July 16, 2014: a love letter

Soft white curtains hang at the windows and through them, light shines.  Today, the air wafts in too, because we’ve been given a break from the oppression of humidity and extreme heat.  And just beyond the front porch, crepe myrtles are in full bloom.  Hot pink blossoms are doing a slow dance in the breeze and I revel at the way the window is filled with light and color.  I call them myrtles, like they are dear old friends who gather for brunch on a Tuesday morning, wearing gaudy hats and one too many spritzes of perfume. 

Last night, after we said good night to the children, we caught the end of the sunset from the porch swing.  It’s my belief that if the sun is going to set each night with a grand display of artistry, then it should be acknowledged if only for a moment.  Our street is bordered with large trees and uninspiring power lines interfere with the view.  We are given but a portion of the sky, where the trees part, so a portion we will take. 

We rocked slowly with the sleepy street below, where its people full of oddities and issues, linger behind walls and windows.  We once thought it would be something of a circus, when we met our quirky neighbors who played the roles of cat ladies, drug dealers, and the rough-around-the-edges-and-everywhere-else-too resident grumblers.  As it turns out, we’re the only ones they like and thus, reap the benefits in bags overflowing with garden harvests.   An occasional firefly pierces the dusk and we are at ease together, in the real and transparent place of knowing and being known. Laughter is sweet, deep, and rich, ripe with exhaustion and appreciation for all the blessings and responsibilities of this life.  And something finds us in the quiet, in the closeness, the questions we still ask, the dreams we dare to dream that have not yet been birthed or eroded with time and its practicality.  The ones we’ve asked from the beginning and perhaps until the end.  The life we’ve collected is woven into the words and pauses, our matching heartbeat of adventure sounding in unison echoes in the silence. 

A tall, five-year-old boy wearing pajamas and a hat cracks appears at the front door with a stuffed crocodile in hand, to let us know that he was just telling his crocodile that they were going on a trip to the moon, in outer space, which is where the aliens live, but he didn’t know the names of the planets with aliens and so he needed us to tell him.  Is that okay that I came out of my room to ask you, he says, and surely, it must be, so we mention a few planet names and satisfied, he returns to bed.  Again, laughter lingers in the warm summer air. 

Another little one stretches and contorts my abdomen, there is little comfort to be found in these last days and weeks before her arrival, save hot fudge sundaes and nightly foot rubs.  What have we gotten ourselves into, we ask.  It’s a question that needs no answer, but we respond in playful blame and banter as we consider the days ahead. 

It’s a beautiful madness, our wandering tale.  Our hearts beat strong with love and bold dreams and unwavering adventure.  Our minds and bodies are tired with its responsibilities and realities.  But, it’s ours, together and that’s the thing.

Oh, let us acknowledge the adventures of today and ponder those of tomorrow.  Let us face life with courage and hope, knowing we never desired easy and dull.  May we always ask questions and never stop.  May we laugh in the dusk of summer and winter snow— even when our laughter betrays our exhaustion (and that fact that we have no idea what we’re doing).  And in that comfortable space of being known by each other, let us dream, always.

Another day ends as the lights of our sleepy street flicker on to keep watch.  We move about, filling water glasses, closing blinds, and re-covering little ones with blankets that have fallen to the floor. 

And again, tomorrow.

 

In the sixth year

It was the sixth year and it began on the northern shores of Lake Superior where the crashing waves met the jagged rocks composing the most beautiful of symphonies.  The wild, bitter winds crashed along the point where artists come for inspiration and to be small before the power of nature, as the shoreline burst forth in green and one lighthouse stood tall and strong. The fireplace crackled as they relished in a sweet reprieve.

Four states and two kids later, they once again found themselves hearing the call of adventure.   Change whispered in the daylight and roared by the light of the moon.  It was a small sense, but the biggest things begin that way, and it lingered through the autumn and into the winter; which lingers in Minnesota.  They looked into the expanse of the unknown, knowing only this, not here, this is not home.   His family remained un-plucked from their roots, but hers was long since spread, severed, and scattered to begin again in new fragments.  The idea of home, for these two adventuring souls seemed something attainable by all but them. The way that most understand the very thing they seek and struggle to find.  And perhaps home ceased to be a geographical location, but a spirit of living, but whatever the bewildering definition, it wasn’t this.

With the switching of calendars it came, and in months the pieces fell into place, as a sense of disbelief lingered in the air.  Could it be this easy? Is this really happening? And the truck was filled to capacity, no empty space was left in the family car as they drove away one March morning,  as the sun rose in the rear view mirror, over the snow covered ground.

They traveled east through the mountains and as they descended upon the new place, on the opposite coast of where this story began. A wave of welcome met them there, with familiar faces, helping hands and iced coffee.  It was a sweet and comforting lining that softened the new.

Then the hard began.  The part where huge, daring, and brave ideals collide with reality.  Children uprooted, searching for jobs in this shifting era,  the exhaustion of it all hitting at once.  The aftermath of the jump.  The part dreamers rarely see, which is a blessing and a curse, for it makes acting easier, but the landing is more brutal. 

Together, they knew and believed, remembering the voice that had lead them this far.  Long days of doing and praying and waiting came.   Little bits of reprieve were strategically placed in between what would feel like the greatest challenge to date. This was hard.  In the long looks and quiet, tired smiles, they remembered the long list of impossibilities and challenges that had long since passed, surely we’ll get to the other side of this too.  The collection from years one through five had prepared them, even when they felt stretched beyond all possibility.  The foundation had been laid, fortified by time and grace and love.

It was a year both weary and wonderful, where long awaited prayers were answered on the path littered with many new, because all the best and most beautiful things are worth giving every drop you can muster, loving with every inch and fiber, and living fearlessly into the unknown.  And when you think it’s too hard or too long, love squeezes your hand, walking beside you, sleeping by your side. 

In the sixth year,  they dreamed and launched forward with wild, daring hope.  They loved, laughed, and held on in the dark, when nothing else seemed certain, but the constant that surrounded them. Little children kept growing, bringing new magic and naturally, new challenge.  Memories were etched into the story.  The days were long, difficult, and beautiful, as the building years are. 

It was the end of year six and they looked forward with wild hope, strengthened by a fiery love, and the journey.

The little tea pot that could

Currently watching a train movie with a very similar name for the 345th time and the coffee is black as night, except, we all know night is actually blue.  Blocks are turning into trains, tall zebras, and things to throw on the floor as I sit here ready ready to witness more of the great thaw of 2012. 

Last night, we took our little family to the store.  Our children laughed with puzzled faces as we tested out all the comfy looking chairs and touched interesting pieces of furniture.  Surely, they felt the injustice of being just onlookers.   We brought home of a fantastic rug in the remarkable colors of grey and yellow, no one is shocked and a new tea pot.  The latter is kind of big deal.

It was 2007. We were cute little newlyweds, living in the nicest and largest apartment that we have lived in to date (funny how that works, huh?)  After a marvelous week in the Smoky mountains, we come home to wedding gifts and our first home furnished with secondhand items galore.  It was perfection.

And we were totally and completely broke.  You know, as it should be.  Pay check was coming in few days and so began the list making of items we could not go without until that day.  Sheets for our bed. And a tea pot to boil the water for the French press. So sleep and coffee were the priority, some things never change. 

There we were standing in front of tea pots both grand and small, poor and beautiful, when we realized we had no frying pans or spatulas.  And that was the day we brought home the cheapest, smallest, little stainless steel-esque tea kettle in all of creation. (plus a skillet + spatula).

That little guy saw us through year 1, 2, 3, and half of four.  He boiled our water after two months worth of sleepless nights upon welcoming child #1 and a whole year of sleepless nights with child #2.  He traveled from our first apartment to our second to my brother’s basement to here.  A faithful friend, reliable and steadfast, always whistling the same strange tune, despite his very forlorn appearance.  Poor old guy, what a champ.

And the it was yesterday, that we were standing in that store, when my husband declared he would not be making the move with us to next place.  Without a moment of hesitation, I picked out a beautiful green thing, twice as large and five times more pretty.  I came home and tossed old faithful into the trash.

Just like that.

This morning, I must pause and pay tribute.  Thanks little guy, couldn’t have done it without you.

love and socks

One pair of socks on the other side of the bed this morning.  His, the keeper of my heart. The one who wakes up three hours before the rest of us and eats breakfast in the a quiet house and dresses for work in the dark.

Once I read a story about a couple on the verge of martial ruin.  I can’t tell you where I read it, maybe you can tell me.  In the counselor’s office, she unleashed years of bottled up frustration because every single day she had to pick up his $($&# socks and if he just respected her, he would pick up his own dirty socks. So the years went by and she felt unappreciated and the resentment burrowed deep down and rotted away at precious things.  Then something else happened, but I forget, maybe he almost died, maybe they just came to a great understanding and healing, I can’t recall.  All I know is that after this dramatic turning point in their marriage, everyday when she picked up his socks, she no longer muttered hostility under her breath, but she thanked God that he was there to leave his dirty socks on the floor.

It was a moving, life-changing story, but I only remember the sock.  The socks, perhaps that is the whole point?  How the small things are the big things, when it comes to love and marriage, And by love and marriage, I mean all of life too.

At the same time every afternoon, the key goes in and the door rattles.  Two little creatures practically jump out of their skin.  He barely has one second to take off his coat and set his things down, before they are in his arms. Then for as long as possible, there they stay.  Daddy is a commodity worth more than gold around here.

I fill the French press with steaming water and watch the dark grounds dance and soak and become one. A few minutes later, I pour two mugs and bring one to him where he is the bottom layer of the pile. 

Next to the yellow chair, his socks and shoes are cast off on the floor. 

Linking up with Just Write

the date.

On Friday night he came home from work, a long 60 hour week, the usual kind, and with our daughter in his arms, the one who demands to be there within one second of him walking in the door, he stood in front of me and said, I have a very important question.  Will you go out with me tomorrow night?  I hesitated only because my thought was, what about those two kids that are always hanging around here. I was then informed that he had arranged for my mom to come and watch the kids.  Well, in that case, my answer, absolutely yes.

Then he handed me a dark chocolate sea salt candy bar.

Saturday evening, after another long day of work for him, he walked in the door holding my favorite flowers.  I mean, alright, husband. I’ll go out with you.

And so it happened that a 8 o’clock in the evening, this old couple ventured out the door, hand in hand, child free. How wild of us. This hour usually finds us sitting on the couch, children in bed, drinking tea or hot cocoa, doing wild things like knitting and reading.  Don’t be fooled, we’re not even eighty.

Our top secret destination was this hidden gem of an Italian restaurant not far from Uptown.  We enjoyed toasted ravioli, chicken fontina with this incredible homemade pasta and beautiful mushroom wine sauce, and then tiramisu, my other true love.  And like kings and queens or just wealthy people who have other people care for their children during meals, we ate slowly and tasted every gorgeous bite of uninterrupted flavor.  The luxury of leisurely eating is finer than gold, because even I have to break my own rule of not holding children while I’m eating, on occasion.  I’m serious about that rule, I am.  Because, my children are lovely and amazing, but a hungry mama is not a happy one and a mother who gets to sit in a chair all alone and drink coffee in the afternoon is the key to a pleasant home. I’m also serious about that.

And thus my handsome husband gave me both of those things on this glorious December evening.  Post dinner, we drove through the weaving roads near Lake Calhoun in search of Christmas lights. And we gazed in the open windows, like any decent person would do and decided that most people have bad art on the walls of their grand homes.

This was also the night were my husband willingly tried on an argyle sweater at the store, and I decided that it wasn’t him.   That sweater stayed at the store, making it officially the first time in history that a husband willingly tried on such a sweater and a wife decided against it.  Let the record show, this happened on December 17, 2011.

All this occurred one crazy, perfect night in December, when a boy asked out a girl, who was already his wife.

four years

I pulled back the curtain and was swept away by the softest breeze, grey hovered around, faint storms lingered in the distance and Moon River serenaded the air.  I closed my eyes and etched in my mind everything about this moment.  A magical little morsel of goodness just for me.

On my father’s arm, I walked to meet a man who was standing in front of the most beautiful red barn.

The minister forgot to instruct the guests to sit down, they stood for the longest time. We wondered just how long it would take until they got a clue. A fly was feasting on our communion bread, we tried not to laugh too loudly, as Ernie prayed.  We pretended to sign the marriage license, with our best man and matron of honor, except we only needed one signature, no one ever knew until now.

It was wonderful.

I’d marry him all over, even without the guests, the food, the music, the parasols, the twinkling lights, the dress… all the details that made it so special.

I’d stand in front of that barn holding his hand and promise him my forever, I absolutely would.

Four years.  Happy Anniversary my love.

{Card available here}

for the team.

He walks in the door from a long day of work, the little boy rushes to greet him at the door and show his whatever toy he is playing with as if it is the most magical toy of all.  Her little eyes sparkle and a smile covers her face.  And you know, I love that moment, that game changing moment when the 2:1 ratio is evened out.  Two more hands, another person for them to love on, read: climb all over. 

It’s so easy to forget that he got up at least four hours earlier than the rest of us, working all day for the man.  It’s easy to forget because I’ve been changing diapers and reminding a little boy that his baby sister is not a jungle gym.  But it’s dangerous, when you start keeping points, “Well I did this all day and you…”  It will never ends well, my friends.  And here’s the thing we must remember, we’re on the same team.  We’re in this together, completely, always, both of us doing our share for each other, for our family.  Isn’t this the first thing we forget?

Two kids. Two jobs. Two art shops. This is our reality.  Our exhaustion was leaving us less creative and less than ideal versions of ourselves.  So, this summer in desperation, we created a system.  We’re not big on systems, yuck, but this one we love.

One day a week, when Matt come home from work, he walks in the door and we all get hugs and kisses. Then he gathers his sketchbook and computer and gets back in the car and goes where ever he pleases.  He draws, he sits, he thinks uninterrupted thoughts.  He works on his newest print.  When he comes home, he’s refreshed and ready to jump into the beautiful madness.

Truthfully, the moments leading up to this can be rough, because most of those days, the kids are on their absolute BEST behavior and he returns home to crying babies and a wife who is hoping…eeekk, take me with you!!.  Yet, I know he needs this and a refreshed husband is the best kind. Those hours might be long for me, but it’s about our family,  the wellbeing of all. 

And later in the week, on one glorious day, this girl gets herself ready and carries the very smallest purse possible (this is key), kisses her lovely family and walks out the door.  My friends, I do anything, whatever in the world I want, alone, with a small purse.  It makes you feel all kinds of amazing, you know, to just be one with yourself.  I walk through the rows of fabric, feeling the textiles between my fingers, I drink a coffee while sitting at a table, being needed by none.  No way is this time for errands, no freaking way.  Don’t even think about it.

Yesterday, I found myself in the cozy chair, eating a slice of almond peach bread and drinking a cold press coffee.  I started reading Anne of Green Gables.  I am sad to confess that I have never read this before, I mean, how can I live with myself.  It’s amazing, delightful, witty, funny, brilliant.  I want to get lost in the pages.  It was magical.  When was the last time you just sat and read a book?

After, my family needed food, but happily I walked into my local Trader Joe’s.  I wandered aimlessly, slower than ever, child-free and as I stood in front the most lovely selection of cheeses, starring into the stacks of brie, bleu, and chevre, two different associates approached me, “Can I help you find something, you look lost.”  I chuckled and responded with a calm smile, “Oh no, I’m absolutely fine, just fine. Thank you.” 

You know, sometimes I return home to a disaster of a mess, sheer wildness, and a husband who thinks, don’t ever leave again, but he never complains.

It’s about the team.

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I’m no expert, but I think this has done wonders for us.  Do you have your own system?  Tell me about it. And guys, if it’s been a while, you should probably kick your wife out for a few hours, just her and a small purse.

yesterday is for lovers.

Apparently, it’s Valentines Day, which is cute, but there is no way I’m celebrating today, not at all.  Not because I’m one of those anti-commercialized holiday rebels, it has more to do with the fact that today my valentine will celebrate our love, but being the bread-winner, bringing home the bacon, if you will… a.k.a., he works both jobs today.  By the time, he gets home, my little eyes will barely be able to stay open.  Don’t feel bad, because truthfully, nothing says I love you, like working really long hours when you’re so tired, because you have two jobs, a two year old, and a newborn, and you have to get up early to catch the bus, because you still don’t have car… but you don’t complain and you do it all willingly for your wife and your family.  Now that’s love, real, everyday, committed love.

Oh and also, we went out yesterday.

Let me tell you about yesterday.  It was 48 degrees.  The sun was shining.  I saw two blades of mostly green grass.   I left the house with my husband, not a child in sight, not even one. I even took the smallest purse I had, no diaper bag needed.  Furthermore,  my completely un-swollen feet fit into my cute boots again for the first time since December and my coat buttoned, as in all the way, with ease.   These are all really great things.

We perused a few stores,  held hands, enjoyed a leisurely lunch, and then did some super romantic grocery shopping, oh la la.   It was pretty terrific, because we like each other and we’re in love.

Hope you feel loved today.

Remembering.

“We got married, because we were so in love and wanted to be together.  We hardly had anything, but none of that mattered.  We were in love.”

– Lavell N.

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When we were getting married and looking for our place, Matt took me to the cutest development of apartment homes.  It was picturesque, with well manicured lawns, fully stocked with pools, tennis courts, and screamed, “you would be so cool if you lived here,” as you drove onto the property.

The leasing agent directed us to the model apartment and we walked around, envisioning our lives there… It was relatively small at 764 sq. feet, one bedroom/one bath, but it was brand new and decorated with absolute stunning style…  naturally, which should make us want to live there.  The price wasn’t great, but it was pretty.  I think we were supposed to overlook the price tag, because the visions of us spending our first year of marriage together in this little haven would cloud out any hint of reason.

We didn’t sign the lease.  It was above our price range, but for me that wasn’t the deal breaker.

You see, in the living room, decorated in perfect blues and browns, complete textures that beckoned comfort and luxury, was this incredible teal couch.  It was the most beautiful couch that I had ever seen.  Hanging just above it was this brilliant piece of art, that made the wall pop and together the two aided in the attempts of striping reason from potential residents.  It caused my design-loving heart to skip a few beats and truly made me want to live there, with that couch… happily ever after.

We drove away, promising the leasing agent that we would let her know our decision as soon as possible, because naturally, there was only one model available and someone else was really interested too. (Do they all say that?)  Matt asked me what I thought.  I told him, we should keep looking.  He  asked why, and this is how the conversation unfolded,

Me: We can’t live there.

Matt: Why?

Me: Because, we can’t have that couch.

Matt: Oh?

Me:  We can’t afford a couch like that and so our apartment would never look as good as that one and I wouldn’t like it as much and so I don’t want to live there, if I can’t have that couch.  Plus, it’s more than we want to spend on rent, but mostly, it’s about the couch.

Matt: Fair enough.

He thought the first con should be the money, but I knew I couldn’t live there without that couch.  Boys and girls are different.

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Thank God for that couch, because we found a bigger (1200 sq. ft, 2 bedroom/2 bath) apartment at a better price that we could handle.  As we walked through this model, complete with floral patterns that my mom would love, I found myself thinking, I could make this place look so much better.  

We started out with used furniture, because we didn’t want to be sitting in our living room thinking, we’re still paying for this.  Most of it was given to us, because no one else wanted it.  It was months before we even had a couch, we borrowed a futon… the one that everyone else borrowed from Lavell, when they were just starting out too. 

Our apartment wouldn’t have won any contests, but we loved that place.  We loved that first year of our lives together.  It didn’t matter if the furniture was used or mix-matched, because we were in love and so happy. 

We knew we had a whole lifetime ahead of us to have really nice things. We realized that it was a process and we were only at the beginning.

Three years later, we’ve bought  a few things, but still so much of what we own is used.  We don’t care, because we’re happy and in love. 

Furniture has nothing to do with it.

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Do you remember those first years or marriage?  Were you lucky enough to start out with the whole package- nice house, cars, jobs, furniture?  Or was it a slow process as you created your home, bit by bit?

P.S.  I still dream about that couch.

{Liv

Us.

We have a thing for benches, placed perfectly under grand willow trees. It started on our first date.





We always feel too far away from the ocean, unless the spray from the waves is on our faces.

We believe that looking at the camera is highly overrated, most of the time.

We can’t be bothered with being boring and serious, but we are serious about a few things like Jesus, sunsets, coffee, books, and art.

We prefer change, mystery and adventure to routine, details and plans, after all, planning the wedding was complicated enough.  But, it was a wonderful day, one of the best. 

We left part of us in California, one day we’ll go back.

 

It only took five months for us to run out of reasons to not start our family.

Best idea we ever had.

We care less about having the best things and more about having the best life.

We’ve had lots of adventures,  and we’re always ready for more.

We’ve been married three years today and all of this is just the beginning of our story.

That’s a little bit about us, what about you?  What makes your love so great?  What makes your story worth telling?  What are you doing with this crazy, beautiful life?

{Liv