see you next year

All day I have been reflecting on this past year.

2013 has been robust:

{highs}

marked with wonder & excitement; beauty & adventure; laughter & togetherness; health & optimism; and

{lows}

burdened with grief & disappointment; uncertainty & loss; tears & separation; illness & depression.

Today I feel:

thankful to have made my way across life's terrain to this: the eve of a new year and

a sense of peace, knowing I am not alone in this journey.

I have no doubt the new year will be at least as treacherous and disquieting as the last but I maintain confidence 2014 will also bring with it a beauty and hope I cannot know until we get there. 

I look forward to the terrain ahead.

-------

HAPPY NEW YEAR 

to you and yours!

getting cozy with the funk

I have arrived
 {again. still. always}

At the space between what is and what is to come.

I've thrown myself into clinical work and motherhood and teaching and research and wifery and writing and relationships - both near and far.

I have set my goals and met them.  My life is full and largely marked by success.

I sometimes feel intimated by my self but in the next moment, I feel underwhelmed.

I have such confidence and security and yet, here I sit - in an existential funk.

 

It is both familiar and uncomfortable; my impulse to fill the funk with distraction: with people & tasks. 

I have been giving in to the impulse for weeks but this afternoon I awoke from sleeping off an overnight shift to stare the funk in the face {of course, when my defenses are down} and it feels a bit relentless at the moment. 

Distraction is no longer helping so I am giving myself permission to make myself comfortable in the discomfort. I am intentionally opening myself up to feel aimless and questioning and selfish and challenged and unknowing. 

I want to choose to see this time as functional, rather than despairing.

Tonight I felt guilty for my funk though {for how it distances me} and apologized to my spouse.

He said, without skipping a beat:

"Daph, satisfaction for you is a process, not a destination...the funk is part of your process and it will pass."

Fingers crossed.

parce que

And is he worthy?
asks the father to his child.

A heart for the one and
A head for the other

Though we are not comprised
of the same
Do we share enough so that
love for the other
might be our pleasured game?

And do you love him?
the father probes.
Her lips do not hesitate:
Yes
Why? is the father's reply.

His hair and how
it flops to each side.
His mouth and how
it dances with words.
His mind and how
it transforms everyday thoughts.
His hands and how
they never seem to fail.
His patience and how
it wades through her excitement.
His love and how
it shows in all things.

And see, she says:
A heart for one and a head for the other
A fitting complement for each.

I love him for who I am not.
I love him for who we are together -
far richer than being alone.

With that, her smile curls
into her eyes
and the matter is settled.

it's my party and i'll poop when i want to

Our youngest makes his own decisions.

About everything.

He has his own vision, his own way, and his own timing.

It is who he is and who he has been since the moment he was born.

We were excited two summers ago when, at 2.5 years old,  he initiated toilet training.
Our oldest was toilet trained with no trouble in a weekend at age 3. 
We were feeling pretty good about our kids' toileting proficiencies.

And this time 'round, our youngest was so good about it...until he wasn't.

Once he turned 3, he still wanted to wear the underwear but didn't want to use the toilet so we did a lot of laundry and transitioned to pull-ups at night.  "It's is a season," {I thought} "he'll get there..."

 We remained hopeful he'd be trained by the next summer...
but he wasn't having it.

For nearly a year we tried:

{Reminders & Timers}

"Oops, I have accident already.  It's just a little poop though"  

As if there is ever such a thing as "a little poop"

{Rewards}

"Um, I don't want a treat"

{Consequences}

"I'll help you...I love doing laundry...!" or

"Look at me! I am rinsing my underwear all by myself!"

{Autonomy & Privacy}

This never turned out well. Ever.

{Social Shame: All your friends are moving up to the big room and you'll be left out..}

 "That's okay, I'll make new friends..."

Confounding!

So earlier this month {1.5 years after starting the potty training process, mind you}, we went hard core: 

We took away all of his joy {no treats, no shows, no snuggles, no toys, no nothing} unless he pooped in the potty.  

It was a tough few days that violated every part of my empowering therapist/parent self-image.

But it was time.

And his poop has now made it into the toilet for 24 days...in a row!

-----

But he makes his own decisions. 

About everything.

And lest we forget who is in control of his process:

 just this morning, he stood from his play to tell me he had to go poop {with hand pressed to butthole} and turned to face me with a coy pause as I encouraged him to make his way to the bathroom:

"Mommy, I have to think about it first..."

reflection on teaching: is & ought

this semester i am teaching a graduate course: 

interpersonal practice with individuals, families, and small groups {basically, an intro course on clinical practice}

i am enjoying myself and i feel like the students and i have an easy rapport. 

until last week

when i handed back the first assignment for the class, graded.

the first few weeks of the course have been {intentionally & relentlessly} self-reflective in nature for my students - only half of whom are actually clinical practice. 

{the other half are policy, management, and community organization focused} 

so, to make the experience even "more better," i asked them to draw a genogram, plot the interpersonal patterns and reflect on the patterns {as interpreted/understood by the student} among 3 generations of their family.  

and then, write a paper - complete with feelings and reflections on feelings. 

the students, for the most part, did exactly what i had asked and took the reflection questions to heart.  many stated they went into the project thinking it would be "easy" and then found themselves needing to take frequent breaks and found the process emotional {some reported tears were shed}. 

i remember that from my own reflective genogram over a decade ago.

26 families.  26 stories.  347 pages of interactive comments.

it was such an honor to bear witness to these narratives.

but the night i handed them back, i was exhausted.

i knew i would be consumed with grading so i had completed the next lesson plan in advance:

diversity in practice

{spiritual/religious. racial. gender and sexuality. educational. political. socioeconomic}

intellectually, it had seemed like a natural material progression at the time...

but it was a heavy topic and i was zonked before we even started.

i did not come to class with bells on

and

students were preoccupied with getting their papers back and digesting the feedback.

the energy in the room was a mish-mash;

we fumbled through but i don't think it was pretty.

we discussed the complex dynamics - assumptions, previous experiences, stereotypes, vulnerability, anxiety, bravado - that enter a room with someone with whom one meets.  

we discussed how these are at play regardless of one's {social work} role; 

the dynamics are a part of being human.

at one point, students turned the topic toward what the dynamic between social worker and the other "ought to be" and i found myself knee-deep in a version of Hume's is-ought dilemma: 

you cannot get an ought from an is.

 and

in the week or so since we last met, i have been turning this discussion over in my mind.  

what is a take-away?

today, it came to me:

power

 

power is an inherent dynamic within our work - within our humanness - and it shapes the reality of how we come together as individuals, families, and as groups.  i would argue that power is an organizing principal in our daily lives - one which has potential to be used for good or for evil.  

power that is in balance, pursuant to the situation, has great potential for good.  

on the other hand, 

power that is out of balance creates a problematic template for relationship and decision-making.  

the reality of social work - and really, the moral and ethical drive we have to pursue this work -  is: 

we live & work with/in systems {families, organizations, communities, schools, governments} in which power is out of balance.  as we go, we need to be able to acknowledge the dynamic reality that "is" and have a vision for what "ought to be" while embracing our obligation to intentionally engage in the leg work born of that gap - to bring greater congruence and balance between the is and ought.

in that way, i have been thinking about the wonky energy in the room during our last class.  

i am wishing i had taken the time to acknowledge the obvious reality of the power dynamic that emerged when i passed out the graded assignments. 

i was tired and assumed the previously established and easy "ought to be" of our rapport together, 

rather than acknowledging and working with the shift in what "was."

{always learning}

things are not always what they seem

I am about to leave the house for a meeting: all skirted and showered and organized.

I feel pretty good about this minor accomplishment because it will continue to perpetuate the myth that I have my shit together.  But on the inside of my head...and currently at our dining room table 

{to which I will return after said meeting} is this:

This is even a "cleaned up" version of the day thus far and represents the seven billion things that are simultaneously the most important things.

{not pictured: dirty clothes, unmade beds, dirty dishes in sink, nasty floors, rotting fruit, moldy shower & the list goes on...}

So, off I go rock the myth for 1.5 hours and then return home, pour myself an adult beverage, and get back to tackling my hot mess.

Happy Friday!

good enough parent confession #5: riding the waterslide

"I want to stand here by myself," he tells me as the bell signals impending waves.

"That's fine," I say, further directing him to remain close enough that he could hold my hand if needed.

"Okay" And with that, he flashes me his delicious smile and walks into the oncoming waves.

{Well, mama, I say to myself, it is time to pony up...}

I splash my way to him and pick him up. 

He laughs as I carry him in my arms and start removing his life jacket and then...

He stops laughing

He starts squirming and

He starts scream-crying.

You see, we were going to hang in the wave pool for one more round of waves and then ride the water slide two more times before going home...as long as he made safe choices. 

{making safe choices, a growing area of difficulty for him that afternoon}

Screaming. 

Bargaining. Big big tears. Back arched. Body rigid. 

More screaming.

I consider the ease of riding the water slide "one more time, pleeeeease" and how that would likely calm everyone down and {maybe} get us home with fewer tears.  

So tempting.  

But I decide against it and instead, pack up our bag and hoist both bag and boy across my shoulders.

                           

He screams bloody murder all the way to the car.

"I wanna go on the water slide! I wanna go on the water slide!  I wanna go on the water slide!"

He pushes against me and kicks his feet.

And then braces himself against my attempts to buckle him in to his seat - so much so that I have to take a break -

To laugh

 {it was that or cry}

And record this epic tantrum on film.

I finally get him buckled in and we drive home with his cries on repeat.

45 minutes later, he was sucking his thumb and snuggled into my lap on the couch.

My bathing suit was still damp and my arms were shaking from the exertion of tantrum-wrangling.

I kiss his sweaty head and whisper, 

"I had a wonderful day with you.  I am sorry the end of our adventure was so disappointing and sad."

"It's okay," he says with his thumb still in his mouth, "I make safe choices tomorrow."

-----

confession number 5: 

Sometimes you have to be "that parent" who takes her kid from the water park, kicking & screaming

{even if it feels bad}

and

Laughs {or smirks} when emotionally overwhelmed with her child 

and

Asks her other child to hold the camera while it is recording bad behavior.

Sometimes safe choices are hard choices and you have to trust you will get a do-over tomorrow.

life is sweet

i am standing atop a boulder, overlooking the cool river rippling below and watching activity on the opposite shore.  i am preparing to jump - i feel trepidation and confidence. feelings that reflect my experience in real-time and the general feelings of my inner mind. 

this, my last day of summer, is one dedicated to reflection, despite myself.

in a couple of weeks i will close out an era.

it means little to most people i encounter but it has BIG meaning to me.

the culmination of 8 years of instability and countless hurdles, more school, long hours, loads of debt, and lots of tears.  

yes, in a couple of weeks i will submit my application for a full social work license and will have reached the light at the end of the tunnel.

i am not sure what the light will bring as i forge into the season ahead.  

standing above the water, i can't help but recall  a conversation with my parents a couple of years ago when i was really struggling with the implications of turning down an offer for full-time employment in order to continue working 3 part-time jobs, with an odd and unpredictable schedule.  they know my decisions have caused me angst but their encouragement that day was this: savor this time. 

set a long-range goal and then stay present in the moment.

{also knowing that is a tall order for this gal}

remember that our present circumstance is my choice made up of a series of decisions we established

after weighing the options and identifying what is best for me and for our little family.

the journey here has not been easy or ideal {though i recognize it might look like it to some}.

i feel confident in the decision to work hard at the opportunities availed to me.

i feel proud of staying present {mostly} and being able to hold steady. 

in this time, i have had the luxury of the both:and -

finding viable employment in which i experience meaning and joy and overall fulfillment and

being able to stay at home many days with our kids.

my work schedule is flexible enough to take long road trips, join field trips, be a secret reader, sit alone in a hammock and/or just take time away. 

i feel blessed

and

as i get closer to the light at the end of the tunnel, 

i feel reassured that this was the right journey for me - for us. 

looking ahead my palms sweat with familiar trepidation in the face of the unknown but i am savoring how i feel in this moment: abundantly thankful {and relieved}. 

feeling lucky

"Hey, how many dead people have you seen?"  

he asks and quickens his pace to catch my hand in his as we walked toward the bus stop.  

We are in the middle of our homemade summer camp {just the two of us} and had, only moments before, polished off a discussion on the coping function of alcohol.

"Not like ghosts or anything but real people?  I mean, what is that like - to watch someone die?"

My step falters ever so slightly as I embrace his inquiry and receive his hand.  

It doesn't take me long to recall how I felt as I stood beside a family just days before as they entwined hands across their loved one's chest to confirm the last breath.  Even now, as I write, I am merely hours removed from such an experience. 

My brow perspires as I struggle with how to quantify my experiences. 

I am holding my breath and misunderstanding his question. 

He shifts his hand in mine and I exhale, finding relief in acknowledging the heart of his question is actually about the experience itself - of being in the presence of death.

This {I think to myself} this is why I love my time with you so much.  

In the middle of a bustling city, after we have spent part of our day trying to see who can burp the longest, you ask me about the soft underbellies of life.  You grab my hand and ask questions that catch me off guard.  

I love that you have to clarify that you are not asking me about ghosts.  

I love how you can appear aloof and distracted and sassy and then initiate sharp, poignant conversations that demonstrate how adept you are at taking in and processing what happens around you. 

I know I have said this a million times and it is your job to poke holes in my sincerity but that doesn't take away from the reality that I spend so many moments in a day watching you, admiring you, and thinking:  

I love you and I feel so lucky to be your mom.

seven bottles

"Here, shuffle these," they said, handing me a stack of giant cards. 

A gold emblem on the black back of each.

We were crouched in our seats, trying to set up for a reading.

My first.

It was dark outside - save the occasional spotlight from the headlights of a passing car or a flash of lightening.  Jonathan Bernstein was on the radio, trying to be heard above the steady rain - the competition unable to rouse the kids who were sleeping in their seats.

"Try to clear your mind and think of a question you have or something you'd like guidance on."

Clearing my mind was a tall order this time of night but I tried.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, concentrating only on the feeling of my lungs:

Inflating. Deflating. Inflating...

I absentmindedly shuffled the deck in my hands and handed them back.

 

They took the cards from me, straightened them in their hands, and then splayed the cards across the fabric.

It took a number of tries but the cards finally did what they wanted and remained splayed long enough for me to select four.

They set those four aside and gathered the remainder together, removing them from the reading space.

They placed 3 cards {face down and vertical} side-by-side.

The 4th card was placed {horizontally} in the space above the trio.

"These three," they said, "represent the past, present, and future."

"And this one," placing a finger on the top card, "represents the overall theme of your life."

I suppressed a giggle.

Readings and horoscopes and planets and rising suns are not my thing.  

It is, however, my sibling's thing and they were crouched here in the car, with me {the skeptic}, getting ready to speak into my life with the wisdom they know.

Inflating. Deflating. Inflating...

The past

Full of words, broad themes and vague descriptions that seemed to barely fit or resonate.  

The present

A bit more resonate.  I shifted my body closer, wanting to make sure I didn't miss anything.

The future

Spoke right to the question I had formulated while shuffling the cards.  I got goosebumps.  

And then, this:

An overall theme of feeling overwhelmed by options - under water and suffocated by an octopus on your face.  Unable to see that, while all the bottles seem like they represent something different, they actually are the same.  Blind to the fact that if you would just take the octopus off your face, you might be able to see and attend to the bottle of your heart {cheesy, I know}.  

The description of feeling and thought process was so right on.   

Tears sprang to my eyes and the reading stuck with me for a while.  

In fact, I started this post a day later but abandoned it as I got swallowed back underwater.

But last week I had to make decisions. 

Big decisions. 

Ones that required me to really attend to my goals and convictions and beliefs.  

Last week I feel like I was forced to rip the octopus off my face.  

And that which felt overwhelming and obscured and suffocating has shifted. 

Into something that feels overwhelming {it is change, after all} and exciting & content & right.

legacies, lyrics, and living in the now

I wanna have friends that I can trust, that love me for the man I’ve become not the man I was.
I wanna have friends that will let me be all alone when being alone is all that I need.
I wanna fit in to the perfect space, feel natural and safe in a volatile place.
And I wanna grow old without the pain, give my body back to the earth and not complain.

 - From the Avett Brothers' "The Perfect Space"

Every time I hear this song, I think of my father. 

About his journey to be loved for the man he's become, not the man that he was.

I know, that in so many ways, the story is my father's to tell.

About who he was. About what he endured. About who he's become.

But it is also ours - the story belongs to our family.

Before. During. After.

Most of what I remember from Before relies upon flickering memories of childhood, photos, and the narrations we've pieced together over time. 

Provider. Adventurer. Creator. Innovator. Father.

And then, 

there was the playful afternoon he chased my sister into the living room, 

jumping up to kick her gently in the bum.

{Crack. Shudder. Thud. Silence. Moan}

There was blood.

Plaster was missing - down to the metal frame.

Evening shadows played across the front window.

The year that followed was tough.  

{Who am I kidding?!?} 

 The years that followed were tough --- they continue to be tough.

So much was the same...but different.

Time away from work. Doctors' appointments. Sleeping - always sleeping. Early retirement. Massage school. Motorcycles.  Charts and graphs. Pain. Impulse buys. House renovations. High school graduations. College drop-offs. Weddings. Innovations and Ideas. Diagnoses. Re-diagnoses.

Emotional Disconnect.

During.

And then, an "official" diagnosis: Traumatic Brain Injury.

Too late. Anger. Frustration. Sleeping - always sleeping. Pain. Massage and more massage. Journals and writing. Charts and graphs. Doctors appointments and aversions. Esalen. House renovations. High school graduations. College graduations. Funerals. Innovations and Ideas and Calculations.

Emotional Disconnect.

After.

We each have our experience, our impressions, our hopes and disappointments. 

Our resentments. 

I spent the first years of my marriage, writing letters and demanding my father take responsibility for the myriad ways our family was messed up.  The list was long.

 But it was not {all} his fault. 

It is our family.  Our story.  Our in-elasticity.  Our triggers.  Our dysfunction...together.

I stopped writing my angry letters long ago.  Probably not soon enough to leave some things unsaid.

But I stopped writing as I began to internalize four truths:

one:

 Every family is messed up - even the bright, shiny "perfect" ones

two:

Holding someone accountable for things beyond his control is like trying to hold water in your cupped hand - it always dribbles out to nothing substantial

three:

Living in the present and creating space for people to be be who they are {in the moment} feels better

four:

Our family still has a "together."  We continue to seek each other out and we continue to try.

In fact, last week we all expended concerted and intentional effort to spend time in the same space as one another.

We traveled hundreds and thousands of miles to reunite, recreate, and relax...together.

And one of those nights, while playing cards, I thought:

How lucky we are - to have one another.  

To have a father {and mother} who have imprinted such a legacy on us:

Grace {however guarded}, Perseverance, Self-reflection, Loyalty, and Courage 

to find our voice(s) and  keep coming back to what is and what will be.

"...to feel natural and safe in a volatile place."

good enough parent confession #4: off the reservation

The other day our 3 year old came 6 inches from walking off the curb into an oncoming car.

Our oldest ran after him, yelling

STOP!

Neither were far from me so I was able to lunge sideways to push our eldest back at his chest and catch our youngest before he left the curb but it was not soon enough for the driver to have confidence. 

As I grabbed our youngest's arm, my peripheral vision caught sight of the car swerving into the center lane and my ears were assaulted by its horn.

{thud, stop, thud, stop, thud, stop, thud}

I thought my heart might explode.

Instead, 

I held him in my arms & walked calmly through the crosswalk as he scolded me for holding his arm "too tight."

Earlier that day, our 9 year old asked a friend to join us for a play date and they proceeded to be the most demandy-pants, self-centered, entitled duo on the planet {true to age}  For instance, they got kicked out of the gift shop and spent the rest of their museum time pining to return and plotting ways to spend their {parents'} money. 

It was our first day of summer and I had been looking forward to hanging out with both boys - doing something fun to start the season off right.  But, I should have known it was going to be this kind of a day when it started with poop on the wall and a tearful search for "the perfect outfit." 

Maybe we should have called the whole thing off but, being the glutton I am, I decided to forge ahead with our plan for a playdate and lunch.

It was only noon and I was dreaming of returning to bed. 

Dude, usually only one kiddo goes off the reservation at a time but here, on this day, it took them less than a morning to wander off together {into oncoming traffic, no less}

Photo by: www.margaretclairephotoraphy.com

We returned home and I was counting the moments until nap time while trying to keep my voice as "normal" as possible in the process.  Which, I knew was a big fat "mom fail" when I walked into the bathroom to remind our youngest to pee into the toilet {not the floor} to find he had both hands over his ears.

Good Enough Parent Confession number four:

Sometimes my children go off the reservation and...

I go with them.

We wander through the wilderness of disorder & raised voices & communication fails,

in need of a nap or a time out in order to gather our bearings.

On this particular day, we needed both.

that which keeps me up at night

the year before we were engaged, my husband was a republican. 

{i was not}

we were

both raised in Christian homes, with Christian values, and met in church while attending a Christian college.

many of our friends were republican {many still are} and, at the time, i steered clear of political conversation - because i was a bit of a hot head and honestly, i didn't know enough about politics to have effective discourse {that may still be true}

however,  that year:

my little sister began identifying as gay and

my husband decided not to pursue a career in politics, as originally planned and

Bill Clinton was impeached and

my husband started working in a group home with adolescent sex offenders and

we didn't talk much about politics...or faith & politics {as those generally went hand-in-hand in our circles}.

then, that summer

 - just after my older sister's wedding, while we were tired and our defenses were down - 

we went on a road trip and got lost in Vermont.  

and we started talking. 

{about politics} 

the kind of talking where one inquires about the other's view on specific issues. 

i think that was probably not the best idea because somewhere, in the middle of a vermont highway, 

i asked him to stop the car and let me out.  

i was sitting in the car with a bigot and 

he was sitting in the car with a socialist.

we stopped on the side of the road and stewed in that reality for a while. 

{silent}

i finally told him {time will tell}

his views were too antiquated, too narrow-minded, and unsustainable

my views were too emotional, too hippie, and unsustainable

we both decided {never to speak of politics again}

which, we managed to do for so long that 2 elections later, i was kind of surprised to learn how far he'd swung from his young republican days.

it's funny, friends have remarked on my liberal, democratic ways "rubbing off" on him and you know, part of that may be true but i think the more likely culprit is this world - 

this broken, unequal, God-driven, God-forsaken, selfish, hurting world has rubbed off on him.  

{on us}

as a hot head, i have been intentional about trying to advocate for considering the good of the party spectrum while my husband often continues to see things in party terms.

however, this past week as the House was going back and forth on the farm bill, 

my peacemaker intentionality was obliterated. 

did you know, 

all but 6 House republicans voted for an amendment to the farm bill denying food stamps to those who've lost their jobs? this, in addition to deeply slashing access to food stamps for those with vehicle assets or criminal record.

for the love!  

i feel incredulous and a little sick.  

we don't have the social infrastructure to pass legislation like that and

thinking about this kept me up through the night.

i mean, really, not that long ago, our little family was sustained by food stamps.

it was a low point in our life but we were so thankful for the safety net and

this kind of legislation would have boxed us out.

i no longer feel as hopeful as I did after the election last year. 

i actually feel despair that such a large body of people, representative of a large portion of our nation, would make deliberate choices to put marginalized, disenfranchised, and vulnerable individuals/families in such a double-bind.

i understand the impulse to be judgy-pants & cynical & righteous about "the poor;"

to be labeled poor, or a criminal, or a sex offender, or mentally ill, or an addict can feel like some version of our worst nightmare.

but for a nation {for a political party, especially} that claims Christian values {in God we trust}, 

i don't see God in these legislative decisions.  

these are not decisions embodying grace and service toward "the least of these." 

to me, it is not just about this farm bill or the amendments therein;

my despair resides in the seemingly overall incongruence between belief and action.

admittedly, i am not totally sure what to do with this yet.  

{i can't even believe i am writing a blog post about it}

all this feels like social {some might say cultural} warfare and we are not our best selves in the fight.

but 

i find myself thankful that i still get emotional.

i find myself thankful that i feel compelled to think critically about the issues our nation faces. 

i am thankful for the encouragement i received at an early age from my parents to do my own faith work, not just to rely upon what {faith} leaders told me about the world around me.

i find myself thankful that my husband and i did not start in the same place as one another politically;

while our beliefs and values on the issues have certainly grown closer together, we still aren't completely aligned, and in that space between i feel challenged to remain open to views other than my own. 

and i am thankful for a "place" to put some of this fire in my belly.

thanks for reading.

i love you for...13 years & counting!

"Are you sure you want to go barefoot?" she asked after hemming my wedding dress, glancing with concern at my calloused feet and unpolished toes.

I am sure she meant well but I felt defensive and said "absolutely, who is going to care!?!" more loudly than I should.

She caught the scent of my defensiveness and conceded, "that sounds lovely" as she tidied up the dressing room space.

I went home that night, tried my dress on again, and crumpled to the floor in tears.

I didn't feel beautiful.

I didn't feel like a princess.

I didn't feel like the books and magazines and friends said I should feel.

Everything felt so fine until I started talking with other people and then I measured all the ways in which I was doing this whole wedding thing "wrong."

This year, as I work with couples planning weddings or talk with friends, I have considered if, knowing then what I know now:  

Would I have done anything differently?

In general, I believe my answer is NO.

I loved being barefoot {it is how I roll}

I loved getting married outside, with the sunset as a backdrop

I loved having a BBQ reception before the ceremony and sparklers to end the festivities.

I loved not renting tuxes or spending lots of money on bridesmaids dresses

I loved having breakfast with a good friend that morning and then 

spending the moments after the rain {but before the party} with my sisters at the rocky beach nearby.

I loved sitting in my beloved's lap on the deck, drinking champagne and recounting the day while rain started falling and lightening flashed across the lake.

I feel as though we were fairly genuine and authentic in our presentation of selves that day.
It was a good day - a good celebration.

Photograph by Jodi Rheinheimer & Kathy Miedema

 Of course,
A part of me wishes we'd had digital photography but the photos are so candid and true to our day that it hardly feels like it matters that we don't have "artistic" and professional wedding photos.

I wish we wouldn't have given in to the hyperbolic language of our wedding era for the message we wrote to our friends and family on the bulletin but, at the same time, I am a little hyperbolic when it comes to feelings so...there's that.
And anyways, the wedding is just the wedding, right?
What about the marriage?

As we celebrate thirteen years, I am thankful we are still together.

I am thankful we continue to grow in our relationship.

We have run into some really hard times and continue to seek one another for comfort and challenge.

The content of our fights are nearly the same now as they were then {how reassuring...and depressing} but we have established different {better?} ways of engaging with each other in these moments so they don't feel so disasterous.   

I am thankful to have a friend- a partner - a lover - onto whose lap I can still climb, drink champagne {or  another beverage of choice}, and recount the day.

Photograph by Margaret Claire

Happy Anniversary, love!

You remain my favorite.

Always,

d

{outside my window: it is june}

The last few weeks have been gang-busters.

I am fairly certain this is true for most households we know.

I mean, it is already double-digit June; how did that happen?!?

Today is the first in 23 that I don't have a meeting, appointment, soccer practice, or other obligation.

{Well, I do have to work tonight but that is not until 11pm so, it almost feels like it doesn't count}

Our dining room table is full of to-do list promises and our kitchen sink full of dishes.

Yesterday, I started trying to dig out from under the weight of the "everyday" but today I am trying to attend - 

to my fatigue, to my impatience, to my cynicism, to my ambivalence, to my feeling overwhelmed.

Today I am giving myself permission to strip down to the absolute basics: 

breathe, eat, sleep.

{And, obviously, write a blog post}

So, in honor of slowing down and attending:

{Outside my window}

The sun has returned. A chipmunk pair are playing tag on our back deck and both have stopped repeatedly to look into the window - as though they want to come inside. It is somewhat creepy. 

The rain drops are drying. You can almost hear the flowers stand taller and more full.

{I am thinking}

 About my ambivalence and recalling a blog post by a friend in which she endorses the idea of writing through ambivalence. Since reading her post, I find the crevices of my thoughts considering what that might look like for me. It feels a little scary. Because what happens when I am no longer ambivalent about my "next steps;" am I ready for a conclusion?

{I am going}

To take a nap with my youngest as soon as this post is done. We are going to lie there, tell stories about his stuffed pig and snake and monkey, and then we are going to take 2 deep breaths, nestle our foreheads together and be lulled to sleep by the squish-click-squish-click of his thumb in his mouth.

{Around the house}

It is a mess. 

Mostly it is a superficial clutter that won't take longer than an hour to put away but the mess. is. everywhere.  This week will be a baby-steps-to-clean-the-house kind of a week.

{A few of my favorite things}

A cool glass of water.  The smell of freshly picked tomatoes and strawberries. Clean sheets and a made bed.  A long, uninterrupted shower.  Play dates with friends. Lectures and presentations that make my hands itch to take notes and think beyond the moment. 

Lying outside in the hammock, swinging gently in the breeze.

 

 

{I am thankful for}

My spouse.  My home. My children.  Not having to live in want or fear.

My heart is full up with the most fundamental sense of gratitude.

How are you today?