Natalie Taylor's Blog / en-US Thu, 10 Dec 2020 00:45:46 -0800 60 Natalie Taylor's Blog / 144 41 /images/layout/goodreads_logo_144.jpg /author_blog_posts/20701331-i-ve-moved-for-updated-posts-from-natalie-taylor-check Sat, 25 Aug 2012 09:37:00 -0700 <![CDATA[I've MOVED!  For updated posts from Natalie Taylor, check...]]> /author_blog_posts/20701331-i-ve-moved-for-updated-posts-from-natalie-taylor-check
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posted by Natalie Taylor on December, 10 ]]> /author_blog_posts/2904318-i-ve-moved-nbsp-for-updated-posts-from-natalie-taylor Sat, 25 Aug 2012 09:37:00 -0700 <![CDATA[I've MOVED!  For updated posts from Natalie Taylor, ...]]> /author_blog_posts/2904318-i-ve-moved-nbsp-for-updated-posts-from-natalie-taylor
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posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 06 ]]> /author_blog_posts/13378820-today Sun, 17 Jun 2012 14:49:00 -0700 Today /author_blog_posts/13378820-today
Yesterday the people at my CrossFit gym did a workout in honor of my husband, Josh Taylor.
Today I went to lunch with my dad and grandpa to honor them on Father’s Day.
Today marks the five-year anniversary of losing Josh. A while ago I heard an an interview with poet Marie Howe and she mentioned that her brother, when he was dying of AIDS, made the remark that while pain is inevitable, suffering is a choice.
Last year when I wrote about this day, I used the title “When there is nothing else you can do.”� But this year, I feel like there is something we can do. We can choose not to suffer. Today we are going to go swimming, play at the park, spend time with my parents and my grandparents. At night we will read books in bed, talk about our plans for tomorrow, and I will watch my son fall asleep. Certainly, the pain will be there in the ways that it still exists, in the ways it will always exist, but we will not suffer. Not today.
So here’s to the family and friends that have been by our side for five years. Here’s to the painful past that made it possible to have a happy present and hopeful future. Here’s to the dads, both who can be here with their kids and who can’t, who work tirelessly to pave the way for their children. Most importantly, here’s to those who can’t be here. In your honor and memory, we choose not to suffer. 

posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 06 ]]> /author_blog_posts/2593911-josh-taylor Sat, 16 Jun 2012 09:43:00 -0700 "Josh Taylor" /author_blog_posts/2593911-josh-taylor

For time:
100 Double-Unders
then
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1
Chest to bar pull-upsBurpees Ground to Overhead (155/105)
then
100 Double-Unders
This .
A special thanks to , , and all of those who help us remember. Thanks for helping us remember Josh. 



posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 06 ]]> /author_blog_posts/2543435-poetry-in-real-life Mon, 04 Jun 2012 10:29:00 -0700 Poetry in Real Life /author_blog_posts/2543435-poetry-in-real-life June. Every year when this month hits, the world feels a little scary to me. June 17 marks the five-year anniversary of my husband’s death. If he were still here, Josh would have been 31. We would have been married for seven years this December. We probably would have a lot of kids by now. But if I’ve learned anything in the past five years, it’s that the world of “would have been� can get sad and lonely if you stay there too long and more importantly, you end up missing out on the world of “is.”� Right now--June, 2012--there is a hilarious four-year old living in my house who just got a buzz cut. That fact alone is enough to get me out of the past and into the present.
But June 17 and the days around it are when “would have been� and “is� start to collide and blend together. Once June hits, every emotion gets amplified. Just the other day Kai and I had a Kindergarten walk-through in preparation for the fall. In the midst of it I was so happy for us that we’d made it so far after being leveled by loss. But then I thought about how Josh wouldn’t get to see Kai on his first day of school, or any day after that. This happens all the time in June; I have a moment where I’m so happy I could cry and at the exact same time I’m so sad I could cry. And then I can’t help but think, “Stop crying!”�
Though June makes me fully aware of the fragility of life, I still find myself frustrated by �.”� Every now and then I hear myself speaking in that annoying, kid-punishing voice, “Kai, I said it’s time to go.”� I have lived through and survived a major loss, yet I allow the pile of towels at the top of the basement steps to drive me completely bananas. The other day I took pause after I heard myself say, “If I step on one more Lego!”� How could I possibly care about toys left out when I am fully aware that happiness is fleeting and we may not all be here tomorrow? But I still let it get to me. And then I get frustrated that I let it get to me. What does any of this mean?  What does any person do with all of this stuff?  I don’t know. I don’t know now and I’m not sure I ever will.
Every now and then I find something—a book, a poem, a line from a play—that makes more sense than I could ever conjure on my own. Recently I found this poem and somehow puts all of these things together for me.  Marie Howe lost her brother John in 1989. The poem is written to him. I heard her read this poem on the radio during one of her interviews and I think I stared at the wall of the kitchen for the next ten minutes just letting it sink in. Here it is. If you’re confused like me, I hope this helps.
(Side note:  The picture I selected for this post is of Kai reading with his Auntie Elles last summer. After I read this poem, I immediately thought of this picture. Something so small, such a teeny-tiny effortless activity, yet watching someone read to a child makes me think, �this is the meaning of life.�)  Back to Marie Howe:


Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.


posted by Natalie Taylor on January, 19 ]]> /author_blog_posts/13378821-mother-s-day-moment-man-i-love-this-kid Fri, 11 May 2012 14:09:00 -0700 <![CDATA[Mother's Day Moment: Man, I Love This Kid]]> /author_blog_posts/13378821-mother-s-day-moment-man-i-love-this-kid
On the first hot day in May (kind of a rare occurrence in Michigan), Kai and I jumped in the car and went out and bought an inflatable pool.
An hour later we were ready to go: bathing suits on, pool inflated, sunscreen liberally applied. As I dragged the pool across the yard Kai shouted, “Where should we put it?”� And then it hit me. Two weeks earlier our very generous next-door neighbors gave us their old swing set, complete with two swings and a slide. I threw the pool at the base of the slide and Kai Taylor looked at me like I just told him we were having cake for dinner. We got the hose out, filled the pool, drenched the slide, and remained in the backyard until I went in to scrape together some dinner, which we ate on plastic plates in the back yard in our bathing suits.  It was awesome.
As a mom, I fully confess, I get frustrated a lot. I complain a lot. I know I have written about the plight of getting my kid to eat vegetables and trying to figure out how to get my son to listen to me without bribery or spanking. I know that I have had moments—moments when I am trying to call a plumber about a clogged sink when I am assaulted in the shin with a foam Thor hammer—where think I need I am going to lose my mind. But I know, every mom knows, that despite the challenges of children, having kids is life’s most amazing opportunity. Even in the midst of the worst meltdown, we want to be with them more than any place in the world. Because there is something so special and sacred about watching a person learn things for the first time, even if it means through tears and time-outs. And the tears and time-outs are heavily out weighed by the moments of discovery. Watching Kai quietly observe a worm moving in the grass, listening to him invite a friend over, hearing him laugh hysterically after hearing the phrase “car pool� for the first time—you can’t get these kinds of experiences anywhere else except with these crazy things called kids.
Last year on mother’s day I posted about how what we moms really want on Mother’s Day is to be left alone. We want a hot bath, some peace and quiet, and a meal that doesn’t involve us as the cooker or cleaner. This year for Mother’s Day, I really would love a few minutes of peace and quiet and I would enjoy a night off from cooking, but the rest—the early morning wake-up call, the trip to the park, the never-ending requests for an under-dog, and I am sure the relentless insistence to blow up the pool—I’ll take all of it.  Because without our kids, without the mess, without the stacks of paintings and projects, without all of that, where would be?  For all of its ups and downs, no human experience can compare to that of being a mom. And I am so grateful, in a way that don’t even have words for, to be Kai’s mom.
Happy Mother’s Day to the Moms—the hardest job on earth, but the best one too.

posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 19 ]]> /author_blog_posts/13378822-a-day-in-the-life Thu, 19 Apr 2012 19:45:00 -0700 A Day in the Life /author_blog_posts/13378822-a-day-in-the-life When we were brainstorming ideas for the cover of Signs of Life, this was one of my “homemade� ideas. (Handwriting done by my awesome, incredibly talented brother-in-law, Chris). Although this image wasn’t exactly right for the cover of a book, I think it works perfectly for this post. Here goes:
Three things I learned today:
1.    Bananas are a poor choice for back-seat-car snacks. (“Did you eat that banana?� I ask glancing at him from the rearview mirror.  “Just half,� he says. I ask where the other half is. He says don’t worry, “I found a good spot for it.�
2.    Four year-old boy + warm weather = finding lots of random sticks in the house.
3.    Nothing, and I mean nothing, beats a swing and a slide. I am confident that safe, accessible play structures for every child on this planet would most certainly lead to world peace.
Two things I am going to do tomorrow:
1.    Make pancakes.
2.    Fold the laundry that has been sitting in the dryer since Monday.
One thing I am really proud of right now:
1.    Tonight for dinner my son ate asparagus without one single objection or complaint. 

posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 03 ]]> /author_blog_posts/13378823-and-i-burned-the-french-fries Thu, 12 Apr 2012 19:17:00 -0700 And I Burned the French Fries /author_blog_posts/13378823-and-i-burned-the-french-fries “Kai Taylor, do not go out that”—SLAM—“door!�
“Kai Taylor, do not get down from that”—THUD—“chair!�
“Kai Joshua Taylor!  Do no hit that window with your hand one more time.”� Pause…followed by the sound of a hand hitting a window.
I’m not entirely sure where we are according to How Children Develop, but I can tell you we are at the stage that involves independence and insubordination. If I were writing a chapter about four to five year olds in my own version of How Children Develop, the chapter would be called “The Mutiny Years.�
Tonight at dinner we had a stand off over vegetables followed by a fall-out after Kai left the table without asking if he could leave the table. Then he barricaded himself on the porch with porch furniture and until I broke in and took him to his room. He yelled at me because he was mad, then he cried because he was sad. Then we hugged it out. Then I realized I forgot to take the fries out of the oven.
I’m really not posting because I have any wise takeway from tonight. I have no new parenting revelation about how to make the perfect child. All I know is parenting is hard, and that’s pretty much all I’ve got. I live in a messy house where I do my absolute best to uphold the two life rules of “eat your vegetables� and “always listen to your mother.”� And that is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. And yes, from time to time there are tears and burnt fries. On the bright side, tomorrow is a brand new day—wish us luck. Sometimes I think we really need it. 

posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 06 ]]> /author_blog_posts/2270371-for-the-love-of-the-games Thu, 29 Mar 2012 04:03:00 -0700 For the Love of the Games /author_blog_posts/2270371-for-the-love-of-the-games If you made the top 60 in your region, there's a good chance you obsessed over the Games. There's a good chance you lay in bed every Wednesday night visualizing yourself doing burpees, toes-to-bar, or muscle-ups. If you made the top 60 you probably found yourself sporadically snatching objects —like your nine iron, your vacuum, or maybe even your lawnmower—throughout your day. If you made the top 60, you probably made CrossFit your number priority in your life; you probably talked your spouse's/partner's/co-worker's ear off about the Leaderboard, the hem and haw of whether to do 12.3 for a third time, or how when you started your double-unders on 12.4, you knew you were either going to cry, dry heave, or make it to 90. If you were a top 60, you probably made all sorts of dietary sacrifices—rejected your mom's famous homemade chocolate chip cookies, kicked your decade-long cereal habit, or quit sugar cold turkey. If you made the top 60, there's a good chance every time you saw a picture of Rich Fronning or Annie Thorisdottir come up on the Games site, the voice in your head chanted "I just want to be him," or "I just want to be her." 
And if you didn't make the top 60, there's a good chance you did the exact same thing.    

posted by Natalie Taylor on December, 04 ]]> /author_blog_posts/2202409-back-in-paperback Tue, 13 Mar 2012 04:03:00 -0700 Back in Paperback /author_blog_posts/2202409-back-in-paperback Today, March 13, Signs of Life hits shelves in paperback. I know part of me is still standing in my living room staring at the first hardcover copy that made it to my doorstep, looking at the name on the glossy cover thinking, "Natalie Taylor. Holy smokes, this says 'Natalie Taylor'…That's me!"
To celebrate the release of the paperback, I'd like to give my readers a brief update on the life of Kai and me. Whenever I meet readers, via book group or email, the first question usually is "How are you guys doing?!"  For a lot of you who only know me through the book, the last time we met I had just finished a triathlon and Kai had just turned one. He had just learned to walk—without a hand or a couch—and I felt like I had just learn to walk on my own too.
Fast forward three years. We aren't just walking, we are running, jumping, dancing, climbing—like many other kids our age, we never stop moving. I think the best way to sum up my life for you is to explain where we are right now in the middle of March in our cozy house in Michigan:
Right now as I type this, Kai is asleep in his bed. He is now four so he sleeps in a big-boy bed. While the first year of Kai's life was full of irregular sleep, things have finally leveled out. I am happy to report we have a bed-time and a bed-time routine. Every night before bed we read books and then sing our songs. Tonight we read a book about pythons because last week was Rainforest week at preschool.  Our favorite books are Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus and Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late by Mo Willems. They make us laugh out loud every single time.
Kai is in preschool three days a week and loves to swim, play outside, listen to music, build Legos, and talk about Star Wars. But the thing we do most often is spend time with Kai's grandmas, grandpa, aunties, uncles and friends. Our family is still a huge part of our life, and now Kai is old enough to have his own relationships with all of the adults that held him and rocked him when he was a baby. Just this past Saturday, I had to go to a baby shower for one of my friends from college and Kai was going to my mom's house for the afternoon. They had a big plan to make cupcakes while I was gone. While I stood in the kitchen talking to my mom before I left, Kai yelled at me, "Mom!  Just go the shower!"  Things are a little more fun when mom isn't around. Shocking news, I know.
Most days Kai and I are a solid system. Sure, food and groceries and laundry and schedules can be overwhelming, just like for any other family, but the best part of my day is when that kid and I just get to talk. The things he wants to know about and the things he has to tell me override any other stress in my life. Tonight we went to my parents' house to have cake for my little sister's birthday (Auntie Hales). Kai came in—pajamas and all—and sweetly sang "Happy Birthday" to Hales. Once he got to the end, he said, "Happy birthday to�..KAI!" and then laughed his head off.
Our days our bright, fun, and exciting. As a parent, I can't ask for anything more than having a happy child. It has been nearly five years since losing Josh, Kai's amazing dad and my amazing husband. This is hard to articulate, but we are bright and fun and happy people all while living with a very large hole in our hearts and lives. I don't know how to say this except that the two—the loss and the life� now coexist. We talk about Kai's dad all the time. We talk about how he didn't like Maraschino cherries (Kai loves them), about how Kai's dad was really good at soccer, about how whenever we picked up a pizza for dinner, he absolutely insisted on eating a piece on the ride home. Nothing is harder that hearing Kai's little voice ask questions about his dad, and certainly those questions have changed over time, but I want him to know his dad as best as he can. And the most amazing part is watching Kai do things that no one has taught him that are the carbon copy of how his dad did them—they way he lies on the couch when he watches T.V., the way he wants to include everyone in everything we do, his hilarious sense of humor, and especially the "never stop moving" part—it's like watching his dad glide along next to him.
In looking back at the last four years, Kai and I are very blessed. We are surrounded by people who love us, and if we have learned anything over the last four years, it is that the love of others can get you through just about anything. We are excited to see what the future holds, but for now, we're pretty happy basking in the present.
Thanks for reading!  




posted by Natalie Taylor on March, 16 ]]>