Growing Family

Creative Overdrive

Back in Nashville we owned a tidy little two bedroom post-war bungalow. It was the first house we bought together in a little run-down street, within sight of a gas station. I loved that house.

When Small Sun entered the picture, my sister-in-law and I threw ladders up in the tiny second bedroom to paint a blue ceiling with fluffy white clouds. I upcycled nearly all the furniture in the house, and one crowning piece we still treasure today is an eight foot long desk The Captain and I designed together and an arborist/welder friend of ours built for us. The top is about four inches thick of some gorgeous wood, and the bottom is a steel frame. It weighs three million tons (or kilos!), and will outlast us for sure.

Living in rental properties since moving to Sydney was really hard for me. I am a creative person and I get the itch to change things...often. My whole life growing up, my family was knocking down walls to open up views, and bringing spontaneous creativity to liven up drab spaces. I am pretty sure my dad did knock out one wall one night, after we sat at the dinner table talking about how the room could look better if it was more open plan.

Hide sledgehammers and power tools when my lot is around. We have no respect for building codes or blueprints when the creative juices start to flow. 

We've been in this house nearly a year and I have tackled projects slowly and cautiously. I suppose the investment this house represents makes me cautious to maintain its resale value, not to mention I've been up to my eyeballs in caring for really young kids this year. Staple guns and toddlers do not mix.

With four and a half short weeks to get two rooms made over, my brain has gone into creative overdrive, with no real respect to budgetary constraints or...reality.

We are moving our office into an open plan room downstairs that acts as a glorified hallway. I end up folding laundry on a spare bed that has landed in the space, there is a toy kitchen, and some random bookshelves that didn't fit anywhere else. The room is a bit cold and gloomy unless the abundant down lights are on, using precious electricity. 

To that alluring space we will move our gargantuan desk, and the current office will be fitted out as a nursery/spare room for foster care and guests. 

I keep telling myself "this is really as simple as moving some furniture on a Saturday", but the project has grown in my mind.

Before we do the switch we want to paint our first really bold move in the house. We are going to do a feature wall in this style with a Yellow and White stripe! Except we are going to continue a stripe at one level extending to the right into a reading nook, and one at a second level to the left to pull the eye down and along the corridor to the boys' room.

Striped walls require a lot of prep work and I've been watching tutorial videos and trying to find a chalk line to borrow. I have the room mostly emptied so we are just waiting for the weekend, as it is a two person job!

Yellow is my happy color (could it be anything but?), and I know they are super-trendy, but chevrons make me happy too. Here is the picture I'm drawing inspiration from in the new office. I plan to hang several gold-leaf antique mirrors on top of the yellow stripe, in addition to what I call my "command central" pin board and calendar that currently hang above my desk. 

I love the juxtaposition of strong color and modern lines, with the delicate and timeless beauty of well-made antiques, and I can't walk past industrial antiques either. 

Upstairs, I want to paint the nursery with a grey feature wall so I can style it in a more feminine esthetic (this may be my favorite EVER girl's nursery space), or neutral (a space like this could go either gender just by switching out a couple soft furnishings). 

Upstairs in our house reads more traditional, with burgundy, gold, and neutral tones dictated by a large traditional rug, and my many found treasures (shells, stones, and pieces of nature). Downstairs is where we are experimenting with bold colors mixed with antiques.

Having the freedom to dream and create in a space is something I love, love, love. If only I had a team of tradespeople and an unlimited budget at my beck and call! Anyway, I am having lots of fun, if not making myself a little crazy with the possibilities.

It is just moving furniture around, after all, but in my mind it has become

painting elaborate designs

sourcing strong rugs and crib bedding at bargain prices

hanging rods and curtains (should I make them by hand?)

putting up a crib (should I repaint mine, since I can't justify buying a new one just because it is gorgeous

repainting the file cabinet

sewing slipcovers for a loaned glider with forest green plaid cushions

etc, etc, etc...

What do you get carried away with?

PS- Sorry for all the links. I'm not sure what the web ettiquette is when it comes to sharing others' pictures so I thought it best to link rather than snag and tag. That is a real internet-thing by the way - snag and tag.

Magpie

I love to find treasures.

For as long as I can remember, I have found special things in the bottom of cardboard boxes at garage sales, in forgotten closet corners of empty houses, in the eaves of my Pennsylvania grandmother's attic, in the dark recesses of my Michigan grandmother's basement, and in the slightly forlorn layers of rejection at thrift stores. 

Things other people have thrown out, left behind, or forgotten.

Treasures.

One joy of having Baby A move away, and Sprout go to school, is I have been able to browse op shops - thrift stores, with a bit more regularity. I found two new favorites where I am rewarded with success each time.

After a week in the sick-house, I went out on my own today and enjoyed every moment of slow and quiet browsing, looking over every rack and shelf while Counting Crows, Etta James, and Tom Petty serenaded me from the speakers in the drop ceiling. It was wonderful.

I love retro towels. Now that we have a house with cupboards, I am in danger of filling them with soft, colorful towels.

The plaid throw was a recent thrift store find. The fake crocodile weekender bag I picked up from council clean-up on the roadside. What should I put in it? Magazines? Toys? Throw blankets?

I picked this painting up at a garage sale when I was in high school. I painted the frame gold. My mother once noted that those flowers would make the vase top heavy and tip over. I don't mind. I've always loved it.

 

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I rescued these odd drawers from the roadside. They have some water damage but inside are very clean. I got some polka dot contact paper and will show you an "after" photo when I get time to clean them up.

The purple chair was another roadside pick up that I gave a coat of paint, as was the little table I painted grey and now use in the courtyard off our bedroom. The white chair was roadside pick up too, and I intended to restore it and use it in Sprout's room, but I love it in the courtyard, holding some gardening bits and bobs so it never made it inside.

I suppose I like found things because there is an experince, a history, or a story attached to them. My Michigan grandmother's house is beautiful, filled with her own finds over the years. Her approach to design has shaped me absolutely. My Pennsylvania grandmother is ever practical and thrifty. My father ran an antique restoration business when I was young. Also, I was raised with my parents creating innovative and lovely spaces with what could be found at hand. Interiors didn't come from a store, they grew out of life, relationships, and adventure.

Call me crazy for picking things up off the side of the road, or choosing a vintage thrift store thermos rather than buying a new one, but I love seeing the potential in something that has been passed by, and bringing it to life again.

Transition

When a woman is in labor, giving birth to a new life, transition is often the hardest part. The contractions go from spaced and predictable, to intense and accelerated. The feeling of being out of control as the labor shifts into the stage that will bring out life, is the hardest part for many women. 

It is in transition that you see women shouting in the movies. It is in transition that many women change their mind "no, the baby is not coming out, I can't do this!" On the other side of transition is delivery; life.

It only dawned on me today that my life will undergo a radical shift in the next two weeks.

1. Baby is scheduled to move to permanent care with a family member. We meet tomorrow to plan the transition.

2. Our very lovely and helpful friends that have been staying with us upon re-entry to Sydney will be moving out.

3. Sprout will join Small Sun at school.

4. Finch will be potty trained (he's halfway there).

I will go from having six people here with me during every day to having one.

I will go from a dizzying ping-pong game of nappy changes and potty accident clean-ups to the occasional undie-fail. 

I will go from feeding a crowd each meal, all day long, to packing lunches and eating quietly with one two year old.

And if Finch gets a spot at preschool in May when he turns three, well I'll be completely on my own several days a week.

Part of this scenario makes me want to put on a party dress and do a little dance. Alone time? Quiet? Meeting friends for coffee? Bring it!

I have spent this year as the frazzled friend, showing up at play dates with more than appropriate numbers of children, collapsing onto couches and nursing cup after cup of tea. The idea of replacing frazzled with some other adjective to describe the state of my life is alluring. Alluring...that sounds nice.

Yet, suddenly I wonder, what will I do? I know I will want to jump into lots of creative projects on the house, and garden, and design and sew some clothes, which means I will want to spend lots of money. Only one kid to drag to stores? Shopping! The budget will love me.

I don't really know what will happen next, and what to expect. Will I love it? Will I hate the lack of color a houseful of people and creative children creates?

I guess it is only temporary as we'll probably take another foster care placement later this year, and continue to pursue adopting a sibling group. I should probably enjoy it while it lasts!

What about you, what would you dream of doing with a windfall of quiet(er) time?

PS- I'm completely ignoring the "they're growing up too fast" aspect of this situation. I'll cry over that a little bit later, I'm sure.

 

 

For Love of Summer/Happy New Year

I love summer in Australia so much. The kids are all home, hubby gets some time off of work, we have no obligations or schedule to keep. In my not-so-secret fantasy life, we are a work-from home/un-schooling/large family living in the country eating our own fruit and veg and eggs. You know, like a blogger I am newly admiring, Soule Mama.

But we are not a large family (yet), and The Captain is gone 7:40-6:40, and there's school and the extras, even when I try to keep it all simple. I am such a home body!

By the end of the year I am exhausted and wondering "how on earth am I going to make it?" Then, miraculously, in Australia summer arrives. We pick up a box of mangoes and eat our way to happiness, juice running down our chins. 

When The Captain is home, we can wake up in the morning and say "let's go to the beach" and enjoy an amazing day. 

Baby gets to feel the sand on his toes, and get dipped in the sea. Is it his first time? I imagine so.

Finch embraces the beach with everything in him, delighting in the warmth and graininess of it, while Sprout makes "hand cars" to sit in.

We can go out to see the fireworks, or choose to stay in, watching a movie and eating ice cream before racing to the top of the hill to watch the explosions from our neighborhood. 

I am mainly proud of two things I did last year, one with intention and the other by following small nudges until we found ourselves on the other side of a line of commitment that has changed our whole world.

First I lost 20 pounds. I have never done a diet in my life, so I am really proud of what I achieved. How to live out the change is still a process, but I can't believe I did it.

Second, we became foster carers and having Baby A in our lives has really been an immense experience. Some days I love it, some days I am ready to throw in the towel, most of the time I am amazed.

At New Year's time we often have resolutions and clear ideas of what we want to see changed in our lives. For me, summer is a time to refocus on the target I am always aiming towards; a time to find new passion for the same pursuits. 

For us, last year was full of vision and ideas. This year I don't have much clarity.

What I do know is that I want to do what I like. I am the type of person that always asks "what should I do" instead of "what do I want to do?" Selfishness aside, I think it is good to feel out my own thoughts and opinions and desires. For me, this season of mothering young children at home is a daily sacrifice. There are starting to be little moments to breathe between meeting little people's needs, and in those moments I am getting to think about what I like, what I dream, what I hope.

So that is what I want this year. I want to reconnect with hope, and enthusiasm, and energy. I want to be inspired and create.

My children are old enough now that I can tell them "wait, I am doing something that is important to me." I think this year we need to make that transition of the kids respecting me doing me own thing sometimes. I love watching their play become more complicated and involved, and it seems that when I say "I'm busy," they often develop a fantastic game or pretend.

So this year, as I continue to do what I am doing, I want to feel my own self more, and know where I am strong and where I am weak. I want to know what I want, and go out and do it.

Today is New Year's Day and I painted a feature wall in Sprout's room in the most summery shade of pink. Putting it on the walls, it looked like a perfect summer lip gloss. The color made me happy, and that's a good way to start the year.

Between Christmas and New Years

The time between Christmas and New Years is a padded cacophony of joy. The kids are playing in boxes, and climbing on their father, who lounges on the couch for a grand total of 17.8 minutes a year.

Ever since we came home we've let them run riot.

Yes, we've been gone. First we went to Nashville to spend a glorious week and a half with all of my family. For the first time in about four years, we all gathered from our global corners (Canada, Tanzania, NYC, and Australia) to sip and sup and glow together. Despite my brother being sick, we had a great time and especially for the cousins, it was everything I wanted it to be. 

Then we drove up to Michigan to spend time with aunts, uncles, and my cousins. Again, the time was so fantastic, and I'm incredibly glad that we went.

We weren't planning on going this year, but when we discovered that the whole family was convening at my parent's house in Nashville, it was too good of an opportunity to miss.

We were amazed at the continued connection with our friends in Nashville. The relationships we had there took so long to build (Nashville has a high "flake factor"), but many of them seemed circumstantial and I expected that after we moved, over time, most of them would naturally dissolve. 

Both our core group of life-long friends, and our greater circle all rallied to embrace us. Some cancelled trips to spend time with us, others travelled from neighboring cities, and in general people went out of their way at the most busy time of the year to spend time with us. It impacted me and I am still processing what it all meant for me.

The trip to Michigan was also very special. My grandfather organized a special evening to celebrate us all coming to town. All my in-state relatives made repeated efforts to see us while we were there. Perhaps more than any other time. They were so generous and enthusiastic to see us. Like in Nashville, we felt celebrated and valued.

My grandmother has Alzheimers and is was so wonderful to see her interacting with my children, and getting to spend time just being near her, even if she doesn't know me anymore.

The trip was so worth the 40 hour door-to-door effort of getting there. The only shadow was having to leave baby with another foster family while we were gone. Now we are all reunited and shaking the walls with the happy exuberance of being in our own home, in our own routine. It is wonderful to go, and wonderful to come home again.

 

Changing the World

When I was in junior high I was part of a church youth group that was experiencing a lot of growth. Kids were just pouring in and latching on to the message that was being championed by the leaders. They said we were world changers, that we would make history, and that we would do amazing things for God - even bigger things than their generation had done.

Life goes on and we grew up. We struggled through high school and choosing college or YWAM, missions trips and backpacking Europe, and choosing a major. We all knew we were supposed to do something amazing. Something absolutely ground-shaking. I couldn't find anything at school that seemed to fit that description.

In the face of real life, life that didn't look exciting or important, many, many of the kids who grew up hearing that message threw in the towel when it came to believing they would impact the world for Christ. It was a phase that they went through. It wasn't real in the long-run.

They were waiting for something electric, but it didn't come. What they didn't know, what the youth leaders didn't tell us, is that each life lived for Jesus changes the world, and even the most meaningful life can feel mundane.

When we first accepted Baby into our home in June, for the first time I felt that I was absolutely doing what I was meant to do with my life. It was a life-altering experience. 

I really wish I could show you pictures. When Baby came I didn't know if he would make it through the night. His pacifier covered 1/3 of his face. He was grey. I knew with every fibre of my being that I was fighting for his life. More than any person on the planet, I was fighting for him. Because I fought for him, he has leaped up the growth charts. While he is still facing challenges that we have yet to diagnose, he is fat and pink and happy, and he blows raspberries. 

I was living on a high, feeling that what I was doing with my life really mattered. I could physically see the difference my life was making. I grew into a new understanding of my purpose. It was amazing.

I still know all that to be true. I have crossed a line in this foster care experience where I have a new level of clarity about what my life is for. I feel so amazingly purposeful.

At the same time, even though I am doing this great thing that I am so excited about, it still boils down to the routine of diapers, bottles, tummy time and rocking, which aren't exactly thrilling activities. 

I am changing the world, I am making history by changing the course of this one life, I am giving my strength to my Father in Heaven. This is my sacrifice of praise. 

It doesn't always feel amazing. Sometimes in the night I can't get my eyes to come unglued while I'm feeding Baby. Other nights my spirit is on fire, interceding on his behalf. 

Changing the world doesn't always feel like something special. That's the bummer about what happened to so many of my friends from way back when. They kept waiting for some trumpet from heaven to tell them when they had really finally done it - when they had changed the world.

But changing the world isn't like that (most of the time). 

While I've become an advocate for foster care (and adoption, with a strong dose of "only if you've got a fire inside you"), I'm not telling everyone I meet that they should go out and foster or adopt.

I think each of us has something inside of our hearts that makes us sing, something that ignites our energy and passion. Something that we can't let go of no matter what. That thing is the thing we should be doing. For me it is connecting with children in need and nurturing a child that is hurting.

It doesn't have to be "important" or "spiritual" or fit in a church shaped box, it just has to make us come alive.

I wish I could go back in time and add a couple more layers the the message we received as kids. I would tell us to not worry about finding the thing that we think will make God happy with our life. I would tell us, instead, to go out and try lots of different things to look for that one thing that keeps bringing us back, messing with our heads, and pulling our hearts. It's when we partner that passion with the power of heaven that we have a life that changes the world, whether we feel electric or not.

 

It's Happening Again

It's happening again. That squeezy feeling in my throat and the tendency to stand quietly a few steps further from life than normal. 

It's happening again, the flashes of memory from times past and far away.

It's happening again, the moments of confusion when writing the date (month/day/year or day/month/year?), and the fuzziness when someone talks about "spring" (when is spring again?).

It's happening again, feeling annoyed at my son who throws his knowledge of "America" around like a red cape in front of a bull. What does he mean when he says the air smells so American? What does that even mean?

Except I do know what he means. He walked outside and the air was crackling. The day was alluring to him with promise and adventure. To him that is America, and he is right.

I don't know if I love my country or if I hate my country, but I miss it.

It is such a miserable feeling to love the South so, so much, but to not feel that it would love my children the way I want them to be loved. Maybe I am a coward for leaving and not being the change. Maybe I am brave to call out what I saw and walk away.

I miss green fields. I miss the explosion of spring that makes you think the earth is on drugs and nothing could be greener than it is already. Even the light turns green in the tree tunnels going to my parent's house in the woods. 

I miss the houses. I miss wooden siding and wide front porches with hanging ferns and decks where you sit with friends and drink ice tea. 

I miss crepe myrtles electric pink on a hot summer's day, the bark smooth and cool under hand.  I miss hostas in the shade, and white picket fences holding back spills of cone flower, and black eyed susans. 

I miss the richness and ambience of the great estates, despite the injustices that occured in them. I can't help but love my hometown, my roots, my nest.

I miss the creative and eclectic self that existed there that I can't seem to find, despite having unpacked each box from the shipping container years ago. 

It is happening again. I am missing home.

 

New Mommy Folly

This is my fourth time to become a mother. Each time has been completely different. Adoption is not the same as giving birth "naturally" is not the same as having a c-section is not the same as foster care.

I am not little baby Ant's mother, but he needs me to act like it. I am acting like I am. I am feeding at five a.m. I am cuddling a thousand whimpers as they turn to cries. I am anticipating needs and meeting them. I am praying in the night. 

For so many reasons this mothering experience is markedly different than my previous ones. One way that is really impacting me at the moment is the expectations I am placing on myself. 

With my babies I always gave myself permission to step away from life for those initial intense months. With Small Sun I wrapped us up in a cozy bubble and spent months working on our bond and attachment. It took the highest priority and I was okay saying no to anything that interfered with that effort.

With The Sprout I was forced to only focus on myself and my babies (Small Sun was 18 months when Sprout was born so I did have two babies), because my delivery ended up being traumatic and it was weeks before I was up and about. After I started to heal physically, I could only manage the tiny circle of my two little children. Caring for the two of them took just about all the energy I had.

It wasn't until Finch that I discovered I was nearly anemic and started taking iron supplements. Doing so really did change my life. Now I can start to clearly identify when my iron is low and I need to ramp up my intakes. Then, with Finch's birth via c-section, I was forced to take it easy again until I healed. As with my other children, my mothers (my mother and my mother-in-law), and other relatives came to help. We are so blessed to have family that surrounds us with help when we need it.

But this time? This time I am going solo, and I am going hard.

Don't get me wrong, we have an amazing community that has brought us meals, helped us move, taken our children for play dates, and helped us out in a myriad of ways. Our community is amazing: I'm not writing this about our community because they are everything we could hope for.

I am talking about myself. I have not given myself any permission to take it easy or to let things go. I am busting my tail, and nearly losing it some days, trying to keep everything just like it was before the little Ant arrived. Once in awhile when I am explaining why I forgot my money for playgroup/haven't volunteered at school/attended the second playgroup/run out of bread and milkagain/forgotten to return a phone call/forgotten my own phone number, I say "well, can you call it baby brain if you're just caring for a baby and you're not recovering from childbirth?"

Just caring for a baby.

Like it is a little thing I do on the side.

I am trying to do this like it is a little thing I do on the side.

I am always apologizing to everyone. 

I am always feeling guilty.

I feel like a failure in a million ways. 

(I'm not trying to write a downer post - blame it on the Captain, he's playing melancholy music.)

No, this is not a sob-fest, I am just trying to get it out there. I am trying to reveal the chokehold on my throat that has grown tighter and tighter until I'm fighting for breath.

Why can't I just spread the "no, can't - new baby in the house" excuse blanket out like I have in the past?

Well for one thing, I have a child in school now, and I am more invested and committed in a variety of activities than I have ever been before. There is more to keep up with, period.

Also, I wonder if the fact that this mothering relationship is temporary plays a role in my approach to it? I don't want to clear my life's schedule for something that won't last. I want to do my solid best by this baby, but I don't want to give him my heart completely like I did with my babies, because he won't be staying here.

How do I do it? How do I love him enough that he knows love, and not so much that my heart breaks when he leaves? 

I'm trying to tack him onto our life like a post-it note. I am trying not to let things change for my children, while also trying to let him be the center for some space in the universe, as babies should be. 

I'm trying not to let anyone down, or come up short anywhere. 

Now, more than ever, I am trying to get dressed for me in the morning. I try to be fresh and energetic when I go out into the world. And other than the days when all four of my children end up standing, crying on the uphill walk into school, revealing the fragility of our balancing act, I think I look like I am pulling this off. People call me supermom and admire my cape.

I am mostly honest about how difficult this is. I tell people that it is hard and we sometimes struggle, but I don't know that people believe that when my hair is done, my lip gloss shiny, and my children adorable. 

I'm not sure what I'm writing about in this post (the moody music is pulling me all over the place!). I think what I am trying to say is that I'm pulling this off, mostly, but I feel like a failure a lot of the time. I sometimes suspect that it that lousy Evil whispering lies like a bad song that you hate on the radio until you've heard it so many times you begin to sing along out of familiarity. 

Tomorrow I'm going in nearly an hour before school starts to have a meeting with Small Sun's teacher. Then I'm taking the dog to the vet, then Sprout to catch her carpool to preschool. Next I'll head with the two little boys to a fabric store to get supplies to sew a dress for a friend's birthday gift this weekend. I'll get home in time to prepare the Ant for his contact visit with his mum. She wants to bathe him tomorrow so I'll have to pack all his bath gear. Then I'll clean the house while Finch is sleeping, and bake a cake because we're having friends over for a play date after school. I'll wake Finch up from his nap, run the preschool carpool, get Small Sun from school, pick up the dog from the vet, then rush home to receive the Ant on his return and host the play date. I imagine I'll make something for dinner sometime in there, and there will be the necessary homework and bedtime routine. 

I never would have attempted a day like that in the past. The very thought would push me over the edge. But I know a day like that is just an ordinary day for so many mothers, so I rally. I take my iron, I drink an increasing amount of tea, and I just try to make it happen.

Fostering is challenging my capacity and I can't always tell if I'm growing or cracking.

 

The Time, How it Flies

The Captain has declared me to have the lowest possible threshold for internet deterrent. That is, since we moved to the new house and have been waiting for our internet to be set up, we've had to use a wifi card. I have been on Facebook twice, only read my mail on my phone, and not read a single blog. Evidently turning the wifi device on, waiting 38 seconds for it to power up, and connecting to it through my computer is just too. much. work.

Somehow, waiting for my little internet making device has reminded me of another time in my life when I spent a lot of time waiting to get on to the internet.

When I was 15 and living in St. Petersburg, I met another missionary kid in Odessa, Ukraine. We became friends, and a teenage romance bloomed and blossomed. As has been the pattern with each relationship I've had, writing played a key role.

We used to spend the evening writing tomes back and forth. I'd receive a massive email from this guy, and immediately write an equally wordy response. With each email sent I had to wait for the crunching and screeching of the modem, with its little blinking lights, and then get offline again. We'd email back and forth, up to four volumes a night, finally calling it quits about 2 a.m.

While we were never officially dating, we were missionary kid dating, which means you are having a relationship but not calling it dating. I completely thought I would marry this guy. When we both moved back to the States, and he want to Bible school in Florida, I went down to visit pretty often. He broke off our non-dating relationship and I was heartbroken. Not long after, he proposed to a girl at Bible school.

Long story short, they got married, moved to Africa to be real-life missionaries, had three kids, moved back to the U.S. and eventually divorced in the midst of some really heart-breaking circumstances. 

When I was growing up and imagining my future, I always thought I would be a missionary somewhere. I envisioned myself single, or maybe married, living in an orphanage, taking care of kids. I nearly had that life.

This is a very odd way to blog about my eleven year anniversary with The Captain, but as we celebrated our marriage this weekend, I spent some time thinking about the life I almost had. I know some people think about what could have been, had they ended up with another partner. Whenever I look back at that relationship, I let out a sigh of relief. It was such a near miss. I could very easily have married someone who wasn't right for me, and who ultimately had some very big issues that led to the disintigration of his marriage. 

I don't know what would have happened if he hadn't dumped me. Would I have married him? Would he have asked me?

In the space left after my non-dating break-up, my friendship with the Captain had more room to grow. Eventually that wonderful and nourishing friendship developed some romantic tones and it was the gift of a lifetime to get to marry my best friend.

Eleven years in, I am amazed at how very perfect we are for each other, and how I respect him more now than I did before. I am amazed at what we are accomplishing as a team, and so, so thankful that the things that are closest and most dear to our hearts are still reflected in each other. 

Instead of living in a third-world orphanage, I am now living in a beautiful modern house. Instead of sacrificing everything to care for a whole lot of children, I am living a life of daily sacrifice for four children. And instead of being married to a missionary, I am married to a genius-brainiac-software developer with a voracious appetite for learning, the strongest work ethic ever, full of vision and passion, and motivated by compassion to live his life to benefit others, starting with his own family. 

Show me all the fish in the sea, and I doubt you could find his equal.

Eleven years in, I am so, so blessed to have a man in my life who loves me well, and keeps me connected to the internet.

Getting Back Up

Today I was driving home from picking the kids up from school/preschool. I was just doing my normal thing - doing what I had to do - but then I felt that flutter inside. Hope. Optimism. Cheer had returned.

It is amazing how heavy my insides feel when hope's not there. I felt like I was carrying around lead in my ribs. Thank God that feeling is starting to subside.

I swung through the liquor store and picked up some boxes. I think I might begin to tackle the bookcases.

I'm scrubbing my soul with my new Mindy Smith album (stupid love). Captain bought it for me awhile back, and I listened to it once and then forgot about it. I am usually unimpressed at first listen to most albums, and then I fall in love. 

Good stuff.