the rest of the story

It is so. stinkin’. FUN. to celebrate with you people.  Truly.  Thank you for all the cheers Thursday. I’m due December 20.  I’ll go a week early for a c-section.  We will not be finding out if Little is a he or a she beforehand… so we’re all in the same boat here except I get the night sweats and you get the laughs, ok?

Speaking of…

It was March 15.  I thought, to be quite frank, that this would finally be the day I ended up on national news for locking my children out of the house, booking a one-way ticket to Jamaica, or accidentally (?) poisoning dinner.  I was dangerously close to needing an emotional intervention and possibly some physical restraints.  I emailed friends. I cried. I gnashed my teeth.

The emails poured in… “hang in there”, “parenting/wife-ing is a marathon not a sprint”, “do you need me to bring you a Dr. Pepper?” God bless you all. Everyone.

Exactly 1.5 hours later, for the first time in 2 years due to pregnancy and nursing, I started my period.

To you of the ‘stronger’ gender who do not know this disphoria… this absolute mania that comes along with the abillity to grow A LIFE IN YOUR WOMB… yes, it is a blessing.  An honor.  And, every month, you think you are absolutely losing your mind for no apparent reason other than the entire world hates you. Every. Single. Time.

Content that I was not destined for an early check-in at the loony bin (this time), life carried on and even, I dare say, got better.

Until sometime later when The Husband returned home from work extremely cheerful.  He was whistling (which I loathe) and hug-gy (which I discourage) and generally jovial (which is… annoying).  As he chewed his rice (loudly) at dinner, I silently considered kicking him in the knee and running out the front door. He smiled sincerely, “Rough day?”  *sigh*

I realize, I am a JOY.

This odd and specific rage was remotely familiar to me and I pushed back my chair to take a deep breath, refill my drink, and check the calendar.  I was shocked to realize I was more than a week ‘late’… though I hardly thought things would be back on track so soon after a 2-year biological hiatus.

As he cleared the table, I excused myself to the restroom where I located a lone pregnancy test in a blank wrapper at the very back of the cabinet.  Three minutes later, I had one blue line in each window.  But- no box. No instructions.  No key to the puzzle.

*#%**^.

I stomped into the kitchen.  “I think I’m pregnant.  I’m not sure because this test is old and I can’t remember the rules, but I think I’m pregnant.”

Curt, still holding a plate, was stunned.  “Excuse me? What does this mean?  This line… this negative line is a POSITIVE test?  What does this mean?”

*#*@$))_.

Days later, I called my conscience in Texas. “So, I might be pregnant but the test I took didn’t have any instructions.  What’s your gut?”  Ever the sanity in my life, she instructed me to go to the store and buy another test. “And then call me immediately.”

So, I did… because by this time I was nothing if not curious.

Twenty plus three minutes later (with a 4 year-old audience), I was staring at a faint positive.

Twenty plus FOUR minutes later, the 4 year-old emerged from the bathroom with bare buns and the extra pregnancy test.

“Did you use this?” I asked.

“Mom.  On.  Me. Pee Pee. Me.” she replied.

*(@$&(@#!.

Ry’s test was negative, just to be clear.

Nearly one month after the first questionably positive test, I called my OB to set up an appointment.  The nurse asked, of course, when my last period was… which I absolutely knew to be March 15.  “Well!” she replied, “Usually we hear from folks sooner!  We’d like to see you sometime this week since you’re already 10 weeks pregnant.”

Yes, well… there’s a story there.  Some denial and some procrastination and also some other minor complications.  But that is neither here nor there. Sometimes, this is just how it happens.

I confess I took one more test the day before my appointment out of complete and total fear that I would show up and be 100% NOT pregnant and then have to explain why I thought I WAS.  I took the third and final test alone and without anyone knowing.

It was positive immediately, and -alone- I smiled whole-heartedly.

Little, you punched the air and did a flip when the ultrasound shed its light on you at our first appointment.  You’re going to fit in here just fine.  Take your time and grow strong.  We cannot wait to meet you! 

What (my) kids are for.

We had children, as many of you did, because it was the next natural step.  We were blessed that it worked fairly easily and we were prepared for the basic social responsibilities of shelter, food, safety, and education.  We figured they’d be pretty cute (we were right) and that we were above-average in our ability to handle stress (we were wrong).  We knew we would pray for them and take them to church.  We knew that we wanted kids.   

I don’t remember discussing the “yes, but WHAT ARE THEY FOR?” part of kids… the “big picture that gets you through the mud” part.  I subconsciously assumed the usual: kids teach you about God, kids keep the world going, kids pay for your nursing homes. Kids are necessary and lovely and hard.

But then Rylie was born.  And then Rylie was broken.  And I began to question the point of such heartache.  Why have kids if it is going to be THIS HARD?  Is it fair to Rylie?  Is it fair to her brother?  Is it fair to us?  

And I became afraid.  Afraid of doctors.  Afraid of having more kids.  Afraid of anger.  Afraid of therapy.  Afraid… that I could not do it and I would fail.  I would fail Rylie. Afraid.

I am not, as you may think, a strong person.  I am not gifted in patience or passivity.  This past year with Rylie has brought me to my knees both spiritually and physically as I begged for answers and rest.  Clarity and help. Motivation and a supernatural heart. Why wasn’t it coming more naturally?  Wasn’t I made for this?

What was I missing?  What in the world was I missing?

I had to back to the beginning. 

I expected Rylie to be born… and I expected Rylie to be fine.  I expected to deal with ‘girl’ emotions in junior high and heartbreak in high school.  I expected to right the few wrongs of my childhood, teach her to ride a bike, and to make handmade Valentines for her Kindergarten class. She would grow up, possibly start a family of her own, and continue the circle.

I did not expect for her to be broken. 

•

I watched my child sit through hours of intense speech therapy drills last week.  I watched her perform over and over again, stumbling through language that is so easy for me.  On the last day, I heard the woman demand, “Say KNEE! KNEE.”

Rylie, distracted and head down, impulsively yelled “KNEE!”  She looked up, put her little hands to her little mouth, and grinned.  And then she clapped.  And then she yelled again, hopping in her seat. ”KNEE! KNEE! KNEE!”  She has never been able to say that before.  I can’t wait to show you the video. It’s remarkable.

Watching that miracle from behind the glass mirror, I realized my truth: Rylie is NOT broken.  She is the very image of God.  God, who knows what it is to hurt.  What it is to be misunderstood.   What it is to have people define you by their fears.  What it is to love unconditionally.  Rylie is a lot of things, but she is NOT broken.

Her story does not stop at her diagnosis, and, therefore, neither does mine. 

What is Rylie for?  She is for redefining norms.  She is for healing old hurts. She is for second-chances. She is for seeing God in a tiny little body, fighting to be heard. She is a messenger.  She’s a game-changer. 

I had it all wrong.  And, I’m sure I will again. But I am certain that I would not have learned this lesson without my child.  Not so effectively.  That’s what she is for.

And I am not afraid anymore.

I am a lot of things, but I am not afraid.

• 

Some brilliant quotes from email answers you sent in on the ‘strategy‘ post:

I can say that a good reason for having kids is WOW you really understand uncondonditional, overflowing, heart-gonna-burst-it’s-aching-so-much love.  This parental love is so different than familial love or romantic love.

I see the worst of life everyday at work, and it is only though trust and faith in God that I have hope that my kids will be okay in this crazy scary world full of all the wrong choices.

I still have no clue what I want professionally or in some ways personally either! I applaud any and all who choose to be parents, there is an honor and a love that you deserve for taking on what is such a huge responsibility, and risk to your heart and soul to leave yourself vulnerable to a little life that can bring so much joy but also so much terror and fear through all that can go wrong in the world.

I heard a saying once, and I know I won’t get it right, but it was something like, “Children are proof of God’s hope for the future.”

Why would God call us to do that? First, to bring him glory through the using of our gifts in his kingdom. But secondly, because it is the hardest, most selfless (when done well…yikes…need to remind myself of that ALL the time) thing I will ever do. It reminds me of how God doesn’t respond to me when I mess up, and reminds me of how I should treat others when they sin, err or fail me. It is a huge lesson in humility, in dependence on God, and in self-sacrifice. It reminds me of the book, Sacred Marriage, and it’s principle: what if God designed marriage to make us holy rather than happy? Challenging stuff, especially in our church world today.

I am sitting here typing this with a house full of kids (well actually 2 are at school which is a beautiful thing) and for the first time in 9 years I am thinking, why did I have kids, because they don’t clean, they cost a ton on money, and half of time I’m not sure I want to claim them as my own—and surely, it isn’t proving what a wonderful person I am–NO WAY.  So, I guess it has to come down to God.  I had kids because God made me.  I didn’t plan it–He did.  He made me desire my husband and created this really strange and excitingly wonderful way to make them.  And then He held me in His hands as I held them in mine–and he hasn’t let me go yet, so I haven’t let go of mine.

God’s plan for me and having kids was different from my idea, but has humbled me to not always knowing what He has planned for me.  I was given a child in an unhealthy marriage and unable to have children in a healthy marriage.  It is hard at times to understand the reason behind that.   Having [my son] was not planned and when I think back to the circumstances it is truly a miracle.  I do know that having him has taught me true love, great joy and some of the deepest pain and tears.  The level of each of those emotions cannot be matched in any other relationship.

I can only imagine how much more I will want children once I am with the person that I want to have them with.  I mean my goodness…  They’ll be these true, living, breathing symbols of love and commitment and a marriage covenant and thinking about that makes me giggle.

All you have to do is love this baby and teach him about Jesus.

We wanted to have kids so that there would be more nice people in the world. We figured that we are both nice, we would be nice to our children and therefore they would probably be nice also. So far I think that [our daughter] is a positive addition.

back when

So, 5 years ago tomorrow I got married.

It came as a shock to many, including myself. 

It was such a shock, in fact, that family and friends came from across the country to witness the 20-minute ceremony.  Some crossed state lines for the first time in their lives.  Some bought dresses for the first time in their lives.  Some wore matching socks for the first time in their lives. 

It was a very special occasion.

Curt is very much my compliment… very, ah, stoic and logical and black/white.  I tend to lean towards passionate and creative and improvisational.  This combination has led to some knock-down, drag-out fights… but also to a whole new world of understanding.  We have this farm because I am quick to make decisions and very convincing in the ‘it will be good!’ category.  We have a working budget because The Boy understands numbers and can see the future.  We go together.  It’s the rule. 

I like you, Curt.  Thank you for meeting me at the altar.

a long, long time ago

[from American Pie]

A long, long time ago… in the depths of a lonely California winter, my best friend from high school sent me a phone book.  It was my local, hometown phone book.  Awesome, I thought.  Just what I need.

Woe to she who does not believe in the power of random greatness.  As I read the card for explanation, I began to smile.  And then I started laughing.  And then I started jumping up and down. 

You see, the newest edition of the phone book had come out and she, like ya do, began to look up all the people she knew.  And there, there in the ‘S’ was my family, of course.  But not just anywhere.  We were the Header!  We were the start of a new column!  Our name was in bold at the top!  How many times in your life can you say that???

I was so excited that I called my brand-spankin’-new boyfriend, Curt, and told him everything.

And he said, “I don’t really see what the big deal is.”

So, I took a picture and I emailed it to him.

And he said, “I still don’t really see what the big deal is.”

I should have ended it right there, Folks.  But I didn’t.  Because I believe in people.  Someday, he’ll understand me like you do.  You understand, right?  Dang.

Love to you all and happy weekend  

P.S. There are new knit market bags in the shop, and there are new pics of Rylie Girl on flickr. 

I will not drown.

I will not drown in shallow water,
Not with your love within my reach.
I did not come this far to falter,
And will not rest until I’m free.
-Randy Travis

Friends,

I had my 13+ week appointment Tuesday for Mulder#2… and am sad to report that there was no heartbeat.  An ultrasound confirmed that we had lost the Little One at 10+ weeks… my body just doesn’t realize it. 

I actually take great comfort in that.  My body… my body is so obviously connected to my soul.  I do not let go of anything or anyone without serious battle.  Goodness, I cry when I see abandoned furniture on the curb.  “Come home with me!  Your story does not end here!” I try and love and write and re-finish and exhaust every means before release.  I laughed on the way home from my appointment (hello, hormones) at the irony.  Here’s my poor, sweet body… still gaining weight, still sore, still tired, still preparing for the Little One.  All the while, he has been sleeping.  It will take a doctor to physically pry the effort out of my heart before my body will let go. I love it for that. We play until the whistle blows around here.

I am thankful for Rylie who is full of giggles these days.  I am thankful for my husband who is a provider.  I am thankful that I am an awesome crier.  I am thankful for friends who know exactly what to say and when to just not say anything.  I am thankful for cows who do not ask questions and do not care and still need to be taken care of daily.  And, I am thankful (forgive me) for the ‘silence’ feature on my phone.  I will mend.  We will go day by day.

Most of you will read this Thursday morning… I am in the hospital taking the last few physical steps of this journey.  I will be home later today and will demand Chinese food.  And then, I am going to sew.  Sew Sew Sew. Pretty things.  Lots and lots of pretty things.  I did not come this far to falter.

Thank you so much for everything.  We love you so much here at TexasNorth.  Talk to me, sing to me, leave me funny messages… I’m still here.  Just quiet for a bit. 

[God,] You are everywhere, so you must be here. – Saint Anselm

meet the parents

The TexasNorth Mulders took a collective sigh this weekend and headed to a cabin with the rest of the Dutch side of the family. Six cousins- all girls, 3 ‘out’ laws who married into the fam, 4 Mulder siblings, 2 Mulder parents, 3 large dogs, and 1 boyfriend visiting for the day meeting the parents… bless his ever-lovin’ heart.
*
The biggest hit was the moose over the fireplace. Every child under the age of 5 was absolutely enamored with the poor thing. If I were stronger, I’d have carried him home for Peanut. She was greatly saddened to have left him(?) behind. [photo taken by yours truly and altered at picnik.com]
*
There was a day right about now in 2002 when my cousin was graduating high school. My mother’s sister’s daughter… in Cleveland. My parents were headed north from the Mother Country for the family festivities and I was stuck in San Diego in the midst of Young Life high season. It had already been decided that I was moving to Grand Rapids at the end of the summer, but The Boy just didn’t like the idea of a girl moving across the country- unengaged, jobless, and pulling a u-haul- without him having ever met my father.
*
I kid you not, that Boy got off work on Friday night and headed East determined to do things right. My father met him at the door wearing a mesh ball cap, a t-shirt, dockers, and penny loafers with no socks. Rock the vote, Pap. They shook hands, my mother cried, and the boys proceeded to set up 42 million folding tables for the ensuing fish-fry slash family reunion that was blowing in the next day. They’ve been good friends ever since, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Most of the time.
*
My mother has only one sibling- Aunt Bea. But their father was one of about 17 10 children and thus I am related to most of Cleveland, its surrounding suburbs, and a serious portion of Poland [er... Czechoslovakia... but they were both countries Hiltler hated]. All but the native Polacks Bohemians showed up for that fish fry, and The Boy met every single one of them. He met people I’ve never even met before. Bless his ever-lovin’ heart.
*
You did good, Boy. It was your respect for my family, and especially my father, that made me pack up that u-haul without hesitation and leave SoCal forever. Someday Ry may find herself in a similar situation, and I can only pray her young man will have the sand to drive 5 hours in the dark to meet you before he runs away with her heart and makes her move to a place where there is no sun 6 months out of the year.

You did real good.

I met The Boy at a women’s retreat.

That is absolutely true. That February 2002 weekend was the Young Life Women’s retreat, and I was the host… which is a fancy way of saying I collected the money and made sure everyone had towels. Kevin (to your left) and Curt came down to volunteer and help me get some side-work done in-between me racing to find toilet paper for the front bathrooms. Women’s Retreats are serious about their toilet paper and paper towels. Men’s Retreats, not so much.

Our relationship began a week later (Thank you, Chelsey and Kevin.) by letters and phone calls. We talked once or twice a week for an hour. This is fascinating for me to think about now, because I was three hours behind him and the kid can barely keep his eyes open past 10 o’clock. Continuing…

The Young Life Men’s Retreat was coming up… right about this time of year. Kevin thought maybe Curt should come for that, too. Like, as an actual participant in the weekend- being a man and all. Brilliant. It is decided that Curt will come back to California for the retreat and then he’ll add on an extra day at the end for the two of us to hang out. Like, a date or something. He’ll stay up the hill with the McKenzies and we’ll talk and hang out… in person.

As the weekend approaches, I am not panicky. I feel remarkably calm. Natural. Fine. Seriously. We like each other, we know it, and it’s good. He’s going to come, it will be awkward at first, and then it’s going to be wonderful. There will prolly be Puccini somewhere… and maybe maybe he’ll hold my hand- if it’s right. He’ll know if it’s right. I wonder if he’ll know if it’s right? And what about the other thing? The kissing thing. Do I tell him? Do I not? Will it scare him? Will he laugh at me? I should tell him. I’m 25. He’ll know if I don’t tell him. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him… and maybe he’ll never know. But, I’m 25. I should tell him because it’s a stinkin’ big deal and I don’t want the Big Deal-ness of it just floating on by into the cool night air. I’ll tell him. Tonight.

[phone rings]
Hey! It’s me. How are you?
I am good. How are you? How is Michigan?
It’s good. blah blah blah blah
Great! blah blah blah blah
So… are you getting nervous for me to come?
Actually, no. I’m good. But I do want to talk to you about something.
Go for it.
[big breath] Ok. So I’ve been thinkin’ about this for awhile and whether or not I should tell you and I’ve finally decided I am going to tell you because it’s a big deal to me and I don’t want to have to talk about it when you’re here because that would be really awkward and I think things are already gonna be awkward in the beginning, so why waste more time, ya know? The thing is Curt, I’ve never been kissed before. I mean, I’ve never even held someone’s hand before! And I’m not nervous or anything, but I just want to get that out there because if you want to hold my hand you need to just do it, ok? Don’t ask me, because then I’ll panic and say no. So, if it’s right, just go for it. And, really, same for the whole kissing thing, ok? I’ll totally freak out. So don’t ask me, ok? You decide. I just, well… it’s kind of a big deal and I don’t even know what to say about it except I guess I just did and… that’s it.
[big. fat. silence.]
Kate?
Yeah?
Let’s just, uh… let’s just see how things go, ok?

And then I died.
Of embarrassment.
I fell right down on the floor in my California bedroom and I died, still holding the phone.

Right. Of course. Because I had forgotten to even consider the possibility that maybe he wouldn’t even want to kiss me. Basically, I am an idiot. Kill me now.

He came anyway (bless his heart), and the retreat happened, and Kevin left, and the extra day came. We spent the morning with the McKenzies (they are a whole ‘nother post unto themselves and deservedly so) and then took off for Cuyamaca and a hike that may very well be gone now due to the fires these past 5 years. We walked around the dried up lake and halfway back where we stopped on a random boulder and just sat for awhile. He was sitting behind me.

“Kate?”
“Yeah?”
“I just want to tell you that I love you.”
[panic... and then, strangely, calm]
“Well, Curt…I love you, too.”
[The boy scoots around to sit in front of me... and whispers,] “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

[sidebar] Do people not think I’m serious when I talk? Did I not give explicit instructions on how this whole event was to go down? Gah. [exasperation exasperation exasperation, hands up in the air]

It went fine, thank you. I totally laughed out loud in the middle of it because, Dude… kissing is weird. But after that it was totally fine. I guess. I mean, we’re married now, so I think it was fine. I dunno. I don’t have much to go on. But, all in all, I’d say it went just fine.

And, now you know.
The End.

[and this is me and Rebecca... in our Nation's Capital... when all this boy-stuff was brand new]

[I love these pictures.]

[It makes me really miss Bec, though.]

[I couldn't find any of the Date Weekend... I know they are out there. There's one of a teepee somewhere.]

[I miss you, Bec.]

Postcards from the Mother Country – 4

A quick story for you today…

Four years ago today, The Boy propsed to me in Crested Butte, Colorado while we were skiing with my family. To be honest, I missed the whole thing. I missed it from the very beginning.

We had spent the day skiing. It was a gorgeous day- sunny and fine. We stopped on the mountain to eat outside and watch the kids crash into the holding zone below. As I paid at the cafeteria checkout line I realized I’d forgotten my beloved hot chocolate. I would get it, I decided, as a dessert.

We ate and lounged and gabbed and sat with our jackets off and boots unbuckled. With about fifteen minutes to go, The Boy looked over at me- the very picture of sweetness- and said, “Did you want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes! I did!”

[There was a very pregnant pause as The Boy stared at me not moving and not, I realized in shock, offering.]

“And I suppose I’ll go get it myself.”

I did not see my mother crying or my father smirking as I returned with my bittersweet hot chocolate. I only saw my punk boyfriend who was a punk and I did not like him because he was a punkpunkpunk.

I skiied out my irritation the rest of the day, and we went on our date that night. He asked me to marry him on a back road overlooking the small mining town. He explained how he had asked my father on the mountain while I bought my hot chocolate and how he was sorry but he just didn’t know how to get rid of me. I heard none of this, of course, because I was obsessing about my camera. And, all the sudden he was on the ground and I was engaged.

I missed it all. All of it.
But I married him, you know. It turned out ok.

The Boy is on his way to Dallas to fly back to Michigan as we speak. Rylie and I will stay until Thursday, lounging and playing with goats and drinking Sonic milkshakes. Be safe, Daddy. We miss you already.

monday, monday

Buenos Day, people! And how are you this fine freezing rain morning? We here on the farm are very well, thank you.

I have not one- I say again, NOT ONE photo of Curt’s par-tay extravaganza. We were having too much of a good time. But Marie documented it quite well, so take a peek: birthday photos

Friday night, Curtis James turned 30 with style. Since moving out here and becoming an official adult, time with The Boys has become scarce. I asked Marie to create a Boys Only Treasure Hunt. For 2 hours, 20 gentlemen raced around Grand Rapids solving clues and closely avoiding traffic violations. After the hunt, they joined us ladies at the ice rink for a little pizza, cake, and skate-o-ramma. I have to say, I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. It was grand. Marie, you are a wonderful friend. Thank you so much.

Someone thanked me on Saturday for a great time and I said, “No! Really. It was our pleasure!” And, it was. I realized, looking around, that these people- all of them- tell the story of our life here in Grand Rapids. The past 6 years can be found in all of them… college family, biological family, church family, study family… and all the new kiddos and all the laughs. It was really something. I could have never known exactly 6 years ago that it would turn out this way.

You see, I met Curt on his birthday. In 2002, I was working for Young Life’s Oakbridge (where I met many of you) as a Program Specialist. My job was to host and help and organize and play. Curt was visiting my friend Kevin (his college roommate), and Kevin called form LA to see if they could come down to see camp and maybe do a little work. I remember welcoming them late that night- February 22nd, and learning Curt was from Grand Rapids. I remember trying to make conversation, like the good host that I was, and saying “I have a friend in Grand Rapids! She’s in nursing school… and she’s tall and blonde and gorgeous and funny as all getout.” And I remember him looking at me sideways and saying, “Well, that’s just about every girl in Grand Rapids.” Oy. Tough crowd. No sparks, if you hear what I’m sayin’.

The next morning, Kevin and Curt and two high school boys and I painted the carnival fence green. I was wearing Carrharts. Kevin asked me how I was doing and I said I was dandy. And he asked me where I thought I’d be in five years, and I said hopefully in a cabin with my fireman on a white horse somewhere in Montana. And he said, “You should talk to Curt- he’s a builder and he just got back from Montana.” And I remember looking at him and thinking, ‘Right. Do you know how many guys come through this camp? How many amazing guys? And they all leave.’ Curt never said a word to me that day. I remember thinking he was a great guy- good with the high school kids and great with Richard, our maintenance guy. I remember him asking me for sunscreen, because it was sunny and hot in February in San Diego. And I remember them leaving after dinner that night and me saying, “Nice to meet you.” and him saying, “When you’re ready to build that cabin, you let me know.” And I remember not giving it another thought… because, well, the boy didn’t say but five words to me and he lived in Grand Rapids and I don’t make great first impressions and he was just another guy passing through.

Never underestimate the power of Carrharts, people. A week later, Kevin called to ask if it was ok to give Curt my address. Eh? What followed was a 6-month courtship that ended in me moving to Grand Rapids in September of 2002. He would come back to California to visit 3 times- in May, in July, and in August… for a total of 11 days together. He even drove to Cleveland to meet my parents without me that summer. I was wrapping up my journey with Young Life that summer, and I thought I’d take a break and move to LA with Chelsey. Instead, John and Renee packed up my U-Haul and sent me on my way East to Grand Rapids. That was the beginning, people. You know the middle. Ridiculous. All of it. But, so very good.

Looking around last Friday night, I could not be more thankful. God had truly blessed us in this place. This frozen tundra of a place. He has made us a home where we are so very loved.

It’s Monday here, which means Torah homework and cleaning. I better get to it. Thanks for walking down Memory Lane with me. You rock my face off.

[edited at 2:30pm to add: I finished my Torah homework- including ALL the questions and The Big Man Upstairs is rewarding me with the finale of the NasCar race that was postponed yesterday. People. All is well.]

somewhere in the middle

Five years ago this week, I pulled up to 650 Kellogg SE with a u-haul and an S-10 (my dowry). I was not engaged. I had no job. I had no apartment. I was never questioned by my parents, as they learned long ago that I think and think and overthink more than anyone else on this bless-ed Earth. Or, sometimes, I just DO things and I know it will be ok. This situation fit into the latter description. Heidi (the world’s coolest boss) drove me as far as Denver (Hi, Conants!), and my Dad took over from there. I saw Zion NP, the Grand Canyon, lots of corn, and a particulary un-nice stretch-o-nothing just outside of Vegas as we waited for the S-10 to cool down in the desert heat.

I had been dating this boy for 6 months… had received my first “date/I love you/kiss-ever” (if you can get all of those things out of the way together, it’s actually pretty cool- even if you are 25) only 3 months prior (Hi, John and Renee!)… and now found myself in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I was not afraid. I love to move, grew up moving, looked forward to a new place with new supermarkets and new roads and new people.

I moved in with his parents and sister (Hi, Meg!) for the first 2 months and took a job as a nanny of 5 (Hi, Bates’!). Who does that? In November, I found an apartment in Easttown next to the world’s best artichoke dip (thank you, Gaia) and borrowed a couch. The night I moved into my apartment, we decided to “take a break” and I found myself on the verge of being “the girl who moved across the country to marry a boy and then it all fell apart” forevermore. I searched all of my brocheures and found no mention of this portion of the trip in there. I briefly considered asking for a refund.

My first winter here was a long one. But, winter is always long for me… and I don’t necessarily mind that. I like digging in… nesting… re-evaluating… dwelling. I remember sitting in my car one particulary gray day and talking to my dad… talking to him for the first time in my life about boys… and him saying, “Do you want me to come and get you? I’ll come and get you… you can come home.” And I remember saying- crying, “No.” and not really knowing why but knowing that it was right… buffered by the strength that my parents would come and get me if I needed them. I added 4 other jobs and a serious kickboxing class to my routine and waited out the ice and snow and uncertainty.

Winter dragged on, as winters tend to do. And things continued to change… we continued to change, individually and together… and, remarkably, things got better. It took a long time. I can honestly say I didn’t know what I was made of until that Winter. I’ve absolutely no doubt that it was meant to be that way. Good lessons… lasting lessons… are very, very hard. They are infinitely more difficult when you are stubborn and independent… but they are good. Spring is good.

But that’s heading into the end of that chapter…
and that’s for another day.

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See…I can be serious! Pflbttttttttttt!
Did I just ruin it?
Dang.