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Dear Husband,

Sometimes everything feels chaotic and fast, like a whirlwind we can’t stop. Time is flying by and I forget to really see you.


When I stop and I notice, I see the etching of life, the processes that have made you older, stronger and wiser. You are the same as when we married, but you’re different too. We’ve grown up together.

I am proud of who you are and who you’ve become.

I’ve seen you at your best and I’ve seen you at your worst. You have seen me at my best and you’ve seen me at my worst too. We’ve been undone together and we’ve loved each other still—that’s what makes us belong.

Sometimes I expect everything from you. Things that don’t belong to you, like making me feel happy, or skinny, or perfect. I’m sorry—it’s not your job. I know it’s not. Sometimes when I’m angry at me, I get angry at you instead.

I take things out on you. When I’m struggling or anxious or depressed, I roll my eyes and I glare at you when you say the wrong thing. There wasn’t a right thing you could have said anyway. My struggle is with me, not with you.

I’m sorry that in the day to day mess of life, I give you my worst instead of my best...more often than I’d like to admit.

Today, and every day, I want you to know...

You are my favorite.

You are my favorite person to go through hard things with.

If I’m going to wake up with swollen eyes from sobbing all night, I want it to be with you. If I’m going to struggle, if I’m going to fail, if I’m going to fall apart, there’s no one I’d rather do that with than you.

You are my favorite person to adventure with.

There’s no one I’d rather climb mountains with, or get on an airplane with, or have kids with. There’s no one I’d rather step into the scary unknown with than you. You are my person, you are my home, and I’d go anywhere with you. (Except space or bungee jumping, because nope.)

You are my favorite person to celebrate with.

When one of us wins at something there’s no one I’d rather sit with at the kitchen table with a bottle of champagne than you. Even though there’s a sink full of dishes and laundry on the living room floor, there’s no celebration I’d rather be at than ours.

You are my favorite person to laugh with.

I love to watch funny movies with you and make fun of bad acting and shallow plot lines. You’re my favorite person to be teased by, and there’s no one I’d rather crack up than you.

You are my favorite person to cry with.

When I cry with you I don’t have to be pretty or clean. I can let it all hang out with snot and mascara running down my face, and it’s okay. I don’t try to wipe it away or be “together.” You know me and I’m not afraid to let you see my ugly.

You are my favorite person to parent with.

We are doing our best to raise them with whole hearts and passionate souls and we barely ever know what we’re doing. We’re in way over our heads and we think we fail more than we succeed, but we keep loving them and leading them anyway.

You are doing the very best job—I’m so proud of the dad that you are.

You are my favorite father for our kids and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt you are theirs too.

You are my best surprise.

I knew I was marrying someone that I loved and admired, but I didn’t know the man you’d become. I didn’t know the father you’d be or the partner you’d be in good times and bad. I didn’t know how you’d hold our babies on their first day of life. I didn’t know how you’d be during financial struggles and I didn’t know how you’d hold my hand even though we just had a fight. I didn’t know how you’d brush our daughter’s hair or how you’d teach them all to work hard for their dreams.

I didn’t know, but I’m so grateful now that I chose you.

I know that you question if you’ve done well, and let me tell you something: you’ve done so, so, well. You’ve done better than I could have expected.

You have been my best and my favorite surprise.

I love you,

Your wife


Jessica writes at her blog Wonderoak. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram.


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Summer heat has a way of making the house feel smaller, more congested, with less room for the air to circulate. And there's nothing like the heat to make me want to strip down, cool off and lighten my load. So, motivation in three digits, now that school is back in, it's time to do a purge.

Forget the spring clean—who has time for that? Those last few months of the school year are busier than the first. And summer's warm weather entices our family outdoors on the weekends, which doesn't leave much time for re-organizing.

So, I seize the opportunity when my kids are back in school to enter my zone.

I love throwing open every closet and cupboard door, pulling out anything and everything that doesn't fit our bodies or our lives. Each joyless item purged peels off another oppressive layer of "not me" or "not us."

Stuff can obscure what really makes us feel light, capable and competent.

Stuff can stem the flow of what makes our lives work.

With my kids back in school, I am energized, motivated by the thought that I have the space to be in my head with no interruptions. No refereeing. No snacks. No naps… I am tossing. I am folding. I am stacking. I am organizing. I don't worry about having to stop. The neat-freak in me is having a field day.

Passing bedroom doors, ajar and flashing their naughty bits of chaos at me, it's more than I can handle in terms of temptation. I have to be careful, though, because I can get on a roll. Taking to my kids' rooms I tread carefully, always aware that what I think is junk can actually be their treasure.

But I usually have a good sense for what has been abandoned or invisible in plain sight for the lack of movement or the accumulation of dust. Anything that fits the description gets relegated to a box in the garage where it is on standby—in case its absence is noticed and a meltdown has ensued. Crisis averted. Either way, it's a victory.

Oh, it's quiet. So, so quiet. And I can think it all through…

Do we really need all this stuff?

Will my son really notice if I toss all this stuff?

Will my daughter be heartbroken if I donate all this stuff?

Will I really miss this dress I wore three years ago that barely fit my waist then and had me holding in my tummy all night, and that I for sure cannot zip today?

Can we live without it all? All. This. Stuff?

The fall purge always gets me wondering, where in the world does all this stuff come from? So with the beginning of the school year upon us, I vow to create a new mindset to evaluate everything that enters my home from now on, so that there will be so much less stuff.

I vow to really think about objects before they enter my home…

…to evaluate what is really useful,

...to consider when it would be useful,

...to imagine where it would be useful,

...to remember why it may be useful,

…to decide how to use it in more than one way,

... so that all this stuff won't get in the way of what really matters—time and attention for my kids and our lives as a new year reveals more layers of the real stuff—what my kids are made of.

Bring it on.

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In the moments after we give birth, we desperately want to hear our baby cry. In the middle of the night a few months later it's no longer exactly music to our ears, but those cries aren't just telling us that baby needs a night feeding: They're also giving us a hint at what our children may sound like as kindergarteners, and adults.

New research published in the journal Biology Letters suggests the pitch of a 4-month-old's cry predicts the pitch they'll use to ask for more cookies at age five and maybe even later on as adults.

The study saw 2 to 5-month olds recorded while crying. Five years later, the researchers hit record again and chatted with the now speaking children. Their findings, combined with previous work on the subject, suggest it's possible to figure out what a baby's voice will sound like later in life, and that the pitch of our adult voices may be traceable back to the time we spend in utero. Further studies are needed, but scientists are very interested in how factors before birth can impact decades later.

"In utero, you have a lot of different things that can alter and impact your life — not only as a baby, but also at an adult stage," one of the authors of the study, Nicolas Mathevon, told the New York Times.

The New York Times also spoke with Carolyn Hodges, an assistant professor of anthropology at Boston University who was not involved in the study. According to Hodges, while voice pitch may not seem like a big deal, it impacts how we perceive people in very real ways.

Voice pitch is a factor in how attractive we think people are, how trustworthy. But why we find certain pitches more or less appealing isn't known. "There aren't many studies that address these questions, so that makes this research especially intriguing," Hodges said, adding that it "suggests that individual differences in voice pitch may have their origins very, very early in development."

So the pitch of that midnight cry may have been determined months ago, and it may determine part of your child's future, too. There are still so many things we don't know, but as parents we do know one thing: Our babies cries (as much as we don't want to hear them all the time) really are something special.

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For many years, Serena Williams seemed as perfect as a person could be. But now, Serena is a mom. She's imperfect and she's being honest about that and we're so grateful.

On the cover of TIME, Williams owns her imperfection, and in doing so, she gives mothers around the world permission to be as real as she is being.

"Nothing about me right now is perfect," she told TIME. "But I'm perfectly Serena."

The interview sheds light on Williams' recovery from her traumatic birth experience, and how her mental health has been impacted by the challenges she's faced in going from a medical emergency to new motherhood and back to the tennis court all within one year.

"Some days, I cry. I'm really sad. I've had meltdowns. It's been a really tough 11 months," she said.

It would have been easy for Williams to keep her struggles to herself over the last year. She didn't have to tell the world about her life-threatening birth experience, her decision to stop breastfeeding, her maternal mental health, how she missed her daughter's first steps, or any of it. But she did share these experiences, and in doing so she started incredibly powerful conversations on a national stage.

After Serena lost at Wimbledon this summer, she told the mothers watching around the world that she was playing for them. "And I tried," she said through tears. "I look forward to continuing to be back out here and doing what I do best."

In the TIME cover story, what happened before that match, where Williams lost to Angelique Kerber was revealed. TIME reports that Williams checked her phone about 10 minutes before the match, and learned, via Instagram, that the man convicted of fatally shooting her sister Yetunde Price, in 2003 is out on parole.

"I couldn't shake it out of my mind," Serena says. "It was hard because all I think about is her kids," she says. She was playing for all the mothers out there, but she had a specific mother on her mind during that historic match.

Williams' performance at Wimbledon wasn't perfect, and neither is she, as she clearly states on the cover of time. But motherhood isn't perfect either. It's okay to admit that. Thanks, Serena, for showing us how.

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There are some mornings where I wake up and I'm ready for the day. My alarm goes off and I pop out of bed and hum along as I make breakfast before my son wakes up. But then there are days where I just want 10 more minutes to sleep in. Or breakfast feels impossible to make because all our time has run out. Or I just feel overwhelmed and unprepared.

Those are the mornings I stare at the fridge and think, Can someone else just make breakfast, please?

Enter: make-ahead breakfasts. We spoke to the geniuses at Pinterest and they shared their top 10 pins all around this beautiful, planned-ahead treat. Here they are.

(You're welcome, future self.)

1. Make-ahead breakfast enchiladas

www.pinterest.com

Created by Bellyful

I'd make these for dinner, too.

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