On your first birthday...

In a blink of an eye, you are one years old. I knew it would go by quickly, but I never anticipated it to go by this quickly. I could go down the rabbit hole of "where did the year go?" but I'll save you the trouble of reading that.

When we were first told that we were having a girl, I panicked. I was terrified. But now, one year later, I realize that I, above all else, am filled with hope for you. I hope for so much for you. So much, that I could never share it all.

But here's a start.

I hope that you never tire of us telling you we love you. And you never tire of saying it back.
I hope you always find comfort in my arms, no matter how big you are.
I hope you don't need to be the center of attention, but appreciate when you are.
I hope you laugh with such enthusiasm others around you can't help but smile.
I hope you jump in every puddle, every time.
I hope you never take advantage of others.
I hope you're scared of things, but have the ability and willingness to overcome them.
I hope you make friends easily.
I hope you don't sweat the small stuff.
I hope you travel the world, but always come home.
I hope you have your heart broken, so you can appreciate true love and its rarity.
I hope you like to dance, especially if you're not good at it.
I hope you don't become obsessed with Frozen.
I hope you always wear sunscreen.
I hope you like watching football, but prefer basketball.
I hope you appreciate classical music,
I hope you're warm and compassionate to all people (but never tolerate less than the same).
I hope your first job is humbling and your last job worthwhile.
I hope you try new foods with gusto.
I hope you enjoy the feeling of flying- in your father's arms, on a plane, and in love.
I hope you never bungee jump or skydive or do anything that involves risking your life.
I hope you disregard the above if it means following in your father's footsteps.
I hope you have a southern drawl.
I hope you have the confidence to walk proudly and embrace every part of you.
I hope you never speak ugly words.
I hope you walk with your eyes looking ahead.
I hope you never start biting your nails or dying your hair.
I hope you see the value in keeping in touch with old friends.
I hope you write thank you notes on real stationery.
I hope you seek adventure -- but not so much that I'm constantly worried.
I hope you like to cook.
I hope you love the beach as much as I do.
I hope you learn that people can let you down, but others will never let you fall.
I hope you have opinions.
I hope you vote.
I hope you understand the importance of choice in all things.
I hope you like pizza, hot peppers, and Ranch.
I hope you fight for what you want.
I hope you never stop asking questions.
I hope you follow your dreams, even if they aren't ours.
I hope you know how much we all love you and you never forget it. Ever.

I will do everything in my power to make all of these things possible for you... and then some.

I love you the most.

Love,
Me

A letter to my daughter

My Dearest Darling,

A single event can change your life forever and your birth did just that. And while it may seem trite, it is true: my love for you grows stronger with each passing day. I am proud to have been called by God to be a mother and not just any mother, but your mother. While I will certainly make mistakes, it will not be because I haven't tried to give you the world you so deserve. 

I remember the morning you were born. It was bitter cold and snow still held on to the shady patches of grass and road. The sky was blue and the sun was peeking in over the curtains that had been drawn the night before. The nurse who had checked us in the previous night had long been off work, but had snuck back in for your arrival. With no end in sight, our room was full of doctors and nurses, discussing options. I was exhausted and the monitors showed that you were too. We had reached our limits. But, as you'll soon learn, the women in this family are fighters and so we pushed through together, without medicine or interventions. And from the moment they placed you in my arms, I knew my life would never be the same.  I looked at your father as they took you from me and thought, How strange.  Everything is different.

And so, as we approach the halfway mark to the first year of life, I would like to share with you just a few things I've learned:

I'm terrified. While I am (fairly) confident in my ability to be your mother, I'm still terrified every time your cry changes, or you roll to your tummy and sleep face down, or sleep for fours hours during your nap instead of your normal two, or that you're still hungry after I nurse you. And that doesn't even touch on the things I know are coming; walking, climbing, school, boyfriends, marriage and your own children. All the things I don't know, terrify me. But it's a healthy scare. A reality check that raising you requires more than what your father and I can give you. It requires faith and help from God.

I can't always protect you, although I will always try. I learned this in just the first week of your life when we noticed something wasn't right. This lesson in parenthood has been the most challenging and painful one to acknowledge. Your pain is magnified in me and my heart breaks with every tear you shed. But you've given me strength I never knew I had, too. And when you're hurting, I am at my strongest, for you. I know I can't always be there to catch you when you fall, but I'll always be there to pick up the pieces.

You are strong. And you will be okay. Long before you were born I prayed for you to have your father's strength and you do. You are brave and show no fear. I hope you always find that inner strength as you continue to face the world.

You bring joy I never imagined. When faced with sorrow, your simple smile brings life back into a room.  When it's the fifth time I've walked half asleep into your room and you put your head on my shoulder, my frustration melts and I'm consumed by your love. When I'm exhausted in a way I didn't know was possible, your giggle gives me energy. For every day we are blessed to have you, I feel pure happiness. There will never be a day I'll be ready to say goodbye.

My sweet, perfect angel on earth, thank you for making me something more than I was before: your mother. I love you more than you'll ever know; my whole heart for my whole life. I love you and am incredibly proud to be your mom.


                                                                                      Love,
                                                       Incredibly Exhausted and Loving It      

No, that's not a beer belly.

We're trading silent nights for sleep walking, messy diapers, and squeaky toys.  Yup, we're going to be parents!  While I may have tried hiding my growing bump during the majority of the first two trimesters, we've reached week 39 and there's no denying our family is growing.  But this, of course, is not new news!  In fact, if you were one of the lucky ones to have been by my side prior to IVs and finally daily medication, you knew from the endless vomiting, the turning down of food (I do NOT turn down food) and the increased naps.  Yup, from the very beginning, it's been obvious.  But the idea of us being parents, apparently wasn't.

 

 

Thirty weeks

 

Once we made the announcement the questions came flooding in as to whether or not it was planned. Oh, here we go again. Let me be frank.  Those who may be sensitive to blunt honesty, please stop reading now.  No, really, stop reading if you're going to be offended. 

Yes, this child was planned.  My husband and I are no longer young enough to feign ignorance or extreme naivety.  At this age, knowing what we know about the birds and bees, how could we ever say she was not (and keep a straight face)?  Yes, she was very much planned.  Was it part of our plan to tell our friends, family and complete strangers when we would start trying?  Well, no, but bless your heart for thinking we would.  

So now that some of you are upset with my honesty (honesty is afterall the best policy, though not always a welcomed one), let me also share this: stop asking.  Stop asking people if the pregnancy is planned.  Frankly, it is not proper to ask, nor is it appropriate.  In the rare chance that you happen to ask the one mother who happened to be the 1 in 100 to get pregnant while using a form of birth control, chances are she's not going to be overly excited to share that their child is indeed unplanned.  Let's face it, when you hear the words "We didn't plan to have a baby", you immediately think "and yet, there you are, all pregnant and bringing a child into the world you didn't even want".  And THAT is just ignorant. 

One word can change everything.

Two weeks ago I pulled up my big girl pants, kissed my husband before he headed off to work and dragged my mom with me to an appointment that I never imagined I'd have to make.  I wore my brave face up until they put me in a small waiting room where everyone was at least twice my age.  They looked at me with pity as the tears began to pool at the corner of my eyes.  While I dabbed quickly, it wasn't enough and they began streaming down my cheeks.  This was more than a hormonal cry, it was reality hitting like a hammer.  I rubbed my belly and tried to focus on the scripture given to me by a dear friend just months before. 

 

"She is clothed with strength and dignity..."

 

But I had no more strength.  I was scared for my life and that of our unborn child.  I wanted someone to reach over and tell me it would be okay, but we were all here for the same thing and we all knew that there was a high probability that for at least one of us, things wouldn't be okay.  I looked at the women around me, composed and reading their magazines as their gowns gapped haphazardly across their chests.  Then I looked at me, clenching the top of my gown as if it mattered.  Funny, the things we hold on to.

 

Eventually my breathing slowed as I remembered something my mom told me just ten years before while I laid in the hospital.  I had asked her if she was scared and she said, "God never gives us more than we can bear."  It wasn't specifically what she had said, but how her words resounded with such conviction and assurance- certainly it must be true.  I decided then there were two ways in which this appointment could go- I'd find out I had breast cancer or I didn't.  And regardless of the verdict, I could count on these three things:  my God would take care of me and those I loved, my husband would find a way to make me laugh regardless of how grave the situation, and our love would become even greater than we had ever imagined. 

 

When they called my name I held my head as high as I could and walked with as much confidence as I could muster.  The doctor explained what we were looking at throughout the process, but slowed over several spots in which were concerning.  She left to show the images to the radiologist and I laid there praying for strength and courage to be able to hear what she would say upon her return.  I prayed to my grandmother, a victim of breast cancer, and asked her to watch over me.  Maybe she heard me because when the doctor returned she explained that we would continue to watch these areas throughout the pregnancy, but at this time, they believed the three cysts were benign based on how close they were to one another.  Benign.  At that moment, it was the sweetest word I've ever heard. 

 

I walked out of the room, found my mom sitting in a separate waiting area and gave her the thumbs up.  I quickly changed and came back.  We didn't say anything and there were no hugs; just tears as we walked out in to the hospital's main hallways.  I knew she was thinking about my grandma and I just looked at her and thought, "there's no way you're getting out of being called Granny."  I flashed a half smile and we finally both breathed. 

 

 

 

 

**In six months I'll return for a mamogram and follow-up ultrasound.  Ladies (and men, you're not excluded), please know your body.  Don't wait for a doctor to tell you, especially now that they only do breast exams only once every two years.  I went from being a monthly checker to a lazy procrastinator and it gave me the scare of a lifetime.  Don't wait, especially if someone in your family has been diagnosed with breast cancer.  Early detection DOES save lives.

Angels on Earth

Several years ago, the country swooned over the movie, The Notebook.  Girls cried together on couches, promised themselves they'd wait for a love like that, and told their husbands they'd go in peace just like in the movie.  I didn't have to watch the movie or read the book.  I already knew the story.  It was the story of my grandparents and while my grandfather has certainly outlived both of his wives, a piece of him has died each time.

 

I have tried several times to bring to life his story; one of loss and love.  I've tried to eloquently write of the challenges he overcame with the loss of his first wife and finding love again, just to have it taken.  But the words, no matter how many times I write them or start over fall terribly short.  Maybe, just perhaps, there aren't enough words; for no words could describe the utter despair of losing his wife and the mother to his four children.  A wife that not only suffered from schizophrenia, a mental illness that challenges you and those around you to the core, but later from breast cancer which would ultimately take her long before we ever expected.

 

My mother once wrote about my grandmother.  She said she couldn't edit it or even read it over because it was too painful, too emotional.  How can you put in to words a person's life?  How can you give value so that others can appreciate your loss?  How?  I don't know how my mother did it, but she did.  It's a short piece and offers just a glimpse to the life my grandmother had and the profound impact she had on others.  You can read her story here as a guest post on Mom-in-the-Moon.

 

 And while all seemed lost, my mother fulfilled my grandmother's last dying wish and introduced my grandfather to a beautiful and charming lady; Pat.   Grandma Pat was a woman that would become a wife he adored and a grandma that spoiled the rest of us rotten. To my younger cousins, she was the only grandmother they ever knew and to me she was the grandmother I knew my grandma always dreamed of being.  Still, it was hard, growing up missing Grandma the way I did and at times feeling guilty for loving Grandma Pat just as much.  But my grandfather was happy, we were happy, and life seemed to once again be as it should be.

 

I spent nearly every Sunday curled up on their couch after church, which I've written about here.  Every Sunday I learned more life lessons, heard the same old stories, and indulged in all things chocolate.  It was comfortable, it was simple, it was our life.  Then, my grandmother started to forget simple things, things were uncomfortable, and life got real.  She was diagnosed with cancer and later with Alzheimer's.  If God only gives you what you're able to handle, my grandfather must be a saint.  I watched him cry when things got tough; how he helped my grandmother to the bathroom, get her dress, take her around the block becuase she refused to be in a home that wasn't hers.  What broke my heart was watching the woman he loved forget who he was.  She'd get angry and demand to be taken home, but she was already there.  He never left her side.  Not even on her last day.  He loved her like he loved my grandmother.  And with every kiss, every story, I knew he not only saw his new wife, but also the one he lost many years ago.

 

No, words can't begin to explain it.  Any outsider, trying to understand, would just nod in kind gesture, never fully grasping the love my grandfather had for his wives, a love he shared with us.  And while, pictures are worth a thousand words, even they seem to fall short.  At any rate, the following pictures, capture just a glimpse at the love my grandfather had for my grandma. 

 

 Just a few months after Grandma Pat passed, I traveled home to see my family.  I asked Papa to take me to the farm to see it one more time and to stop by Grandma Pat's grave.  He grabbed the keys and we were off.  Before we left, he asked if he could just go and say goodbye one last time.  I sat in the car, but found myself following quickly behind him as I watched him grab grass seed and fertilizer from his trunk.  Happy to have had my camera, these pictures show how much he loved her.

 

"She would have wanted her grass to be the prettiest."

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

Fearless

Despite the fact that I travel quite often, either for work or for fun, and have been for several years, I still get anxious when approaching the airport.  If I'm being honest, and I try to be, it starts the minute my bags hit the trunk of the car and it doesn't end until I'm on the plane.  The moment of ultimate fear is when I stand in the line, without my shoes, trying to toss all of my items on the conveyor belt and waiting for the inevitable machine which forces me to raise my arms that now have embarrassing sweat stains because I'm THAT NERVOUS.  Recently while traveling on business to Dallas I was granted the opportunity to walk through all the security clearances (don't ask me how I got that special clearance, it just showed up on my ticket and I didn't ask questions).  Not having to wait in the "show me your ID" or "empty your suitcase and take off your shoes" line took that usual anxiety away.  And it hit me,  I'm not a nervous person afraid of flying, I'm a nervous waiter.  And so, it got me thinking. 

 

How many of us are nervous waiters?  You know, worried and wondering what comes next, when will we get there and what will it be like?  Worried about what we'll have to take off or let go of and anxious about the steps that we'll be made to take and the line we'll be asked to walk.  And well, if you're like me, these little things don't seem so little and well, it's nerve wracking.  The unknown is painfully and brutally distracting. 

 

Lately my friends, all quickly approaching their 30s and a few unfortunate ones like myself, inching closer to the next decade, have found themselves in the corral line moving slowly through back-and-forth lines where little progress seems to be made.  Once they reach what they believe to be the next step in reaching their ultimate goal, they're stopped, stripped clean of everything, and are left standing there while everyone else moves forward.  So, how do we stop from being anxious?  How do we become fearless?

 

I don't have the answers.  If I did, I wouldn't be the one standing in line with sweat stains.  But maybe you do.  Maybe you have answers or maybe, just maybe, we're all a little nervous and being fearless is nothing more than putting on a brave face and pretending that everything will be okay even if we don't know it will be. 

 

 

Let me tell you a secret...

If you don't have George Strait's lyrics running through your head then you cannot claim you're from the south. Period.  No, don't try to talk your way out of this one, because I'm telling you, once you here the words "Let me tell you a secret..." you should immediately think "...about a father's love".  Luckily, for me, I get to hear this song at least twice a week.  It's the song that plays, without fail, every Sunday morning on my husband's phone and it's always about the same thing: a father's love.  I can't remember the first time I noticed his calls, but I've come to expect them.  And in the rare occasions that they don't come through, it doesn't take long before my husband picks up the phone. 

Sometimes my husband's job takes him away from me for periods of time.  And considering we're still in our honeymoon phase (just coming up on three years), anything more than a day seems like an eternity. (Unless we're fighting over which of us is supposed to do dishes next.)  Prior to one of his trips, his father came to visit.

My husband's father is a simple man who doesn't say much.  He reminds me a lot of my favorite sweatpants, the corner spot on my grandparent's old couch, and that blue chair I'd sit in as the waves washed ashore.  He brings peace and a sense of calm.  He's comfortable.  He's not a man of many words, but he doesn't need to be.  His father remembers things, like the fact I have to have a Coke every morning and when he visits, he brings me a 6-pack just because he remembers things like that.  He knows I like Italian food over Mexican and my total dislike of cooking (though I've managed to keep both my husband and I alive on it so far).  And so, when we were faced with what to do with dinner just after saying goodbye to my husband, he knew just what I'd need- Italian food and a Coke!

We found ourselves in one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall, been around forever, so old you're not sure if it's even clean anymore Italian places just off the coast.  Remember when I said he was a man of few words?  Well, you never would have known that night.  Nope.  He talked my ear off.  And it was the kind of conversation you never wanted to forget.  The kind that makes you really know a person.  The kind that made me think of my husband and see him, for the first time, as a man who was loved by his father so much he'd risk it all just to give his son the world.  It was a man who did take great risks in life, went against the grain, and provided for his family of four.  I wish his children could have heard him and the way he spoke of them both.  It was the way you wish all parents spoke of their children and for the first time I felt less like I was talking to my Father-n-law and more like I was talking to my own Dad.  His eyes did that Santa like sparkle when he spoke of his children, his wife, and the life he had chosen.  It was refreshing and I found myself with even greater respect for the man sitting across from me eating his spaghetti.

During the time my husband was gone, the song didn't play.  It was weird missing something so small, yet so powerful.  His father did call to check on me and despite our attempts to catch up, weather, timing, and the fact we were always miles away from each other kept us from sharing a Coke and stories.  We did however talk often and every time it was the same; he asked about his son, asked if I had any new news on where our adventures would take us next, and whether there was anything he could do for us (though really, I know he was meaning his son).  This continued until my husband was home and I knew, without asking, his father would follow shortly thereafter.

I can't explain what it's like watching a father and son reunite.  I'd like to think it mimics that of when I first hug my mom after being away for a period of time.  I tried to capture it this last time, but my husband hates pictures, so I was left with trying to hide it by snapping a picture from my phone at my hip.  It's blurry, grainy, and all things wrong, but at the same time, it is all things right.  You can't see his father's face, but I assure you, he was smiling like a kid on Christmas.

This morning I woke up early with my husband who was heading to work with breakfast for his co-workers.  I sent him a text shortly after to let him know how much I loved him for the things he does for others.  (And let me be clear, he will be none too happy that I've posted what he did in such an open outlet.  He does things because he believes in them, not for anything else. And so, I just hope he doesn't read this last part as I'm sure I'll get a talking to.)  For the things he does for others wasn't learned in college or through his current job, but from years of being raised by a man who loved his family. 

Love goes a long way.  It shapes who we are as people and has the ability to impact thousands of people indirectly, not to mention the hundreds of people we interact within our lifetime.  So parents, while I realize I have no children of my own and little to stand on, I ask that you love your children.  But more so, I ask that you let them know you love them.  Even when your children are grown, have left your home, and have started their own family, call them.  Interrupt their lives with visits, emails, and phone calls.  These are the things that remind us all that love still exists in this world and it effects the way we treat others.  We are a direct reflection of our parents, whether we like it or not.  Love your kids.  And kids, love your parents. 

Thank you, John, for raising your son the way he is.  Every day I wake up and know that I am lucky and I am reminded of it in so many ways.  Your son loves me the way a husband is meant to love their wife and I am proud to be the one he comes home to.

Faith, Love, and a Whole Lot of Coffee

 

We waited.  For seven months, we waited.  And here we were, moments before their arrival, and still waiting. 

 

The time was crawling and still there was no sign of the plane that would signal their arrival home.  We held on to each other, every now and then wiping a tear that had found its way to the side of our cheeks, and waited. Together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were smiles and laughter throughout the day, but now mostly just an anxious silence that fell between us.  I couldn't open my mouth to speak but I knew there were words that needed to be said as we stood there, tears in our eyes, waiting for the ones we loved to come home.  I put my hand on her back and without saying a word, told them everything was going to be okay.  We had made it.

 

 

 

 

 

We stood together, side by side, like Marines.  We were each other's strength and although we all had our moments of weakness throughout the deployment, we knew standing there that day, we were strong and we had survived; together.

 

 

Together.  And that's how we'll always be, together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Credits:  A Beautiful Moment Photography by Megan and LG Photography

Thirty-one

Thirty-one; it's not just the label on the side of some polka-dotted tote, but the label on my life.  Wow.  How did this happen?

 

I'm half-smiling, shaking my head, wondering where the past year has disappeared to.  Then as if on cue, I catch my reflection and see the unmistakable new wrinkles and know exactly where the year went.  I'm sorry, I am still in shock- THIRTY-ONE! 

 

Last year I celebrated the beginning of a new decade with enthusiasm, anxious about the next adventure.  I had brought in the new year with a group of phenomenal women, initiated by my loving husband, and organized by old friends.  I had written these simple truths about life and was over-the-moon happy and looking forward to another year.  And now, that year is over. 

 

So what did I learn in that year?

 

Life is peculiar.

 

 

 

 

LOVE DOES

 

 

I started reading the book, Love Does, after my dear friend at 10,000 Reasons suggested I needed a break from research articles.  After a quick download (or is it upload?) to my Kindle, I grabbed a cup of hot green tea and settled on the couch under my favorite blue blanket.  I set my phone to silent, not wanting to be disturbed, and began reading. What I didn't finish in the home, I finished on my flight home.  (Yes, that was me dabbing away tears during the final chapter).  A delightful story of one man and his love for all things whimsy, it is sure to warm your heart.  If nothing else, it'll have you thinking about what LOVE DOES in your life. 


Here's a glimpse into mine...



Most people wouldn't drive four hours through tornado warnings to attend a wedding in which they only know the bride... who they haven't seen in years.   But, LOVE DOES. 

 

 

Raising $2,300 could intimidate anyone.  But, LOVE DOES...

and brings along a friend to help raise over $4,600.  And because love is bold, it'll walk 60-miles in three days. 

 

 

 Needing shelter from a sweltering New York summer day may seem impossible.  But LOVE DOES offer a place of rest for all who seek it. 

 

 

 

Work never takes a break.  But, LOVE DOES and takes you on a grand trip because "work can wait".

 

 

  We often wonder what moves kids.  LOVE DOES.  And then they send postcards and painted tiles to NYC after 9/11 to show their own love.  

 

 

 

Life is an adventure.  You may not always understand the change of tides, the storms that linger, or the waves that crash on you.  But, LOVE DOES.  And it will be there, waiting. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting on the dock of the bay...

I am not perfect.  In fact, I take delight in knowing that I am anything but.  As I’ve mentioned here before, I have many flaws.  Luckily, my dearest friends and sweet family find a way to love me all the same.  They find my quirky (or lovingly referred to by my husband as “crazy old coot”) ways charming.  Or at least, they don’t complain. 

However, remaining imperfect in a society which strives for perfection, has proven to be a challenge.  Pinterest, supposedly a creative outlet, is more or less a way of “keeping up with the Joneses”.  Facebook has given those with few friends an outlet to claim they now have hundreds.  And, Photoshop can take anything ordinary and make it extraordinary.  Hell, so can Instagram.  And though I have found myself guilty of taking pleasure in Pinterest, Facebook, and Instagram, I have also learned that I am far from being the person with hundreds of friends creatively redecorating my home.  Just enjoy a meal at my supposedly “Pottery Barn Redo” kitchen table that is now peeling.  In short, even with these “cheat sheets”, I’m not perfect.

What I have learned is that though my “friend” count is high, the number of friends I can truly count on (as in, I don’t have to ask them to be there, they already are) is no more than half my age.  I don’t like burlap, even if it is all over Pinterest and now in each person’s home I know- it’s what my potatoes used to come in- NO THANKS!  And, I am not a professional photographer, even if Instagram gives my pictures a boost.  In short, these are things I can do without.

I am okay with the handful of friends I have; the ones who drive four hours after work or even take a morning off just to see me.  My home doesn’t have to be two stories with more rooms than I can keep up with, adorned with “rustic” touches from the south when I live on the southern California coast.  I also don’t need to be gluten free, on the military diet, or eating Paleo to lose weight.  I just have to get up and exercise.  And I certainly don’t need Photoshop to alter my view.  I like the one I have.  Even if it means it’s not perfect.  Imperfect suits me well. 

 These pictures are untouched, unedited, and far from perfect... as are all the pictures I post on here.  Stop editing your life.  It's okay the way it is.   

 

Sweet Mess

A few years ago, my sister packed what little she had in the home we shared and moved to North Carolina to pursue a second degree.  Suddenly feeling alone, I found myself tying on an apron and learning my way around the kitchen.  Known for setting off the smoke detector while boiling ramen noodles and having to extinguish a grease fire with one of those clunky red extinguishers (true story), I knew it would be challenging.  At the least, it would offer a chuckle or two- things I’d been missing since she left.   

After two years of whipping up meals, I never got called to be on Top Chef.  I’m not sure why they thought my microwaveable meals weren’t Top Chef worthy.  But, since cooking didn’t work for me and I still wanted to wear my apron, I tried my hand at baking.  It wasn’t pretty- still isn’t- but boy did it taste good.  (I didn’t join Weight Watchers just to step on a scale each week!) 

And so, here I am today…  covered in powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and food coloring.  I’m starting to think I enjoy baking because it’s a reflection of my life:  messy, but oh so sweet!

 

 

Running on empty

My poor friends with children always seem to be tired.  Good golly, I’m always tired and I don’t even have kids… or pets…or an excuse! But, I digress.  Back to what I was saying.  My darlin’ friends, with their sweeter than sugar kiddos, are sleep deprived, up to their eyeballs in toys, and swimming in piles of laundry.  Don’t believe me?  Ask Mrs. Texas!  So, when I saw these cute little fellas over at IOU Letterpress, I just KNEW I had to have them! 

First, who doesn’t love receiving mail (that isn’t requesting a payment)?  And secondly, who could refuse a proposal this genuine?  This isn’t just your casual, in passing, hope-they-forget-you-mentioned-it offer.  Oh no, when delivered in the mail on luxury paper this says, “Why yes, I am an angel coming to rescue you.”   So, if you’ve heard your dear friend crying for help, grab one of these. (And maybe save one or two for me!) I doubt she’ll be able to refuse!

Happy trails to you...

 

I love to travel.  I love printing my boarding passes, packing my trash magazines (a necessity for cross-country flights) and laying outfit options across our guest bed.  I even love packing; thanks in part to my parents who gave us a luggage set that actually accommodates the clothes I insist on packing but will never wear.  Though the airport goodbye is always a struggle (and I cry every time), I always look forward to landing in another city knowing I’ll be greeted by friends or family eager to see me.   As I begin laying out my clothes for another vacation (a much anticipated return to my hometown), I can’t help but think about and reflect on my experiences as a house guest.

Yes, I dance in the car! These people will NEVER see me again!

When traveling the country (or world if you’re that lucky), staying with friends and family not only saves you money (which can provide the funds for that souvenir or extra cocktail), but also lets you catch up with friends and loved ones.  However, there are a few simple southern rules for being a houseguest that won’t leave your hostesses thinking twice the next time you call for a stay.  Besides, you want your aunt with the cute beach cottage to extend her offer for many years to come.  Just follow these five tips for perfect houseguest etiquette and you’ll certainly be invited back.

1.    Be Clear About How Long You Will Stay

When booking your travels, be sure that your hostess has first extended an open invitation.  If they have suggested a visit, ask which dates will work with their schedule and never stay longer than a week (unless they insist).  Always share if you will be bringing pets, family, significant others, or a friends with you.  No one likes surprises! And unless you’re returning home, do not expect opened arms when you decide to drop in and surprise friends or extended family.  In fact, don’t be surprised when they, (awkwardly) have to turn you away.  Always make set plans and reconfirm a week out from your trip.

2.   Bring a Gift

If you were raised in the south, you know you are never to show up to a dinner party, family celebration, or reception empty handed.  Though most only consider bringing something for the hostess during the holidays, it is proper etiquette to follow this rule whenever someone opens their home for you, regardless of the occasion. Wine, chocolates, and other local items are always great options, but may not travel well depending on your mode of transportation.  If this is the case, consider picking up the tab during one of your meals or offering to grab the cab fare while enjoying a night out in the city.  In the event your hostess is adamant that you don’t pay a dime (lucky you!), consider including a gift card to his/her favorite restaurant or place to shop in your thank you note.  If mailing your hostess a gift, remember to do it no later than a month after your stay.  However, within 7 days is ideal!



Sweet, southern hostess gifts

3.   Give Thanks

Upon your arrival, be sure to thank your hostess for opening their home.  In addition to the initial word of thanks, you should thank them as you leave.  And finally, thank them in a handwritten note. Yes, we live in the age of immediate response and rely on text messaging and emails for communication amongst friends, but there’s nothing like reaching in to your mailbox to find an envelope that doesn’t contain a bill.  Take a few moments, share details of the fun you had, and give thanks once more for their generous hospitality. 

 

Thanks for "driving by" notecard on Etsy!

 

4.   Help Out

While we may be on vacation, remember your host is not.  Be considerate and offer to help cook meals or clean up afterwards.  If you get the vibe your host prefers to be the only cook in the kitchen, then think of other ways you could be helpful in the home. 

 

5.   Be Flexible



If you will be visiting for more than three days, understand that your host may have other obligations or work to attend to during your visit.  Check in with your host a week prior to your visit, share what things you’d like to do, and see if your ideas fit with their schedule.  Attempt to rearrange if necessary, but be prepared to entertain yourself if they can’t.  If this is the case, find the best mode of transportation to get you out and about, or ask to borrow a car.  By being prepared to entertain yourself before you arrive, you’ll save yourself the headache of changing plans at the last minute and your host the embarrassment of having to tell you no.  Once again, remember that you’re on vacation, they are not!

Our host had to work while we visited.  I didn't
mind visiting him at his job!

 

Remember, the goal is to be invited back, not become next week’s gossip.  And c’mon, you know us southerners love a tall glass of sweet tea and some juicy gossip to accompany it!  Happy travels darlin’!



Changing your life... one word at a time.

The rain has started here, which means only one thing… winter has officially begun in southern California.  I know. I know.  We have very little, if anything, to be complaining about.  However, in our defense (wait, am I suggesting I’m now one of them?), rain in SoCal is like snow in DC; it requires actual thinking when preparing to dress for the day and an additional 15 minutes for your commute.   In fact, enough rain and you could find yourself out of work for the day (or in my case, skipping a trip to the grocery store) and instead, opting for a good book, an old pair of sweatpants, and a giant cup of hot tea.  Lately, this has been my book of choice:

 

If you haven’t heard of this book (shame on you), then you’re in for a real treat.  Go ahead, grab a cup of tea (or cocoa) and settle in for a few minutes.  This, my darlings, is about to change your life. 

“My One Word”, written by, Mike Ashcroft, is a book for those of us who like the idea of resolutions but feel they always fall short of actually making an impact on our lives.  Though it is written with a religious perspective, it can easily be adapted.  In fact, for some with no or very little religious foundation, it can be the spark that lights a fire.  (You can see for yourself as you take a peek in to my dear friend Emmy’s life and how one word changed it.)

The idea behind the book is as sweet and charming as the small coastal town in which it was written.  Mike Ashcroft, with the help of Rachel Olsen (on faculty at UNCW- a little shout out for my alma mater!!) have written, what I would consider a guide, to becoming more like the person you aspire to be and with just ONE step.  Their light-hearted and witty approach keeps you engaged and focused on making a resolution to change your life (and those around you) and then keeping it.   

So, grab your Kindle, head to Barnes and Noble, or log on to Amazon and buy yourself a copy. Not in the mood to purchase?  Visit the website http://myoneword.org/about/, which will give you enough information to get started without the book. Then, come back in a week and hear about my “One Word” and how it’s already changing my life. 

A letter of thanks...

 

Dear Friends, Family, and Personal Cheerleaders,

This morning, I write each of you with an overwhelming sense of pride and honor (mixed with the sweetest tears of joy). Words could never begin to touch on the emotions I have as I move forward as the Military Spouse of the Year for our military installation. My hope is that within me, you will find a reflection of every spouse who humbly stands beside their Marine. This recognition is not meant for me alone, but is for each husband, wife, and significant other whose strength and sacrifice provides the love and support our service members need to do what they do best. Your devotion to the military and those that serve in its name is just as deserving as I. This is not a life you accept, it is one you live and love. It is not done alone, but alongside those you admire and recognize as “family”. Because of each of you, military and civilian, I stand here today, not surviving, but thriving, in this ever changing life. Thank you. I hope that as the year progresses I represent the compassion each of you has bestowed upon me in my life and with the kindness and humility that inspires others to do more, give more, and live more.

Over the next few weeks, I will begin preparing to face the next round of voting and hope that once again I can call on each of you for your support. I hope you find that after reviewing profiles of the other Marine Corps installation winners, that you will find I am the best representative and advocate for all Marine Corps spouses. And if you do, it would be my honor to have your vote on February 5^th, 2013. Again, thank you for your continued support and encouragement.

 

With great respect and admiration,

Kacie