A peek into our summer so far

& an introduction to “Summer Wife”

It is officially full-blown summer at Casa McGuffie—which means several things:

• “Summer Wife” has entered the chat! That's me: off work and embracing my alter ego: she cooks, she cleans, and voluntarily teaches the children. She is the purveyor of good vibes and is chill beyond belief. Stress? Never heard of her. Down for anything? You bet.

• The kids are also home, bringing with them an absolute avalanche of laundry and dishes. Seriously, how many outfits can one child wear in a day? And "Didn't I just feed you?!" has become my summer anthem.

• Fresh produce reigns supreme. Berries, glorious berries! Can we ever get enough? (Spoiler: No.) For the first year ever, we are successfully growing our own strawberries, raspberries, and boysenberries. Yummo!

• Our second home is the swimming pool. Yes, we blow a small fortune on snacks from the unbelievably delicious snack shack. But good news, thanks to swim lessons and lots of practice, my kids are slowly but surely transforming into a little shark and mermaid.

• Hammocking is a verb.

• Reading is life. My yearly book goal basically completes itself during these glorious summer months. If there isn't a book in my hand, there is guaranteed to be one in my ears.

• The great outdoors is calling our name! Camping, hiking, boating, swimming, sunning—we're soaking up every last bit. With this perfect mid-80s weather and afternoon breeze? DOES. IT. GET. ANY. BETTER? (Spoiler: Again, no.)

  

  Summer Wife in her natural habitat: outdoors, drinking coffee, top knot, all the chill in the world

• The not-so-fun part: we've been absolutely ravaged by mosquitos. My kids' legs are a mosaic of itchy red bites, mystery bruises from their wild adventures, and the occasional freckle inherited from their father. My own skin isn't faring much better! Mosquitos love me.

All in all, our summer so far has been a delightful whirlwind of sun, fun, and just a touch of madness. Wish us luck surviving what always devolves into a delightful, albeit slightly feral, frat house. What does your summer look like?

Unraveling Harriet

when competence hurts

What is it that makes me believe the soft animal of my body¹ never gets to unravel?

Never tires of over-delivering on promises to:

children and bosses and parents and lovers and siblings and friends and coworkers and the sad-looking woman behind the checkout counter.

What is is about the way I perform my life?

Perfect movements like a symphony:

hit every note/ace every test/crush every metric/gold star collector

Never slow to admire or appear to tire.

Bending to every will and inclination—unaware of my own.

What is it about an eldest daughter?

Unanimous faith in my capacity to make it happen: A resounding, “She’s got it!”

Yet I never considered my capacity to ignore the little girl inside who used to sneak around the neighborhood pretending to be Harriet the Spy?

Harriet the Spy (1964) was written and illustrated by Louise Fitzhugh.

1. Thanks Mary Oliver for this perfect phrase.

Wilson’s Wise Words

& 90s parenting

The glow of the TV screen, the familiar 'More power!' echoing through the quiet house. Murphy snuggled up in a weirdly human arrangement on the couch. Adam and I are finding solace in the predictable chaos of 'Home Improvement.' This also means we get the little nuggets of wisdom from Tim-the-tool-man-Taylor’s neighbor Wilson. I remember watching often as a kid, when the kids are more relatable. Now watching as a spouse and parent, the whole show takes on a different resonance.

In an episode from season one, Wilson quotes Shakespeare’s Hamlet to Tim, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

This quote helps us realize that the chaos in our lives are not a complete picture of what is a larger, unimaginable reality.

How many ways can you say the world often feels like it is falling apart? We find ways to ignore daily news alerts that raise our collective cortisol levels. There are serious budget concerns happening in Oregon’s public school system, which is impacting everyone I know who works in education. People are losing their jobs and others are getting displaced to different jobs and the rest of us are being asked to do the impossible with even fewer resources.

And yet, there is goodness. There has to be.

There is the sweet moment this morning when our growing-like-a-weed-almost-7-year-old Declan declared, “Put some music on! I gotta dance!” before it was even 7 a.m. twirling and jumping to Keith Urban’s “Somebody Like You” while it was still dark out. Have you ever dreamt of a pre-dawn dance party? His name means full-of-goodness.¹

I made biscuits this morning² and the kids double-dog-dared us to try the spiciest pepper jelly on the biscuits. Then Maeve, who is the best among us, double-dog-dared Adam to drink cold water so he could “have something nice and cool to cool your body down from all that spiciness.” Have you ever dreamt of daring someone to take care of their actual human needs? Goodness.

Often the abundance of Heaven and Earth is embodied in our delightful children. In the midst of the overwhelm, their laughter and joy, reminds me that even when the world feels like it's falling apart, there's still so much beauty and wonder to be found. If we dare to dream, just a bit, what else could we discover?

The future, like the vastness Shakespeare via Wilson describes, remains largely unknown. But within that unknown, there exists the potential for beauty, for connection, for moments of joy. Our children, with their boundless energy and unfiltered delight, are a testament to that potential. And as we navigate the complexities of our world, perhaps the most important lesson we can learn is to embrace the 'undreamt of,' to remain open to the unexpected goodness that surrounds us.

And also to find delight in the knowledge that, apparently, Adam and I relate far too much to 90s sitcom parents.

1. Apologies to the neighbors for the early morning music! :)

2. This is the definitive answer to best biscuit recipe.

The Art of Being Known

& Pink Pony Club Dance Parties

What does it mean to be known?

To know my coffee order?

Middle name?

The way I tuck my hands under my chin and curl up on my right side when I fall asleep?

To know my favorite book from childhood?

Is it knowing where I go during breaks at work?

Or which was my favorite childhood vacation?

Is it knowing what I worry about when I can’t sleep at night?

Which parts of a person can actually be known?

As an adult, I see my childhood from a unique perspective. It’s like a silent film with lots of static. Or maybe one of those flip books where you quickly pull the pages back to let the drawings move. Or possibly, it’s like watching stop motion claymation full of fits and starts. The greens are a little too blue and the pinks are not quite pink enough. Everything is faded like plastic left too long in the sun. The voices are confusing garble like Charlie Brown’s teachers, or muffled like my ears are full of cotton.

Just as the colors of my childhood memories are faded and distorted, so too can be the task of truly knowing another person.

The mall in our town has a large astroturf oval in front of the entrance with blocks around it that act as benches. Speakers pump loud music greeting the shoppers entering the mall that is almost as bustling as it was in the 90s. It’s a real novelty.

Last week, we took our kids to the candy store as a treat for successful haircuts. As we were leaving, the song “Pink Pony Club” started blasting from the speakers. Maeve and I grabbed hands and had to dance and sing the song—twirling in the astroturf. Our own “Pink Pony Club” dance party. Her little hands squeezed mine, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

If you knew me, you’d know that was the highlight of my week. The stress of work and money and chores melt away when you dance with a 4-year-old to her favorite song.

I wondered, as I watched Maeve twirl, which of my own childhood moments shaped me most. Was it family vacations? The movies I watched? My relationships with my siblings? The sticky summer afternoons checking out books at the library?

There are brief moments when it becomes clear that we are creating our children’s childhood. Which moments will stand out to them? Will it be vacations? Their childhood bedroom? Their teachers at school? The chores we asked them to do? Will it be “Pink Pony Club” dance parties?

Ultimately, to be known is not a matter of cataloging facts, but of being present in the moments that define a life. It's not the rote memorization of a coffee order or a middle name, but the shared joy of a spontaneous dance party on astroturf, the understanding that the weight of the world can be lifted momentarily. To be known, then, is to witness these moments, not as a passive observer, but as a participant in the imperfect story of a life. Perhaps being known is not a list of facts, but a collection of shared dances.

The weight of parenting while waiting for sleep

*three squeezes*

I’m sorry I yelled

When you wouldn’t fall asleep.

Are you frustrated, Mommy?

Your little hand pats my back.

I just need you to go to sleep now, baby.

One day I’ll miss your chattering

The nightly banter

Whispering Let’s talk to God!

Hi Jesus. Thank you for ballet and blackberries and raspberries.

Can God hear me?

I nod.

How?

I shrug.

Thank you for ballet and dance class.

Is dance class, ballet?

I nod.

Thank you for ballet. Thank you for sweet dreams. Bye.

Then, a second later, a whisper:

When will I get big boobies?

Is Santa really going to come into our house?

Isn’t that scary, Mom?

You danced around the yard shouting

“Jingle Bells,”

But mashed up with “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse”

So it ends up sounding like

Jingle bells, jingle bells,

Come inside it’s fun inside.

And you stuck your tongue

Right in the brown sugar

I love making Christmas cookies with you, Mama.

You shaped them into little logs of poop

You hung all the ornaments the same height as your

43.5 inches off the ground

I love this so much, Mama.

Get back in bed.

Fine, get another drink.

Why are you taking your pants off?

Close your eyes.

Don’t poke mine.

I love you.

Sweet dreams.

Lay down.

Get your feet off my face.

Please be quiet.

Here’s your covers.

You’re my favorite girl.

Sweet dreams.

I love you.

Poop or pee?

In our king size bed

Lie a princess and a prince

Who won’t sleep alone.

You are the best mommy in the whole entire world and

I hate you

In the same hour.

Small sweaty hand in mine

Three squeezes as if to say

I love you.

Me too.