29 | 245 Celebrating a Year with Maddie

Tonight I asked Aidan if he wanted to pray before we ate dinner and he said yes. I asked him if he knew how (because this has been a sticking point previously... "Yes, I want to pray" ... "Ok, go ahead" ... "I don't know how" ... and then we help him) and he said yes. Then he prayed, "Jesus, thank you for the food. Bless us. Keep us. Make our hearts happy. The end." My mama's heart completely melted into a puddle! 

On Saturday we celebrated Maddie's first birthday with our family and I was really impressed with how well Aidan handled it. When I was a little girl and my sister had her first birthday party, I was three or four years old and insisted that my dad take me outside to ride my bike during the festivities. When he declined, I threw a full-blown tantrum, which was pretty atypical for me. I figured it would be normal for Aidan to feel jealous of Maddie getting all the attention and we might have to help him through it, but he seemed genuinely excited for Maddie's party and let her have the spotlight. It can be so frustrating and exhausting and sometimes even heartbreaking to be a mom to a toddler... these moments are perfect silver linings that help me shift perspective and say, "Oh, yeah, I am having some sort of influence for the good!"

It's hard to believe that Maddie is already a year old. She has really come into her own. She loves to play with her brother and is a total people-person. She has a fiesty little temper and let's you know when she doesn't like something, but overall she is a happy camper that's really easy-going. She's doing this funny crab-crawl thing and won't swallow solid food yet that isn't pureed... but she loves to chew on it for awhile and then spit it out. She loves to talk and gets very upset if she feels left out. She is our beautiful, joy-filled daughter and it's so fun to see her personality reveal itself. She's so different than Aidan! Sometimes being a parent is so surreal. 

Maddie loved every minute of her party. She reveled in the attention and didn't even cry when 20 people sang Happy Birthday to her and watched her try to eat a cupcake. Does that mean she's going to be the life of the party? I wonder what she will be like in 20 years. Happy Birthday, Madeleine!

 

29 | 235 The Long Goodbye

In a week my grandfather is moving out of the home he shared with my grandmother for over 35 years. My Grandmom died two years ago and the house is too big for my PopPop to live in alone, and now that the rest of the family lives an hour away, it is better for him to live closer to us. Tonight is the last night I will sleep in this house that has been such an immovable part of my childhood and adolescence and even my young adulthood. I expected the sadness but not necessarily to this degree; in a way it's like saying goodbye to Grandmom all over again. Her spirit still permeates the house; this is the place where I really knew her, as the majority of my interactions with her took place within these walls. 

She lived here when I was born. We lived nearby until I was eight. My childhood included playing in this backyard with the garden hose, feeding the neighbor's horses carrots and apples through the fence that abutted the property line, being bathed in the sink in the utility room, happily playing with a pail of water and a rag on the back patio for hours, eating the perfect grilled cheese sandwiches and shoestring potato chips for lunch, collecting acorns from the driveway, stealing slices of coffee cake and danish that were always under the covered glass cake platter, reading the funny pages from the newspaper while Grandmom read the headlines as we munched on buttered toast, playing with paper dolls and Legos at the kitchen table, listening to my mom and Grandmom talk for hours, coming over on Friday nights to watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Grandmom bustled around the house whenever I was here, moving down hallways and upstairs and back down again, maintaining her home in the style that suited her. And then when she was ready for a rest, she would kick off her house shoes and sit down on the sofa with her feet tucked up behind her and grab something to read or watch the birds flutter in the bird bath in the back yard. Evenings were always punctuated by the soundtrack of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on the living room TV and that telltale sound of someone lifting the lid off the glass candy dish filled with M&Ms. 

Holidays were always a lively affair, headquartered in this home. My mom's family would even fly in from Texas and join in the fun sometimes. There was always so much food and so much laughter, pool balls clanking and someone yelling "Rack 'em up!" or "Use a little English!" from the pool room, someone seated at the organ playing from the sheet music lying nearby. Family traditions and practical jokes and old stories rehashed and laughed over like new. I often got the privilege of ringing the dinner bell that is mounted on the dining room wall to call everyone to the table for the holiday meal. The table was always dressed to the nines with lace tablecloths and candles, fine china and silver and food warming in dishes that had been prepared with love and care. Those dinners were the hallmark of my childhood holiday experience, always crowned with the return of the family to the table for dessert and coffee after the dinner dishes were washed -- my hot chocolate always tasted better in that fine china cup. Finally heading home on those holiday nights, the last thing I always saw from my backseat window as we drove away from the house was the light glowing in the dining room window, the chandelier shining as the centerpiece of the room. It always filled me with a sense of wellbeing and affection. 

Our move to Kentucky when I was eight ushered in a decade of near-constant moving for me and my parents. Every two or three years we moved to a new city and a new house. In the midst of all that change, Grandmom and PopPop's house remained constant. I loved to return here, to drive up into the long driveway shaded by towering old trees, to take in the lush lawn edged by elephant grass, to see the garage door up and PopPop or Grandmom moving in and out of the house through the utility room. In middle and high school I always came in and found a snack in the pantry and helped myself to a Coke from the mini fridge. I learned Grandmom's technique for making the perfect grilled cheese. I brought my boyfriends over and my friends over. I played the songs I wrote on piano on the old organ, experimenting with sounds and settings for hours. I learned to shoot pool. I learned about my family history. I spent hours pouring over the family photo albums, enjoying the glimpse of my Grandmom in her heyday of throwing parties and entertaining and seeing my dad and his brothers when they were young. I loved to hear stories about my grandparents' growing-up years in New Jersey and asked Grandmom a million questions that probably pestered her to no end. 

I got a car my senior year of high school and this became my official pit stop between Tampa and Fort Pierce when I was traveling to visit my parents. PopPop gave me a lesson on washing and waxing a vehicle in the driveway. I painstakingly wrote down Grandmom's recipes for meatballs, meatloaf, lasagna, baked ziti. I went to college in Orlando and dated a guy in Lakeland. I stayed here when I visited him and remember lying awake at night in the pink room upstairs, listening to the crickets outside and daydreaming about my future when it was all laid out before me like some fantastic adventure just waiting on the other side of college graduation. 

There was a hurricane my sophomore year of college that came right up I-4 and I knew Grandmom and PopPop were in the line of fire. When I couldn't reach them by phone, I drove to Valrico from Orlando and talked my way past a police barricade to get to their house. When I arrived, I saw debris all over the yard and learned there was no power in the house. We picked up tree branches all afternoon and then came in the dark house and played poker by candlelight. It was a great day. Another time I was spending the night and the mini fridge caught on fire. I filled up the cake platter lid with water from the kitchen because it was the quickest thing I could find resembling a bucket and rushed it to PopPop to put out the fire. Then I mourned the loss of that mini fridge that always held a nice, cold stash of soda. 

The last boy I brought here was Joshua. It was my last Thanksgiving in college. We weren't dating but Josh's family had moved to Asheville and he didn't have anywhere to go, and I had a crush on him so I invited him to Thanskgiving dinner with my family. Grandmom really liked him. The first and only guy she really gave her approval to. After dinner was over, Joshua and I sat in the formal living room and sang Christmas carols. Josh thought it was fun that PopPop put lotto tickets under everyone's dinner plate. I'm so glad Josh got that experience. 

After I moved to Asheville, I didn't get to return here much, and Grandmom's health declined. Finally she passed away in 2013. I remember the first time I came back to the house after her funeral... It was so painfully bereft of her presence. It was saying goodbye all over again. I expected her to be sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of Pepsi and a snack, or to walk through the short hallway from her master bedroom with an armful of laundry. But she was gone. And the place wasn't the same without her and I mourned. 

Earlier this week I was in Brandon with the kids for a play date, and at the end of the day I picked up some dinner and brought it over to eat with my PopPop. We ate in the dining room-- Aidan, PopPop and I sitting at the table and Maddie playing on the floor. Aidan's childish exuberance lit up the room during the meal. Maddie started to go down the step into the formal living room head-first until I showed her how to go down backwards, just like my Grandmom taught me 29 years ago. My kids laughter filled up the rooms of the house and I swear I felt my Grandmom's presence again, radiating joy that her great-grandchildren brought such life into her house. 

Tomorrow morning before I pull out of the driveway for the final time, I'm going to take some photos of my kids around the house. There's something in me that needs to do it-- to not only make memories in my mind but to create photographs for when my mind forgets. This is a hard goodbye. I feel like I'm saying goodbye to my Grandmom yet again, and also saying goodbye to a gigantic piece of my childhood-- the place that turned out to be the most permanent "home" for my family in my young life. There are so many memories here... I feel like it's that Miranda Lambert song, The House That Built Me. Cheesy, but true. I'm thankful that my kids got to be in this place, though. I can feel Grandmom smiling down on me. 

There's no poetic way for me to end this, just a run-on of memories and a melancholy that's lingering. So much to take with me from the time I have been able to spend here over the past almost-30 years. And I will take it with me, and let it live on through me.

29 | 200 The Unexpected

Today is the 200th day of my 29th year, and I didn't expect it to be the day that you walked through the gates of Glory. I know that your radiance on earth was just a shadow to your radiance now -- I can imagine your blonde hair is now a fiery halo of gold and your beautiful blue eyes now blaze with the presence of the Christ. Your outward earthly beauty was very real and I know your eternal beauty must be breathtaking; I can't wait to see you reflecting the glory of God on those streets of gold, glowingly ensconced in the absolute reality of Christ's ever-present love and fulfillment of redemption. 

You were one of the few people that shared my affinity for direct declarations of love. You weren't shy to grab me by the arm and look me right in the eyes and tell me how much you loved me and how much you liked me. Not everyone in this world is comfortable with such frank statements of affection and appreciation. I was happy to find a kindred spirit in you, and the last time I saw you we spent a few minutes speaking those words of love and life into each other as a benediction and farewell. I thought it would just be a matter of distance between us, not life and death; I am more thankful now that we shared those moments together. You initiated them. I appreciated that then -- even more so today. 

My memories of you will always be of your fun and spontaneous spirit. Always up for a good time, always initiating some form of fun. Your easy way of giving and serving, your devotion to the generation behind you, your willingness to connect in real relationship. Your love for Jesus and for serving Him, whether at home or in Asheville, your home away from home. You were always willing to step up and help. You maintained positivity and enthusiasm. You were down-to-earth in admitting your struggles and fun to commiserate with when our struggles found a connection. I love that you loved Highland and chose to serve there, twice. I love that you loved your family deeply. I love that you loved your church family deeply. 

You helped coordinate my wedding. You prayed with me, exercised with me, watched TV with me, shared meals with me, shared your convictions with me, encouraged me, laughed at me and laughed with me. 

I am sorry for the pain of those that are left to walk on this earth without you. Your absence will leave a hole that is unique to your presence and spirit, and the hole will remain, though the pain in time will lose some of it's sting. We grieve losing you. And paradoxically rejoice knowing you are waiting ahead around the bend, cheering us on toward our finish. The juxtaposition of suffering and hope is a deep bittersweet ache in our hearts. Your passage into life eternal is a beacon to all of us who mourn, urging us to recenter our souls on the everlasting and not the temporal; to sow that which we may reap in eternity, namely, love into the lives of those around us. You did it so well. The legacy you leave us is a life of love, loyalty, and friendship. 

Sweet Brittney, I think you would be proud to know the example you have set before us. Enjoy the banquet table, friend. I can't wait to catch up with you there. 

29 | 199 The Past Ten Years

In the past ten years, we... (in no particular order)

Met and fell in love. I love that our meet cute was on Spring Break in Cashiers.

Went to Nicaragua (me). Went to India (you). Went to the UK (me). 

Pretended to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Became boyfriend and girlfriend.

Dated long-distance. 

Went to the emergency room twice. It was me both times. 

Someone did call 911 for you, though.

Saw my apartment burn down.

Got married.

Had a son.

Had a daughter.

Graduated from college.

Lived in a basement. Lived in a condo. Lived in a house on the market. Lived with my parents.

Have had seven vehicles between us. I hope this new one will last us ten years.

Have hiked the Himalayas (take me someday) and the Blue Ridge.

Both swam in the Pacific Ocean, but in different countries. 

Performed in a musical.

Worked in a vineyard.

Worked at Biltmore.

Worked at the same hospital.

Have worked at sixteen different jobs between the two of us.

Took the bus to work. 

Went to more weddings than funerals.

Moved from Florida to North Carolina and back (never say never).

Participated in the Invisible Children Global Night Commute. 

Camped in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina.

Visited 20 states between the two of us. You went on an epic road trip across the US. I visited Wisconsin, Colorado, Missouri, Kansas, Illinois, and New York for the first time.

Had long and short hair.

Picked blueberries, strawberries, apples, and St. John's Wort. 

Went spelunking, river rapid riding (on purpose in the summer and by accident in the winter), waterfall sliding, zip-lining, tubing, sailing, kayaking, lake and ocean and swimming hole swimming many times.

Were vegetarian. 

Went Paleo.

Were in the best shape of our lives.

Were in the worst shape of our lives.

Lost our virginity.

Visited Sea World, Universal Studios, Busch Gardens, and Disney.

Were CrossFit fanatics.

Ran in races.

Got a motorcycle license (you) and a commercial license (me).

Grew a garden.

Have worn Reefs and Rainbows and Chacos and Keens and Vibrams. Shoes covered in sand and shoes covered in snow.

Slow danced under the stars and in the kitchen, and showed off swing dance moves at wedding receptions and on street corners, and salsa danced in clubs and at restaurants. 

Bought food at grocery stores, farmer's markets, straight from the farm, at restaurants, online, and from street vendors and food trucks. 

House-sat, dog-sat, and baby-sat.

Have seen our families woven together in a beautiful way. And we both added a brother-in-law and a nephew to the mix, too.

Made wonderful, lifetime-long friendships.

Turned our parents into grandparents.

Were deeply rooted in a faith community that nourished and nurtured us as we grew and matured. 

So you see, sometimes it feels different than it actually is. And it may be flying by, but look how full it is, how rich it is. Also, in writing this, I realized: we need to go surfing.

I love you. 

29 | 196 A Comedy of Errors

Today turned out to be a comedy of errors. 

The Plan:
Pick up a rental car; drive to Plant City to meet friends at the Strawberry Festival by 11:00 a.m.; check out the Brandon Honda dealership in the late afternoon, where we had it on good authority that there might be a Honda Pilot in our price range; eat at my all-time favorite pizza restaurant, Babe's; drive home tired and happy. 

How It Went:
On our way to pick up the rental car, we happened across a recent car accident which had scattered serious debris across the roadway. Unable to come to a complete stop before running over said debris, the back driver's-side tire of our car was ripped to shreds and immediately went flat, leaving us in the middle of a three-lane roadway during rush-hour traffic. We took the kids out of the car and put them on the sidewalk and Josh pulled into the nearest driveway off the main road. It was someone's fancy private residence complete with lampposts lining the driveway and Greek statues adorning the palm-dotted lawn. 

Meanwhile, I have to go to the bathroom.

It turns out our vehicle did not have the proper tools inside to change the tire, so I call Enterprise to come pick me and the kids up so we could go get the rental. Joshua walks over to the accident scene that caused our flat, hoping for some sort of assistance from the policemen working the scene or perhaps some tools to work with. The officer is rude and dismissive. Joshua calls a towing company to tow the car home, where he has the proper tools to put on the spare. Joshua is harangued on the phone by the tow truck company owner about not having a tire iron or wrench. The home owner whose single-lane driveway we are blocking makes an appearance via the garage on his bicycle, headed to Anytime Fitness for a workout, he informs us. He did not seem to mind the intrusion on his private property, but didn't think to ask how he could help, which would've been nice since all Josh needed was a ratchet.

The Enterprise guy arrives over an hour later to take me and the kids to the rental agency to get our car. Aidan has a dirty diaper in the back seat and is talking to Mr. Don (the driver) incessantly about our "fat tire." Enterprise is slammed with too few employees in the office. I wait a half hour with the kids before it's our turn at the counter. Meanwhile, the tow company arrives back where our car is broken down but the driver is very overweight and unable to assist Joshua. Joshua helps himself to the driver's tools and changes the tire. However, now the tow truck will not start, and our car is blocked in the driveway, even though the tire is now changed. 

Eventually, I rendezvous with Joshua and I finally get to a bathroom. Thank God. 

We stopped by Chick-fil-A for lunch on our way out of town, where they forgot to give us Aidan's kids meal until I reminded them right before leaving the drive-thru. Five minutes down the road we realize they also shorted us an order of fries. Joshua and I valiantly share one order of fries. This is a sacrifice on both our parts. 

We make it to Plant City, but while following the signs directing us to the festival grounds, the road is cordoned off by police officers and we have to find an alternate route. We arrive at the Strawberry Festival six hours after leaving the house that morning. 

After two hours at the festival, we leave to get to the Honda dealership for a 5:30 appointment that Joshua made with a salesman. On the way there we are starving and I spot a Steak n' Shake, so I cut across three lanes of traffic to turn into the drive-thru for a milkshake. The drive-thru has a large cone in the middle of the lane, indicating it is out of order.

Joshua had confirmed his appointment with a specific person at the Honda dealership on the way over to Brandon earlier that day. When we arrived at the dealership, Joshua is informed that the person he spoke with isn't even working today. Also, there are no Pilots in our price range, despite a previous phone conversation that led to today's appointment. 

We drive back to Babe's for dinner. When we arrive the sign on the door says -- you guessed it-- Closed Mondays. 

Like I said, comedy of errors. Probably enough to have put us in a bad mood. But instead, I am happy to report: 

We weren't in an accident where any of us got hurt. There was no major damage sustained to the vehicle, other than the blown tire. There was a sidewalk along that busy roadway, so we were able to get our kids out of the vehicle and safely out of the way. The morning wasn't too hot, so it was not uncomfortable to be waiting outside for two hours. We had plenty of snacks prepared for the day, and more than enough bottled water. I took the opportunity to pray with Aidan, asking God to send the rental car quickly when it had been 45 minutes since they were supposed to arrive -- it arrived within five minutes. Enterprise let us rent the car that Mr. Don picked us up in, so I did not have to re-install car seats in a busy shopping center parking lot off U.S. 19 while trying to wrangle a very active and car-loving toddler. The tow truck driver did not charge Joshua for the use of his tools. Thankfully, the driver was able to move his truck to the side of the driveway so that Joshua could leave. It was a stunningly gorgeous day for a car ride. Our rental car had a USB port that let us use our iPhones to listen to our music and my This American Life app so we could listen to amusing stories, and it had a really great air conditioner. The Kennedys were still at the Strawberry Festival when we got there and we spent two hours together letting Aidan and Daisy have a ton of fun, riding kiddie rides together and getting their faces painted and jumping up and down and giving lots of hugs. We had plenty of bottled water with us for the heat of the day and sunscreen to keep the kids from getting burnt. We got a half-flat of fresh strawberries from Parksdale Farms for less than $5.00 -- can you say strawberry shortcake? I got the cutest photos of Aidan and Maddie eating strawberries. We prayed before we got to the Honda dealership that if this wasn't where God had a vehicle for us, Joshua wouldn't waste a lot of time there. He was back at the car within ten minutes. We were able to try a new restaurant for dinner. The Kennedys joined us, and instead of doing a magic act to cram into one booth at Babe's, we had the luxury of a giant corner booth and a kid-friendly restaurant that brought the kids dough to play with, and we got to enjoy an hour and a half sharing a meal with our friends. We drove home tired and happy. 

First-world problems, right? Yes, but they're are still bothersome when you live in a first-world scenario. However, today we were really determined not to let irritation get the best of us. It's so easy to get sucked into spiraling negativity. Recently, we watched the pilot of Parks and Rec on Netflix and there's this scene where Leslie gets a phone call from an irate citizen about her park building project, who says, "Hey Park Lady, blah, blah, blah, terribly insulting stuff, blah, blah, blah..." Leslie hangs up the phone and looks at the camera and says with a smile, "Did you hear that? He just called me Park Lady!" Josh and I love that scene because it is such a ridiculously determined bent toward the positive in a blatantly negative situation. I think it's a great paradigm to operate in. Why not?