Apropos of Nothing

In 40 years, Justin and I will sit in matching chairs, reading silently in our own quiet brains. We'll turn pages -- or probably swipe at screens -- and repeat gentle quotes to one another. "Listen to this," I'll say. "'Lately she almost hated Ted for absorbing his grief better than she could absorb hers. What Marion could only guess was that Ted might have hated her for the superiority of her sadness.' Isn't that intricately said?" Because by then, in our mid-seventies, we'll be appreciative of things like intricacy. We'll have plenty of time to do so.

Our floors will shine and our walls will glow. There'll be an aura of warmth about my kitchen -- Grandma's kitchen, they'll call it -- that welcomes one and all with patience and grace. Like it's been dipped in sunshine, and hung out to dry on a cottony summer day. And the laundry, well....it'll be done once a week, and take a morning only. His white t-shirts mixed with my knit cardigans. Kitchen towels washed separately, of course. I'll stream some oldies over the house speakers, something grand and epic from the good old days: Muse, maybe. Justin will putter in our library, reorganizing his History of Religion section and trying to pick a debate with an online buddy he only knows via FaceTime.

Our children, they'll be busy with families and jobs and all the rest, and we'll see them as much as travel and schedules permit, but it won't be perfect. We'll miss them. Skyping with grandkids doesn't permit the fragrance of a scalp or the weight of a little body. Texting with kids doesn't transmit the strength of a hug.

I'll cross my knobby legs at the ankles, fiddle with my cup of hot tea, and gaze out the window at the leaves piling up in our gutters. I'll examine my hands, the way the tendons pull tight under thin skin. I'll look at Justin, his crinkly eyes and dense, peppered hair, his broad shoulders and thickened wrists. I'll say, "Do you remember?"

We'll stare into our history and it will unfold for a minute like a map that can never be followed.

It was a Friday night, and the afternoon had been a bust. There were green crayon tracks on the living room hardwoods, and the stench of remembered cat puke in the hallway. Toddler Landon stood by with his hands behind his back, saying, "But I'm sorry. I'm just sorry..." Dinner was hated by all, and who could blame them? Things burn while three-year-olds cause mischief. Mia, on the cusp of being nine years old, picked superiority fights with six-year-old Lauren. And after they were separated, they suddenly wanted to play. Wild games. Loud games.

Sarah (still softly full from young motherhood -- she was so vibrant, then) scooted the little ones upstairs for pajamas and toothpaste. They were too boisterous for the hour, and Sarah lost it. She threw her hands in the air and yelled to Justin: "You're up! I'm done!" He climbed the stairs and injected some levity into the directives: "Get your PJs on, or I'll make you run around the yard in your underwear for ten minutes. And it's COLD out there." Fits of laughter tumbled down the staircase, but it got the job done.

Sarah sat down and pulled her stocking feet under herself (the flexibility!) to breathe unbothered. After several minutes, Justin fell into the couch beside her. Great sighs. Closed eyes. A few minutes.

"Do you want to put on a movie or something?"

"I was really just thinking about heading to bed. Do you mind?"

"God, no. I was hoping you'd say so."

"Look at us. Friday night. Too tired to move. Will it ever slow down?"

"I know. There's no end in sight, though."

"You're the one who wanted all of these kids..."

Giggles.

"I'll get the doors and lights."

"Okay. I need to go up and say goodnight to Mia and Landon. Sing a song to Lauren."

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Stop it. I love you more."


We'll half-smile and blink away at rogue tears. Oh, yes, we'll think. It'll definitely slow down. I'll look at the calendar on the wall. Friday night, two weeks until Thanksgiving. The house will be loud and full, then, like a landing zone. A dammed river, caught and held momentarily. An offering plate, refilled with the best of our years.

Venus and Mars

They say blue-eyed humans are more sensitive to sunlight.  Something about the pigment in the cornea not being as capable of deflecting much light so it all funnels directly into the waiting pupil.  Maybe.  I've never actually followed up on any scientific reading of the matter.  My knowledge is assumption dressed up as confidence.  It sounds good, though, right? 

More important is my actual experience.  These baby-blues (er, north-sea-greys...) cannot stand to be without some protection.  If I'm going anywhere, I'm taking my sunglasses, and in wintertime it becomes a fanatical obsession.  Sure, the sun is further away from my northern hemispheric home, but the snow....the snow makes all things hyper-bright.

Including graveside services. 

Except, when I was on my way to a graveside service last week, I hopped into my husband's truck which did not come equipped with Sarah's Necessary Eyewear.  I didn't panic, and I certainly didn't turn around, what with Sarah's Perpetual Lateness being in full swing.  I just kept my squinted eyes peeled for a boutique or

I started writing all of this and then got disgusted with myself for taking so stinking long to get to the point.  It's exhausting being this melodramatic.  Here's what actually happened:




"Oh!  I keep forgetting I wanted to tell you this!"  I lean against the counter as Justin pours half-and-half into his coffee.  He looks at me sideways, ready to be amazed.

"When I went to that little boutique the other day and got those sunglasses?  This place is really charming and fashionable, right?  So the chick at the cash register is talking to me about the store, how long they've been open, their sales, all that junk...and I'm paying attention.  I'm in a hurry, but I'm acting like I belong there, you know?  Because I so don't."

Justin stares at me, eyebrow hitched to a say: whatever.  Trying to give the impression that Honey, you are as stylish and chic as any of those girls in that store.  He's sweet. 

"Anyway, I'm trying to pay attention, only I can't because I keep looking down at the lady's chest --"

Justin's coffee suddenly becomes very boring.  His head pivots toward me.

"-- because right at the top of her cleavage (which was overflowing, I might add) there's this gemstone thing. Like, pasted-on.  Like boob jewelry --"

Justin utters his first word of the conversation: "Oooohhh..."  He looks dreamy.  Like he's about to float away to a land of jeweled cleavage. 

"Wait...what?  I was telling you this because I thought you would laugh with me.  I mean, boob jewelry?!  Seriously?"

He shakes his head, as if knocking a chunk of mud off his lusty boots.  "Sorry.  That came out wrong.  I meant to say Ughhhhhh!"

I narrow my eyes.  He stirs his coffee. 

Boys are gross.

Problem Solving

Bedtime at Heavenly House, Act 1

Wife is slipping into something a little bit more flannel.  Husband is brushing teeth in his undies.  Bed is turned down, piled high with winter blankets, and husband falls in yawning like a bear before hibernation:loud and frightening.  Wife shuffles to doorway and flicks light switch.  Bedroom plunged into darkness.  Husband groans affectionately: darkness is nectar of gods.  Wife shuffles to bedside table.  Switches on lamp.  Husband morphs into cursing behemoth.  Wife lies down with book in hand.

Husband: Seriously?!  You're reading in bed?  TONIGHT?

Wife: Well...yeah...

Husband: You can't be serious.  I'm exhausted.  The light is so bright and I'm EX. HAUS. TED.  Please, please, please don't read tonight....

Wife: But...you always fall asleep within like four seconds -- even with the lamp on -- and then I'm left trying to wind down.  I have to turn off the voices in my head, and reading is how I do that!  What if I only read for a few minutes?

Husband: You're killing me. 

Wife:  But...just...

Husband: I'm dead.

Wife:...then you won't mind the lamp...?




Bedtime at Heavenly House, Act 2

Wife is slipping into husband's old sweats.  Husband is flossing teeth in his undies.  Bedside lamps are on, blankets are thick and cozy.  Husband shuffles to bed and falls in, groaning like a moose: loud and frightening.  Wife shuffles to bedside and smiles at husband before crawling under covers.  Husband and wife pick up books.

Wife: You seem to like the book, huh?

Husband: Yeah.  I stayed up past midnight last night, and I've been excited to read it all day.

Wife: Cool.

Husband:  I would have forgotten all about it if you hadn't dug it out of the packing boxes in the garage.  What made you think about it?

Wife: Oh, I don't know exactly...

Husband: Okay, whatever; shhhhh.  I wanna read.  G'night.

Wife: humming James Bond theme music....

THE END

I Am Thankful: Four {A Bigger Picture Moment}

Last month was technically the month for being Thankful, but those weeks were taken up with meditations on the glory of my kids. And my husband is really deserving of a Thankful post of his very own. This is it. I am thankful for Justin.  Amen. 



For whatever reason, Justin is sitting at the very back of the van.  Every seat is filled except the passenger seat, so I'm alone in the cockpit, conveying my cargo across town.  It's only noon, but the sun seems to be falling toward the southwest already.  Pulled by a wintertime schedule.  The light is hot on my face, though, bright in my eyes.  I find my sunglasses in the cupholder and in putting them on, guard myself against the piercedness of the day. 

If I don't have a headache yet, it's not for lack of  trying.  Holiday shopping with three kids in-tow makes me twitchy and sharp.  They are not silent robots, following in my wake as I'd dreamed; they are darting mice, easily lost in crowds.  They are chattering chickadees, interrupting my thoughts. 

Oh, and I need my thoughts while shopping.  The thick crawl of people and lights and motion overwhelms me.  Can you imagine me somewhere like Disney World?  I would just freeze up and die from a purity of over stimulation.  If I can't think straight, a coil of tension wraps itself around my spine and reaches up to my neck and then the day just has to be done.  I quit.  Here is my white flag of surrender, wadded up in my clenched fist.

That's a pretty fair representation of my physical and mental state while driving through traffic with Justin in the back row.  One girl is probably singing, one girl is probably complaining (I suspect her coil of tension follows the same path as my own), and the baby boy is probably yelling at the top of his lungs about the indecency of rear-facing carseats. 

But Justin, he's leaning forward into the wildness.  He's drumming a rhythm to match one girl's tune, and tickling another girl into gigglehood.  He's offering funny faces and toe-rubs to the baby.  He's the ringmaster, and his performers are also his audience: rapt and adoring. 

I catch his eye in the rearview mirror, and he's bobbing his head to a song that I haven't bothered to hear.  The music is on, but it's just one more noise I'm trying to tune out.  His lips move with the lyrics, though, and I'm curious.  I turn up the volume.  I've never heard the song before -- not even once -- and right there, in holiday traffic, in piercing sunlight, in a full minivan, in the wilds of mid-parenting, tears gather in the corners of my eyes. 

Justin is singing now, full force, holding my gaze in the mirror, strumming his air guitar.  He grins at me like he wrote the song, or at the very least, goaded the radio station to play it at this very moment.

I take what I can get.  And what I get is to belong to him.  I get to be his sweetheart. 

A cloud overtakes the sun and just like that --

the day is no longer piercing. 









Every Thursday, we come together to share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the Bigger Picture through a simple moment. Join the Bigger Picture Community at Melissa's place today! Reflect upon something simple — or simply magical — that’s resonated with you this week, then share it with us!

On Father's Day

A man who isn't afraid to wear the teething necklace is the best kind of daddy.

Justin let me sleep in after a particularly long night of awakenings and broken sleep the other night.  I would have cried my appreciation if I hadn't fallen directly back to sleep before the words I'll take care of the kids had even finished filling the air. 

What seemed like a few seconds of bliss were broken an hour later when he crept into the dim bedroom with a plea for help.  Landon needed rice cereal, and while Justin excels in every possible area of fatherhood, rice cereal preparation just isn't something he's had much practice at. 

"Sarah," he whispered, drawing back the curtain of hair that had fallen over my face.  "How do I make bubba's cereal?"

I rolled over reluctantly.  Smacked my lips in retaliation.  Blinked at the father of my children.  And said a prayer of thanks for such a wonderfully present husband. 

"Um," I mumbled through foggy lips.  "Use about four tablespoons of cereal and thaw a baggie of milk in a bowl of hot water.  Just use enough milk to make it stirrable -- I don't know how much."

He kissed my forehead and escaped the quiet room.  I drifted away while the girls pretended to be lost baby raccoons in their bedroom.  Or maybe I dreamed that part.  But in another flash of a second, Justin was back, whispering again. 

"Babe.  Babe?  Is this the right tablespoon?"  His eyebrows were creased with concentration and in his hand was an old, plastic measuring cup.  1/3 cup, from the looks of it.  He turned it over, studying it before looking at me again.  I couldn't help it; I snorted.  I covered my face with my hand, rolled into my pillow, and tried to talk--

"That....that's....oh, honey!  You have a one-third cup measure!  I said tablespoon!" 

"I....what?  Well, all the the numbers have rubbed off of these cups!  How am I supposed to know what a tablespoon looks like?"

I sat up and grabbed his arm to steady my laughter, to speak with import:  "It looks like a spoon, for starters."

A smile twitched at his lips.  "Fine...but...will you please come help me?"  His eyes were puppy-dogged and hopeful.

And while nothing would have made me happier than to stay curled in bed for another half-morning, I went.  Because it's not every day that this man needs my help; how could I deny him in his noble quest for a tablespoon?



Happy Father's Day, Justin!  I love laughing with you as we do life together!

I'm Married to a Master

We tried to get there early, so as to get good seats.  Silly.  A few thousand others had the same idea.  We lugged the stroller down the arena staircase, just in case Landon felt like taking a walk in the middle of a long recitation of graduate names.  My sweet mom agreed to take baby-duty so Justin's parents and I could stay for the photo-ops. 

Of which there were few. 

Can you see Justin here?  We could!  I mean, for a second before he was swallowed up by the procession.  I got some prideful chills watching him walk, straight and tall and handsome, up the aisles to his seat.

But here!  We found him again!  He was in the first row -- a million miles away from us.  See? 

So when his name was about to be called, I knew that any photo I could take of him walking forward for his crowning moment would be filled with about five hundred of his matching peers. 

JumboTron (or whatever) to the rescue!  That's him!  Getting his Master's diploma!  About to have his scarf-thing draped over his shoulders!

While the other gadjillion graduates' names were being read, I took a hike around the arena to find a better angle.  Still, he was pretty far away.

But we had ample entertainment otherwise.  This fella was quite distracting.  Until he became quite exhausted.

He was one sad boy on the drive home; I think it was because we had to leave without him getting to have his picture taken with Master-Daddy. He was just too tired to stay any longer.  As it was, he cried for 45 minutes of the drive home, making me cry with him.  That part?  Not so cool.

All the rest?

So cool. 

I could not be more proud of my Justin and all of his hard -- seven years in the making -- work.

An Evening Cuddle

10:07 PM

Sarah lies on the couch under a fleece blanket, eyes dozing, half focused on the television.  Justin lounges on the love seat.  The movie ends and Justin turns the TV off.  Sarah stretches.  Justin rises from the love seat.

"Wait..." Sarah says.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming to snuggle with you."

"But I was just about to go get a bedtime snack -- don't...I mean, I don't want to..."

Couch cushions are tossed aside.  Justin wedges himself behind her and steals half of her blanket, wrapping one arm around her torso.

"Aw, come on!  I'm falling off now!  Sarah fidgets and sighs.  "Fine, but I don't want to snuggle long.  I'm hungry."

"Why do you hate to snuggle?  It's so warm and nice."

"I don't hate it, I just like to have my own space.  And I told you: I'm hungry.  And tired.  And if I fall asleep here, I won't remember to wake up so I can feed Landon before bed."

"Just a few minutes, then."  Justin sighs and gathers her closer.  "You know what I like to imagine sometimes when we're cuddled up like this?  I pretend we're wedged into the cliffside of a high mountaintop.  There's a precipitous drop right here, and we have to hold tight to stay safe.  And it's cold, with the wind whipping around the rocks, so we have to be close." 

Sarah laughs and wiggles closer; Justin's imagination is halfway romantic.  She threads her fingers into his.  "How did we get stuck on the side of a mountain, anyway?"

"We climbed up here, of course.  And it was nightfall, and we had to find shelter, and this little cutout provided itself.  Just enough room for two people.  The sky is filled with stars for miles, and it's quiet -- except for the wind."

Sarah tucks her feet around Justin's calves and smiles.  She closes her eyes and soaks up his heat.  His hand scratches hieroglyphs onto her ribcage.  Their breathing begins to slow in tandem.

"Well as long as we have to be stuck on a mountainside, I guess I'm glad you're holding me so close.  But why are we up here?"  Sarah can almost see the diamond stars glittering behind her eyelids and feel the gusty wind on her face...

"We're hiding from the zombies."  And Justin starts to snore.

Bigger Picture Moments: Eating Bon-Bons

There are a few specific times in my day that can, if I feel inclined to make them, be used solely for laziness. 

For instance, when Lauren is away to preschool, Landon's morning nap is the most glorious stretch of silence -- perfect for doing nothing.  To shatter the quiet with clanging dishes in the sink or shoving around in the laundry room would ruin the effect, and I do love to hoard silence.  It's such a rare, perfect thing.

So yesterday, I hoarded.  While Landon slept for two and a half hours, I burrowed into the couch.  A blanket was tucked around me, forbidding me from escape.  There was a pillow on my lap, propping up my novel.  I'm convinced that my body completely shut down in this time, only expelling enough energy to turn a page or allow my eyes to focus. 

It was wonderful.

But then, Landon woke up: he nursed; we retrieved Lauren from school; she went to her room to play quietly; Landon napped again; I ate lunch and checked email, and then looked around myself.

My house was a disaster.  I had plans to make some french bread for dinner later but there was no counter space on which to knead dough.  I went into my bedroom to find my shoes and saw instead three loads of laundry I'd meant to fold. 

The grumpies overcame me.  Instead of using my morning hours to knock out some nastiness around this place, I'd done NOTHING.  And when Mia came home from school, Landon would be mostly awake for the afternoon and I'd have my hands so full of chores that I'd have almost no time to play.  To do art projects with the girls.  To experience my kids. 

No, while they ran around outside in the soft and perfect, warm afternoon, I'd be stuck inside, sulking.  Slamming things around in the kitchen with clumsy speed, hoping to have dinner ready before bedtime. 

I was mad at my hoarded free-time.  I know it's not socially cool (something I've never claimed to be anyway) to announce that me-time is selfish, but that's exactly how I felt yesterday. 

By the time Justin and I went to bed, I had gotten almost nothing done.  It was as if I'd literally sat around all day eating bon-bons and watching soap operas: the banal stereotype of stay-at-home moms.  That was me.

I lamented.  "I'm so mad at myself," I told Justin.  He sat on the edge of the bed where I was crumpled in a heap at the foot.  "There was so much I needed to do today, and I just...skipped it all.  You know what I did?  I read.  That's all.  For over two hours -- enough time to clean the whole house -- I read my book.  Ugh!  Why am I so lazy?!"

He raised his eyebrows at my whining.  "Well...I mean...just put the book down next time?"

I rolled my eyes.  "But the thing is, I WANT to read.  I LOVE to read.  I'm ADDICTED to reading."

He shrugged.  Stepped over some dirty laundry on the floor.  Kissed my head on the way to brush his teeth. 

Later, we lay in bed.  Our lamps made the bed -- our hands, our faces -- warm and golden.  My feet were tucked under his calves and we both had books open on our tummies.  I closed the paperback cover, flipped the book over and glared at it.

"Finished?" he asked without looking up from his reading.

I sighed.  "Yep.  It's over now."

"See?"  He turned to face me.  "And you said you didn't get anything done today."  A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

I laughed; that tease of a smile filled me with promise.

Anyway, no bon-bons for me today.  Lauren and I are going to make banana bread.  I'm going to enlist her help to sort the laundry.  I'll let her play in the bubbles in the kitchen sink.  When Mia gets home, we'll read another few chapters of A Little Princess.

There are things to be done.  And motivation, too; a commodity. 

Let it be written: I will feel happy with this day at its end.  Then, I might search my shelves for a new book with which to reward myself.  Bon-bons before bed never hurt anyone.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us at Undercover Mother today! Grab the button, link up, and read a few others to encourage them as they walk this journey of intentional living.

In Love

If we sat in a candle-lit dining room, surrounded by the hush of lovers' whispered hopes and dreams, looking across a too-small tabletop into the face of our future, we didn't yet know it.

We were so young -- not even a ring on my finger yet -- and so deep in it.  You walked out of a room and I physically felt your absence: the air was heavier; I was heavier.  You touched my neck and my skin caught fire.  You laughed and I marveled at the richness of a perfectly common sound.

If we showed up on doorsteps with roses and chocolates in our hands, stepping out into a night that was meant to celebrate love, we didn't understand it.  Not how far it could reach.   

We were so encapsulated.  Muffled within our own reflected gazes.  We never knew.

If we played music in our first tiny-roomed apartment, and used our wedding china for the very first time, filled it with culinary romance, and talked about where life -- love -- would take us, we still didn't understand.

It was all so fledgling.  So unripened.

Because now, we are here.  With depth and experience and truth and love; oh, love.  And if here is so good, so fulfilling and breathtaking and better than any February 14th from the past twelve years, where will we be in another dozen?

When does the growing stop?

I will make the answer:

Never.

Justin's Hey Girl

Because tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

And because I laugh for hours (hours) at the Ryan Gosling jokes.

And because my husband is super hot.

(SUPER. HOT.)

And because today is a snow day and these photos have a little bit to do with snow.

I have decided to share a bit of bloggy fun, Hey Girl style.

That is, Justin style.

It's my early Valentine's Day present to you all, my dearest friends....

After I made these the other day, I quickly posted them to Facebook because instant gratification makes me happy.  My handsome Justin kind of gets the Ryan Gosling jokes, and better still, he plays along. 

See Exhibit 1.  My Bigger Picture Captures photo of last week, where the prompt was 'Sweet'.  I happened to knock over a BRAND NEW strawberry milkshake, and snapped a quick photo.  See what happened next?

My friend Brook gets it.  I think Justin gets it.  (I don't think most of my Facebook friends get it.)  I hope you get it!  Because Valentine's Day Eve deserves some laughs!

Bigger Picture Moments: True Love

It really was the very simplest of moments.  Something I'm certain that he doesn't even remember.  There have been grander, more deliberate expressions.  They spoke love in loud and clearly defined ways, with crisp edges and bold colors.

But this...this was a whisper.  It was blurred around the edges.

And I roll it between my heart and my soul so often that now it's positively ragged with remembrance. 

But it was so silly.

Listen while I tell you a story about true love.

------------

May, 2008

I shuffled my feet to the bedside.  Eased myself onto the cool sheets.  Rolled to face the bathroom, and yawned hugely.  Baby Lauren was finally asleep and my day had quieted.   

At the bathroom sink, draped in the light of soft white bulbs, Justin was getting ready for bed.  I watched him through half-closed eyelids, purple seeping into the edges of my vision.  So tired.  Cold water sang from the faucet like a lullaby.  His broad shoulders bent towards the countertop, searching.  Finding.

He held up his toothbrush and looked closely at the bristles.  Ran his finger over them.  Smiled and breathed one near-silent laugh.  It was seen more than heard. 

"What's funny?" I asked as another yawn overtook my words. 

He didn't turn all the way around, just swiveled his head as he unscrewed the cap from the toothpaste.  Spoke over his left shoulder towards my stretched-out sleepiness.

"You used my toothbrush again." It wasn't dropped like an accusation; it was offered like an endearment.  His lips tilted up in a secret smile.  And before I could speak -- defend, deny, describe -- he popped the toothbrush into his mouth and worked up a quick lather. 

I was stunned. 

I'd used his toothbrush?  And not for the first time?

And...

this man who didn't like to eat or drink out of the same dish as anyone else, this man who was afraid of baby spit-up, this man who kissed my forehead instead of my mouth when I was sick...

he didn't care. 

Lying there, watching his casual routine, my belly flipped.  A soft knot -- smooth and warm -- twisted inside and I fell.

In love, again, with my husband. 

------------

It hardly stands up to the scrutiny of being shared.  I feel unable explain it well enough to make you understand.  It was one of the purest expressions of acceptance and trust and love I've ever experienced.  Such a tiny, forgettable thing -- the brushing of teeth -- and it's left a permanent memory etched inside me. 

Even now, when I run through the memory, all 12 seconds of it, I cannot pinpoint why.  I cannot hold on to the smooth, warm knot of feeling twisting through my heart.  It eases past and all I am left with is the sense...

the sense...

that I am loved unconditionally. 

Exhausted, forgetful, and loved in spite of it all.

This month for Bigger Picture Moments, we're encouraging you to explore the beauty and simplicity of LOVE.  Let the Valentine's hearts and rosy colors cloud your words as you share your moments -- a memory, a confession, a proposal, a feeling -- and link up.  Alita is hosting today; please head over to share your moment and read others from friends as we live intentionally through February!

Bigger Picture Moment: Thankful for The Pause

This is the loveliest time of the whole year.  Maybe even the loveliest day of the whole year. 

The sky is full of wispy white clouds that blend invisibly into the endless blue, and the wind falls down in gusts.  Nothing is standing still; everything shudders and rattles to the thrill of autumn’s rhythm.

On the blacktop road lies every color of leaf.  They are, allegedly, dead.  But to be alive with such color makes up for a shortcoming as insurmountable as death.  Even the brown leaves, dull when still clinging to a branch, are infused with brilliance as they mingle with golden ochre, ginger, and ruby on the ground. 

A burst of air kicks up a cluster of leaves where they rest.  But they don’t simply scatter away with incoherence; they move in tandem.  Maybe one or two started it, and the others in close proximity joined in the swirl.  They become a whirlwind.  A cyclone.  A burnt and crumbling rainbow of color, marking a path of what might be destruction.  Chaos, perhaps. 

But the circularity of their dance seems too inevitable for chaos.  It has to swirl.  It has to gain momentum.  What choice does it have?  The wind is its only master, and nothing can stop the wind once its mind has been made up.

Except a brick wall.  Or a parked car on the roadside.  Or even, innocently, a child’s foot, placed within the circumference of the windy swirl. 

Then suddenly, everything stops.  The cyclone melts away into a carpet of leaves once more.  Gusts may disturb them again, but never will the same group of neighbors make up that exact whirlwind.  It’s disbanded. 

The leaves can rest.

------------

I'm bounding through the house in past-our-bedtime mode:

Pick out pajamas, gather tomorrow’s clothes, pick up those toys, the baby’s crying, the girls are being too loud in the bath tub, my eyes are burning, what time is it?, find the blankie, grab some towels, he’ll need a diaper, the phone is ringing, I forgot the laundry, Mia’s backpack!, ‘I’ll be right there’, the baby’s still crying, OUCH! (I stubbed my toe), please hurry, let’s go let’s go let’s go.

Then, in the hallway, my husband blocks my path.  He stares down at me without saying a word.  I try to move past him into the bedroom where there are things that need to be done before bedtime can happen, but he stretches one arm out to the wall, and I’m pinned.  I can feel the momentum building inside my chest – I have to move because I’m tired and the baby’s crying and the girls are up too late.  I need to keep going.  It’s a compulsion that I can’t control.  To slow down or (good Lord – don’t even think it -) stop my forward motion is almost painful. 

I sigh and raise my brow with irritation.  “What?”

But I already know what he’ll say, and he knows that I know.  So he says nothing.  Instead, he pulls me to his chest – trapped – and forces me to pause. 

I’m angry.  I hate it when he does this.  It’s a brick wall that I cannot escape.  A foot in my whirlwind, messing up my perfect circle of purpose.

But I turn my head and rest it on his heart.  He drops his face to my hair and I go limp inside, wrapping my restless arms around his waist.  I breathe in the scent of his skin; even under his shirt, even after a long day, even with the smell of soap and chaos still swirling around us, even then – the scent of his skin is enough to make me calm.

My eyes close.

The baby is still crying.  Someone is splashing with too much gusto in the bath tub.  Tomorrow’s clothes are still unchosen.

But I am still.  I have paused.  He has made me pause. 

When we move away from one another, towards our mutual but separate tasks, the carpet of necessary work is still under our feet.  There are still gusts of disturbance and motion, but I know – I promise –

that I will not become a whirlwind again.  Not tonight.  I will rest.  Things will get done. 

They always do.

And this might be the loveliest time of our whole lives.  Maybe even the loveliest day of our whole lives. 

So while our family shudders and rattles to the thrill of this season’s rhythm, I’m thankful for the chance to experience it.

I’m thankful for the pause.

Bigger Picture Moments this month are all about Gratitude. What simple things -- big or small -- are you thankful for? Write about them -- photograph them -- poeticize them -- list them -- and share them with us at Alita's place today. Grab the button and enjoy this time of thanksgiving as we encourage each other to experience life's blessings!

A Pedicure Will Not Cure Foot-in-Mouth Disease (Especially Somebody Else's)

Breaking News: I don't like having my feet touched.  Not for a massage, not for a pedicure, not fer nuthin'. 

There's the tickling issue, but then there are also myriad other things that make me squirm and go all self-conscious.  A weird freckle on the inside of my big toe.  An immovable callous here or there.  The toenails that I try to keep trimmed while pregnant, but Heavens to Betsy...that's almost more trouble than it's worth these days.  (Kind of like shaving.  Don't even get me started on the safety hazards and rude indignities of 9th-month shaving.)

Even just telling you so many intimate details about my feet is giving me the shivers.  It's like you're looking  at them and...and...thinking about them.  Shudder.

As such, you can imagine my horror to remember how close a gaggle of doctors and nurses will be coming to my feet while I'm in bearing down position sometime soon.  No, no -- the fact that they'll be down there doesn't worry me so much as knowing that my FEET might gain their attention.  The horrors, right?

So, to avoid any awkwardness on the delivery bed (hah), I made myself go in for a pedicure.  The second pedicure of my life.  The technician was kind and careful and skilled and...I have to admit, my feet look gorgeous.  It's nothing short of amazing (perhaps it's nothing short of crazy) how much more prepared I feel for labor and delivery over such a silly thing. 

But I'm beginning to think that my choice at the salon today was for naught.  That maybe I should have sprung for a different package of personal detailing.

You need to know, for this next part, that my husband swears he remembers the specific sort of beauty I possessed when I went into labor with Lauren, over 3 years ago.  He said I was remarkably pretty that night, and that I had a glow he'd not seen before.  Very complimentary, right?  He's such a sweetheart...

So this morning, while I was getting myself ready -- another undignified process whereby I cannot gain my balance and my clothing at the same critical point in time -- Justin looked at me to say something.  It was early.  He hadn't really gazed into my eyes yet.  Basked in my 9-months appearance.  But he looked at me, then did a double take with squinted eyes of concentration.

"What?" I asked.  It was too early to have something stuck in my teeth.  What was he looking at?

He shook his head.  "Never mind -- I thought for a minute that you looked especially pretty today, and I was starting to freak out that you'd go into labor."  Here, he let out a relieved puff of air.

"So..." I ventured skeptically.  "False alarm?"

"Yeah, you just look..."  Cue the sunrise and the dawning of a misspoken phrase.  His eyebrows rose as he realized his blunder, and he started shaking his head and hands in equal parts submission and appeasement. 

Don't worry.  I gave him h-e-double-hockey-sticks.

Still, it made me wonder if I shouldn't have sprung for the facial instead.  But then I remembered: nah.  Nobody's going to be looking at my face in the delivery room.

I swear, it'll be all eyes on my gorgeous feet.  Right?

A Dance in the Snow

I'm still working on my adventure list so I can join in with Emily's stories at Keeping Time, but until my list is ready, I thought I'd go ahead and share a story.  Something from my life that will grace my list of adventures.  Something I never want to forget.

------------

It had snowed all of Christmas Eve, covering the world in glittering white.  And it was deep snow.  Softly pillowing and muffling the sounds of a busy Christmas Day.

Near sunset, in the car with the heater blasting, Justin kept his surprise to himself.  We wove along quiet, white roads, hands laced together over the middle console.  I squinted against the brightness of the setting sun, trying to remain patient.  Where were we going? 

Slowly, he pulled the car alongside the curb of an empty road, and turned off the ignition.  We sat.  I swiveled my head, trying to understand why we were here: the park.  It was sprawling and gorgeous and lively...in the springtime.  But now, in winter?  All of the ancient sycamores and maples were draped in white and while that effect was stunning, I was stumped.  I'd already gotten a thoughtful gift from Justin earlier that morning: my star-sapphire ring; there was nothing more to give. 

Still, he came around to my door, hauled me from the warmth of the seat, and escorted me across the powder.  We stumbled and slipped, and it wasn't all accidental: I wanted to be caught in his strong arms.  He led me across the empty park to the large gazebo, up a dozen cement-and-snow steps, to the middle of the floor.  Snow drifted in around the edges of the outdoor room, frozen breezes picking up glittery flakes and swirling them around us. 

Off to one side, near a scooted-away picnic table, there was a portable stereo.  While I stood, confused, Justin stepped over to the machine, pressed a few buttons, and came back to me.  His arms encircled my waist, pulled me towards his chest, and as the music started, we began to dance. 

I shook my head at his stealth and romance, and placed my arms around his neck.  We were a bundle of coats and scarves, gloves and boots.  A puffed-up couple of lovebirds, fluffing our feathers to keep warm.  The sun pricked out bits of flying light on individual snowflakes.  They landed in our hair, on our red cheeks, and melted on our lips. 

Music floated with the snow.  My heart skipped two beats each time my face reached for the exposed part of Justin's neck.  He was warm and freezing, all at once.

The sun continued to fall as we danced, making the expanse of snow-covered park turn shades of pink and orange.  Then purple.  Then blue.

The truest colors of Christmas.

-----------

And this story needs to remain even more firmly rooted in my memory now, because after the tornado, this old, sprawling park is gone.  All of the grand, stately trees and the tall-stepped gazebo...the swells and dips of the rolling land are now bare.  The surface is scrubbed clean of any trace of memory. 

So I wrote it down.  Take THAT, F5. 

An Addendum to the Romance

Something else romance is after 11 years of togetherness?  Sarcastic.  And trouble-making.


Scene: Justin and Sarah are watching an episode of Smallville (oh yes -- they are serious fans) in which Clark has to say goodbye to the meteor-infected Lana.  He is rendered allergic to her, but fights his way through the anguish and torturous pain in order to kiss her one last, passionate time.

Sarah: *sighing with misty eyes; fishing for compliments*  Would you fight your way through impossible pain and torture beyond measure just to kiss me?
Justin:  *with deep emotion* Absolutely, baby.  A million times over.
Sarah:  *swooning*
Justin:  In fact, I do it every morning when you roll over with morning breath.  TORTURE.

End Scene.
Begin gut-punching.

Bigger Picture Moment: This Is Romance

You know how when you were first dating, and you gazed at your gorgeous boyfriend across a crowded room, your heart did little flutters?  Maybe you got a flash of remembering the perfect good-night kiss from last night, and you tingled into the depths of your (amazingly flat, pre-baby) belly.  And as you had that memory, he would catch your eye, grin like he was remembering it too, and you'd have to look away to stop the blush from creeping into your brain and coloring everything rosy before directing you to burst into a ballad about true love and tenderness and passion?

Well, this isn't about that, exactly. 

This is better. 

------------

The sun was falling as we sat in a growing slice of shade from the cliff above us.  Our table on the patio held a few drinks, a scattering of kids' paraphernalia, and empty spaces waiting for our food to be delivered.  Thankfully, there was a generous breeze -- that and the cool stone wall at our backs kept us from noticing the summer evening's heat. 

The girls wove themselves around and through a crowd of restaurant goers, many of whom were our own family, gathered for a birthday party.  They giggled and dove and raced -- all acceptable activities at this outdoor patio.

In the seat across from me, I caught Justin's eye, and he winked.  A crinkle of eye and curve of lip.  A relaxed hand resting on the tabletop. A glance in the kids' direction and an appreciative shake of the head at their energy. 

With the sunlight becoming filtered and relaxed, he looked like a celebrity, hiding away at a small-town outdoor grill to get away from it all.

But he wasn't.  He sat at the table to get into it all: the family, the laughter, the winking, the relaxing, the completeness of a life with wife and kids.

This is romance, friends. 

It is sometimes hurried and forgotten; it is sometimes caressed and sheltered; it is sometimes managed and scheduled; it is sometimes slow and simple; it is sometimes hilarious and easy; it is sometimes tender and tearful....

It is sometimes a touching of toes under an outdoor table while you watch your kids playing in the shade of a cliff on a hot summer evening.

And I still want to burst into ballads about it.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful. Please join us at Alita's place today! Grab the button, link up and then go forth to encourage the two people before you as they walk this journey of intentional living.

8 Years Is Only a Drop in the Bucket

Eight years ago today, I was squeezing into the laces of a pure, white gown.  I was forgetting to breathe and wanting the day to hurry hurry hurry but slowly; I wanted every second to be plucked from its timeline and examined before it could be placed back on the speeding light of wedding-day time.

Here's one series of seconds I remember with spotty clarity:

The church was empty, quiet.  Bridesmaids were hidden away somewhere, getting ready for the evening, but I was dressed.  I was sweaty.  I practiced my walk in heels that were never seen under the heaviness of the gown's skirt.  Inside the flowered sanctuary, through a rectangle window, my husband stood at the foot of the chancel's steps.

He stood as if ready for the ceremony to begin, hands clasped firmly behind his tuxedo'd back. 

I opened the door, and he saw me.  Without the halting processional music -- only silence -- I could hurry down the aisle to his side.  We were alone, except for the photographer who'd hidden himself outside the doors, protecting our first glimpse from other glimpses. 

I know brides are usually the focus of the day in terms of beauty and grace.  But oh -- my groom.  He glowed.  He glows.  He's warmth and light and comfort and strength.

In the space of seconds that we'd carved out to give each other before the excitement could begin, I remember wanting to sit down and bury my face in his neck.  I wondered why all the preparation had to keep us apart for so many hours of our day. 

What I don't remember is what we said.  I only remember how it felt to walk towards him in that dim, lofty sanctuary: floaty and pulled and desperate and hopeful and happy.  I'm certain I slipped my fingers into his and that I wasn't ready to be pulled away again before the ceremony could begin. 

I'm also certain that I still feel this way when I walk towards him, this glowing man of my dreams.  Pulled and desperate and happy.  It's compulsory, my walking towards him. 

And lucky for us, we've only had 8 short years of practice; there's still a lifetime left. 

Happy Anniversary, Justin -- I love you, I love you. 

And I love you.

Sappy Monday

Admittedly, I was lonely and cold on my side of the booth.  (At least I had my sandwich to keep me company...)

But if it isn't the sweetest thing in the world to have a husband who's adored and begged for by his dazzled daughters, I don't know what is.  They didn't give him much peace, between requests for hugs and tickles and help with lunch. 

The second sweetest thing is how little he minds being so desired. 

A good man may be hard to find, but he's awfully easy to love.

Something Beautiful

And the sunset is nice, too.

A Love Scene

Scene: A young, gorgeous, married couple are sitting in a parked car in a darkened lot.  The moon is glowing directly above their windshield, and faint clouds are scuttering across the black dome of the sky.  As the car's engine ticks it's cooling melody under the hood, the lovestruck couple gazes longingly at one another -- their hands intertwined with passion.


Him:  (With concern, bordering on impatience.)  Are you sure this is what you want?  I mean, I KNOW I could figure out something better if you just give me a few more minutes.

Her:  No, it's okay, really.  This place will be perfect...let's just do it.

Him:  Alright.  (Starts to unbuckle his seatbelt before pausing dramatically as with a sudden inspiration.)  No!  I know where we need to go!  (Enthusiastically aims to re-buckle the belt and turn the key in the ignition simultaneously.)

Her:  NO!  (Halting his hands with her own.)  Seriously, we're already here, I don't want to drive around any more.  I'm tired; I just want to go home as soon as we're done. 

Him:  But...(With broken-hearted tenderness.) I know where we need to go.  It's exactly what you've been dreaming of.  Do you even want to know what I was going to suggest?

Her:  Well, I guess so.  But we don't have to go there tonight -- can we save it for next time?  Where is it?

Him:  That barbecue place I went to with Mia the other night sells funnel cakes and they're topped with a scoop of ice cream.  You begged for a funnel cake not fifteen minutes ago.  THAT'S where I want to take you.

Her:  (Eyes slightly glazed and greedy.)  That...mmmm...that sounds good.  But, no.  Let's just stay here.  This place makes the best cinnamon rolls and now I can't stop thinking about cinnamon rolls.  I want one.  (Patting her swollen belly with gravity.)  The baby wants one.  Let's go. 

Him:  (Shaking his head slowly while opening his door.)  I'll never understand you.

(The couple exits the car, walking slowly, cuddling up to each other despite the man's confusion.  The woman reaches up on tip-toes to kiss her husband's bare neck and whisper one, last, secret desire.)

Her:  (Directly into his ear; softly.)  Doesn't pizza sound good?