hunting because they are the enemy. If you’ve ever worn them, you know they promise to smooth out all the parts you’d rather not share with the world. What they forget to mention is when it’s time to get out of them, you may need to call on the Jaws of Life! 

Takin’ Care of Business

Often lately, I worry I am becoming colder as I grow older. It seems these last few years I am choosing to make choices and decisions based on what might be good for me. And to be clear, that isn’t something I am used to doing and therefore it’s pretty uncomfortable.

Most of my life I based my actions on how they would affect someone else, ignoring how they would make me feel. The thing is, I honestly didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. I was proud of the skillset I mastered as a little girl. As an adult, I’m ashamed to say I’ve even judged others for being selfish and focusing on their own needs. Turns out it was me who was in the wrong.

As a young child I was a rule follower hoping to please my parents. I was the mediator when my mother and father divorced. I helped care for my younger sister when our hard-working mom raised us pretty much on her own. I worked two and three jobs to help pay my way through college. Those younger years created a human who understood hard work, abiding by the rules and caring for others meant success. I am not angry about any of this. More like proud. 

But as I grew up, my decision-making skillset did not. I was an adult people pleaser extremely proud to be such an unselfish person. I was baffled how others made choices driven by what was good for them. I wondered how they could look themselves in the mirror at the end of the day. 

Years passed and I became a teacher, wife and mother. Three roles I dreamt of my entire life. Seriously, my entire life groomed me for them. Caregiving, mediating and hardworking are imperative to be successful at each of those roles, let alone life. Millions of decisions were made for the good of all those I loved before I even thought of myself.

So, was I born a caregiver or groomed to be one? I guess I’ll never know, but I do know it’s my niche. It is a natural fit and one I believe I excel at. That was until my teaching career ended, our children grew up and I was left standing with a vast amount of unscheduled time on my hands. No pick-ups, drop-offs or waiting times. No family dinners to plan, shop and cook for every single night. Hours of quiet time, just me and my thoughts. This “freedom’ if you will, left me feeling sort of purposeless. I was accustomed to making my decisions for people who were no longer a part of my daily “unselfish” lifestyle. I wouldn’t say I was exactly unhappy, but for sure I was uncomfortable.

I filled this “newfound” time with home renovations, gardening and blogging. All activities I rarely prioritized with the little “free” time I found. Though I loved all those activities, I always had a nagging guilt I was being selfish. It eased with knowing the improvements were beautifying and increasing our family’s home value. I believed my blog helped readers with its humor, candor or tidbits on how I do life. If at the end of the day I saw proof I did something positive for others, only then would I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.

But somewhere along the way, I began listening to my restless heart. What was she so patiently yearning for? What had she been wanting to do for so long now? And there in the quiet corner of my heart was a thing. A crazy notion she’d been protecting for 56 years. A life hope that meant facing fears and dedicated time. The time was now. 

When I was four years old I almost drowned. My little hands slipped off the pools edge and I went under. My mom dove into the shallow end and reached me before the lifeguard. They performed CPR and I was taken by ambulance to the hospital. Ever since I‘ve been anxious in all bodies of water. All my life I’ve never faced the water in a shower and hardly washed my face. Truth. 

And this brings me back to the very beginning. These days I base so many of my decisions on what I need, desire and dream because the time to care for me is now. It’s a healthy living I proudly practice for my grown children to witness. Wait, nope, actually, it’s because it’s what’s most important for me. 

Moral: Habits are hard to change but not impossible. It just takes time.

The rest of the story: After the many obstacles placed in my way, I found myself a swim coach. What started out with crying in the locker room with fear is now crying with pure prideful joy. I have a sense of confidence like never before. My last lesson I swam freestyle the entire length of an Olympic-sized pool. I’ve even invested in facial cleansers and enjoy facing the shower nozzle too. But perhaps best of all, I’ve realized I’m not becoming self-ish by prioritizing my happiness and well being, just practicing self-care.

 A little thing I also do: I practice saying no. Yeah, you read that right. I look in the mirror and practice all kinds of honest and genuine no’s. See, I was also a yes girl. No more. Try it. It takes some practice but I know firsthand you’ll get the hang of it.

"It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me"

Let me tell you something: losing is no fun. I can promise you nobody wakes up, puts in endless hours of work, blood, sweat and tears to lose. It’s never anyone’s end goal. But every competition has one. When all’s said and done, there’s a winner and a loser. This weekend I sadly found myself on the losing side. 

I didn’t see it playing out this way. I suppose I may be biased, but I was envisioning confetti angels on the field. I dreamt of parading down Broad Street in the great city of Philadelphia. I planned an outfit for the celebration of winning the Super Bowl. I was looking forward to coming home to neighbors who decorated our driveway and home. I couldn’t wait to walk my dog and hear all the congratulations as we passed one another. 

 I am ashamed to admit I may have become a tiny bit cocky. Having a regular season of 14-3 can do that to a person you know. I fear I listened to outside voices more than normal, because, honestly, it’s really hard to ignore all the hype. If it’s not on the evening news, or filling my social feed, it’s being forwarded to me by well-meaning family and friends. I may have even worn my after-party bracelet ticket on my wrist before the game even began! All these are what I refer to as rookie mistakes. I should have known better, but the glitz and glamor of being in the Super Bowl got the best of me. I sincerely apologize.

 As games go, it was close. A tremendous competition right down to the final seconds and then just like that, it was over. As the Kansas City Chiefs confetti was slowly descending down on us, so too was my sadness. Sad for the players who fought up until the last second. Sad for the coaches who missed seven months of family dinners and important life events. Sad for a city that was so looking forward to the parade of a lifetime. Sad for all the devoted fans. Just plain sad. And of course, sad for the all the families who support the football program. Sad for the coaches and player’s kids who had crocodile tears running down their cheeks. Sad for the spouses whose hearts broke for the person they love. 

 Notice I didn’t say angry or mad. Not here for that blame game either. Yes. there may have been a few questionable referee calls. Or a play call or two we would take back. But we played a talented team and darn it all, we were the team that came up short. I get that none of us wanted this, but let’s please keep this in mind: we got here. Those same humans who got us here are the same ones who lost. All the comments, opinions, would haves and could haves do not matter. It’s done. Just please, be kind with your words. 

Those young men who wear numbers across their backs are hardworking, dedicated people. They are employed young men earning a living. Their career of choice places them in the spotlight. The players I know and love use their platform for good. Always making time to help in anyway they can. Hell, a few of our offensive linemen even made a Christmas Album this past season and raised over a million dollars for Philadelphia based organizations who make a difference. 

And don’t get me started on the coaches. They are in the office before the sun rises and long after it sets. They miss family birthday celebrations, dinnertime, bedtime rituals just to name a few. Basically, they miss the everyday life of their own families to teach, instruct, mold and mentor other people’s children. Okay, so they aren’t actually children, but I’m sure you get my point. 

 And finally, I will leave you with very powerful words from the young man who leads our team. He is wise beyond his years, a true team player and an honor to follow into a battle. After our painful loss he met with the press, part of his off-the-field duties. He was poised, professional and poignant. 

“You want to cherish these moments with the people that you’ve come so far with, your family, your loved ones, your teammates, your peers, everyone that you do it with and do it for. I’m so proud of this team. I would say I’m so proud of this team for everything that we’ve been able to overcome. Obviously, we had a big-time goal that we wanted to accomplish, and we came up short. I think the beautiful part about it is everyone experiences different pains, everyone experiences different agonies of life, but you decide if you want to learn from it. You decide if you want that to be a teachable moment. I know I do.” Jalen Hurts

 I do too Jalen,

My “Bird's” Eye View

In my wildest and most ridiculous dreams I never thought I would write another blog about being part of a team competing in the Super Bowl. At best, it’s a once in a lifetime experience. But a second time? You’ll still catch me shaking my head in disbelief and gratitude.

It’s a game of inches and an oddly shaped leather ball that unites all walks of life. Bringing strangers together and turning them into a close-knit family all with a common purpose. Every August all 32 NFL teams begin the season even. As the weeks go by the wins and loss columns are revealed. Hopes are dashed and potentials revealed. Lucky are the cities whose teams are winning more than losing. Fans rally. Television and radio have endless pools of stories to spotlight. Social Media goes wild. But that is just the proverbial tip of the iceberg.

I should know because I have had a front row seat for the last thirty years. I met a guy and that first night we met we swapped the typical information. I told him I was a kindergarten teacher. He told me he was a football coach. I thought to myself, “How is that a real job?”  I replied, “So you only work about 15 weeks out of the year then?” Well, I survived the rude awakening and am here to tell all of you, being a football coach is a real freakin' job. 

I sometimes compare our courtship to the grueling recruiting process in college football. Hours on the phone, in person meetings to confirm if it’s a good fit. Well, it was and he quickly moved to “snatch” me up before another “school” did. Instead of a scholarship I got an engagement ring. We married during the off season, as most coaches do, even squeezing in a honeymoon before the season began. Our happily ever after consists of moving amongst seven different teams in six different states. Despite all of that, we raised two awesome children who are now successful, productive and kind adults. We are even fortunate enough to be adding an amazing daughter-in-law to our family as well.

Our traditional pre-game family photo

My husband’s career to date, has allowed us to work at wonderful colleges and universities alongside some of the best people ever. It’s a life I wouldn’t change for anything, but one that took years of crystal-clear hindsight and a healthy dose of therapy too, to successfully navigate. It may seem like football life is a romantic life from the outside looking in, and I agree there are those times for sure. But mostly, the coaching life can be a lonely one. It means being prepared to move at the end of each football season. It means grappling with the guilt of uprooting your family. It means being vulnerable enough to make new friends and become part of the neighborhood and community, knowing there will inevitably be a painful goodbye. It means saying goodbye to one home and recreating a new one from scratch somewhere else. 

Annual neighborhood Holiday Coffee

For me personally, it also meant putting my career aside and following that of my husband. It meant leaving my hometown. It meant being far from friends and family. It meant often times raising our children “alone” because his job is incredibly demanding of his time, attention and dedication. It meant smiling when sometimes I wanted to cry. It meant times when I was scared, overwhelmed and drowning with responsibility. But always it meant carrying on.  

Our family has had the esteemed honor and pleasure of being part of the Philadelphia Eagles football organization for the last ten seasons. If you’re looking for an organization not just succeeding in football but truly making the world a better place, then look no further. Buildings, stadiums, fields, cafeterias, offices and meeting rooms filled with great humans not only working towards a common goal on the field, but making a huge difference off it as well.

 Of course, if I am being honest, I did worry about the mystique of the “colorful” Philadelphia fans at the beginning. But with most legends, it is always a mix of truth and lore. Those fans I feared are just honest to a fault, deeply devoted and true game-day difference makers. And now that their “Iggles” are in Super Bowl VII, their excitement is palpable. You cannot go ten steps in the city without a “Go Birds” or “Fly Eagles Fly.” Anything or anybody that can be donned in Eagles green is! “It’s a Philly Thing!”

Philadelphia Skyline

Go Birds,

A tidbit or two: It seems my husband’s hard work, dedication and devotion to his team and players has reaped the benefit of a contract extension. We couldn’t be a single bit happier or feel more fortunate. Cheers to calling Philadelphia home sweet home for a few more years!

 Our family is devoted to the Philadelphia Eagles. They are devoted to supporting the highest quality and most impactful autism research and care to improve the lives of affected individuals and families.  Here is a link to the full fantastic story of how one of my husband’s players made a little comment on Monday Night Football and it turned into a raising almost $100,000 for the cause. Get your t-shirts here! https://tinyurl.com/stoutlanduniversity

Season of Growing

Hello friends, like you, we are in the thick of the holiday season, the season of giving. In keeping with that spirit, I am giving you a gift. It’s not the traditional wrapped up kind with a bow and ribbon, but it’s just as precious. It’s a very important lesson I worked hard on this past year. My hope is it will make your world a softer place.

Before gifting you, I must share a bit of backstory. All my life I have suffered from Truster Syndrome. Simply put, I prefer to trust people. I inevitably default to believing a person actively chooses to be kind, decent and honest. I think the best of people and often give second chances—sometimes third ones, too. It feels best for me to live a life of believing in people and building relationships. 

Truster Syndrome; a set of emotions, opinions, or ways of behaving that are characteristic in believing in the goodness of people

 As someone who struggles with Truster Syndrome, I refuse to live in fear of all people because few are bad. Of all the apples I have ever eaten in my lifetime, 99% I have either loved, liked, appreciated or respected. You could say I am an apple fan. But, of course, there’s always that one percent, and I share them with the backyard animals. Though I may not appreciate those particular apples, the animals delight in them. My point is, I refuse to give up eating apples because of those few icky ones. The same applies to people.

 All the dirty details of the event that catapulted me to write this very blog are mostly unimportant. But it follows the same blueprint. A person I know mistook my kind and friendly disposition for someone they could take advantage of. Above all, they demonstrated a complete disregard for me as a fellow human and my feelings. Under the guise of concerned conversation or friendship I was “had.” I bit the cheese. I took the bait. 

But so as not to keep you guessing, this particular case involved a “friendly neighbor” who eagerly discussed the frustrating and upsetting troubles we were made to go through the past year to rebuild our dock. Yep, you guessed it, a few days ago as the workers were making a few of the necessary changes in the freezing rain to meet our looming deadline, she stated proudly to them, “I’m the one who made the call that started this whole mess for them in the first place.”

 All my life, until now, I always felt “taking the bait” equated to my failure. Since I let my guard down, I was made a fool of. For as long as I can remember, I have beaten myself up emotionally for these many happenings. I always felt I must have done something wrong, therefore it was my fault and I owned the blame. I’ve carried these heavy feelings with me all my life, until recently.

 This most recent time, and for the first time, I handled it entirely differently. After the first rush of shock and dismay then came the self-loathing right on cue. “How could I not have seen this coming?" “What is wrong with me?” “You fool!” But then positive self-talk and conversations with some of my nearest and dearest people took over. I was able to redirect the disappointment I was feeling towards myself and focus it on the perp. So although I am still disappointed, they made the conscious decision to hurt me. It ultimately was their choice, not mine. Therefore, it becomes their burden to carry and not mine. 

 Redirected disappointment was great and all, but I also do not want to be that angry individual who pouts, moans and complains. After a day, my anger melted into pity for the person who took advantage of me. It’s a shame for them to miss out on my friendship. But truth be told, I would never want to be friends with someone who tricked, or took advantage of people. I often wonder what awfulness happened to them that caused them to live that way. And then quickly reminded how very lucky I am to live the life I do, the way I do.

 So, I shall embrace Truster’s Syndrome, continue trusting people and be ever so grateful I have finally learned how to manage the feelings I get when life hands me a bad apple. 

Moral: It’s the bad apples that make it easy to spot the great ones!

A little thing I leave you with: Yes I have been hurt, fooled and taken advantage of. I believed in people who let me and my heart down. I placed faith and trust in people who didn’t deserve it. But in the vast scheme of things, the friends I have found in my lifetime are a part of my life I not only treasure most, but am most proud of.  I have the most diverse collection of humans who are smart, kind, generous, supportive, honest and there for me, even if I live far away. Imagine the shame of having missed all that wonderfulness because of a few unworthy ones.

Wishing everyone the happiest holidays and brightest New Year,

Once Upon a Free Little Library

Once upon a COVID time, there was a Mom (that’s me) and her daughter Madi. They learned to paint like Bob Ross, bake sourdough bread and create Asian-fusion meals. Running low on ideas, Madi got the great idea to turn a $40 dollhouse into a Free Little Library, something she knew I’d secretly yearned to do for some time.

When we picked up a very-loved three-story dollhouse made of particle board, the owners were curious what our plan was for it. Madi explained once we gave this dollhouse a proper wood exterior and roof it would become our neighborhood’s Free Little Library. A place where people could come to take out books and leave their own read treasures behind. The owners loved the idea so much, they not only gave us their dollhouse but said, “Here’s a huge bag of books to help fill up all the rooms of the dollhouse. It’s the least we can do.” 

We got that dollhouse right home to clean her up and took all her measurements. With more trips to Lowes than we’d like to admit, and perhaps a few miscuts, all that was left to do was her doors. Doors neither of us had the talent to create, so another kind soul built us two plexiglass doors with a latch. With a fresh coat of paint and some artistic touches, we carried her out to her final destination beside our mailbox. 

Once filled to the brim with books, people of all ages came. With COVID in full swing, and the library being outside, it made for a safe activity for families. It became part of their COVID routine. Nap times began with picking out a book. Families took after dinner walks to return yesterday’s read and get a new one. My personal favorites were the bedtime visits. Kids in pjs, with their blankies and bottles in tow, carefully choosing their special bedtime stories.

Time passed and so did COVID. People thankfully got back to work, kids went back to school, and the Free Little Library continued to stand her post at our driveways end. Seasons changed- weather came and went, as did the library. No matter how we tried to protect her, the weather and bugs seeped into her cracks and crevices. Her walls began to sag and doors would no longer shut. Worried she would collapse, we sadly took her down.

While I was cleaning up the empty space left behind, I wondered if replacing her was necessary. After all, life had mostly gotten back to “normal.” But then, just a few hours later, I witnessed a group of girls on bikes stop at my mailbox and looked bewildered. Then they noticed the library in pieces beside our trash can. Their mom came down the street and clearly a big discussion was underway. The girls were attempting to balance the doors of our dismantled library on their bike seats. 

I stepped outside and explained why we had no choice but to take her down. They said how sad they were, and how they loved visiting the last two-plus years and would really miss the library. Their mom asked if it would be okay if the girls took home her doors and rebuilt her. As I watched these girls carefully haul away the doors, I knew what I needed to do. 

The next Free Little Library (FLL) needed to withstand weather. My online searches produced FLL’s much smaller than our original, which just seemed foolish. I noticed people repurposed file cabinets into FLL, but it seemed like a lot of work that might eventually rust and most importantly, my daughter no longer had free time. I posted on my social media pages for a handy-person willing and able to be paid to make our next FLL. Weeks went by and the space beside the mailbox remained empty. 

One day, a neighbor and her two sons stopped to ask about the status of the FLL. I explained the current state of desperate affairs and how I was losing hope. She said, “I think I know someone who can help you.” 

Fast forward one month, and I am now the proud owner of a brand new, custom built, sturdy and weather proofed FLL. The Free Little Library of Todmorden is again open for business, and she’s a beauty I tell you. And it is all possible because a young high schooler offered to build it with the help of his Pop Pop, father and younger brother. They refused to accept any compensation for any of their time or supplies. It was, simply put, a pure kind deed… and the Free Little Library lived happily ever after.

So when you are feeling low, which is pretty easy to do these days, be reassured there is hope. There are good people, some of which are part of the younger generation, who hold our future in their very talented and kind hands.

Moral: “You don’t need a cape to be a hero. You just need to care.” Kid President

A little thing you should know: It should be no surprise I have a Free Little Library-since I am a kindergarten teacher, Reading Consultant, and published children’s author. But I bet it is a surprise our sweet FLL actually resides on our neighbors property. Talk about kindness!