Real

“Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real...It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

I felt pretty Real yesterday. In the Velveteen Rabbit sense of the word- very shabby. I have been feeling so much better this trimester, but yesterday was a fatigued, body-pained, hurts-to-exist kind of day. When the dishes were finally done and I could get ready for bed, I was in a sour frame of mind. I even felt a bit bewildered that Jake would want to cuddle as we fell asleep. Have you seen my wreck of a body recently, dear husband? I know you have. Did you notice the pained expression on my face as I move about today? I think you did. Have you felt the sting of my poor mood this evening?

So, this morning, as I attempted some self-care for my aches and pains, I reflected a bit on becoming Real. Neither of my housemates- husband and daughter- mind at all that I wore mismatching sweats to the park yesterday afternoon. Neither probably even noticed. Neither of them would think for a second that I've become ugly at 31 weeks tired/pregnant. My eyes may drop out and I am certainly loose in the joints. And it does not matter at all. How lucky am I? So very lucky. As some would say, #blessed.

I am grateful, ever grateful, for the softening of my edges.

Photo from a recent family hike. Those two, I tell 'ya. 

beach week 2015

Alice pouts a little bit every day over the end of our annual beach week (or is it me who is pouting?). She seems to wake up disappointed that the whole extended family isn't under one roof.

I'm missing: long walks on miles of sand, laughing with Uncle Stevie, Alice's hair spiraled by the humidity, outdoor showers, and eating every meal with Jake. 

Things I don't want to forget about this year's beach week: mom's entrance and reaction to her surprise party, Katie and Artie's jokes, Aidan's constant affection for his immediate family members, temporary tattoos with Maddie, Uncle Stevie and Aidan sharing a SUP board, Alice's adoration for Adam, Aunt Kathy's diligence in covering up the smell of mom's surprise party date bars, Kristi's morning drawing lessons with Katie. And everything. 

this morning

While Alice fought sleep and I rolled out dough, I read through my grandmother's strawberry rhubarb pie recipe. It is typed and glue-sticked to a rectangle of black construction paper. My mental snapshots of Meema are warm- set on her front porch, in her kitchen, and on the beaches of Matunuck, Rhode Island. They're in my childhood kitchen too- hearing her voice on the phone before I left for school in the morning.

As I read her recipe and sliced our backyard strawberries, I wished I could hear her voice again: I don't have enough rhubarb Meema, is that okay? Can I substitute mango juice for orange? Will it need less sugar? And then I felt a sudden, surprising, frog-in-my-throat sadness not to have had more time with her. I was so little when she died and the loss becomes more evident as I age. I wish I'd had a chance to know her differently, like I know and love my mom. As women, wives, mothers. Friends.

Our second strawberry rhubarb pie of the season is sitting on the counter and the oven is almost done self-cleaning. Unlike Meema, the two go hand in hand when I'm baking. Last weekend (or was it the one before?) was my first attempt at crust from scratch. It came out good, too good in fact, because then I found myself a bit too cocky in the prep of my second ever batch of crust. Attempt numero duo yielded altogether too wet a dough, and though the end result is still delicious, the watery dripping in the oven caused a smoke-capade every time I opened the oven door. So, now it self-cleans and I promise to pay more attention to adding that ice water tablespoon, not measuring cup, at a time. I promise.

But just in case I make the same mistake again- what would you do about watery crust, Meema? Can I just kneed in more flour or will that mess up the consistency?

In case you're interested: THIS is the crust recipe I used. The tips and tricks were incredibly helpful for a novice like myself and the result was delicious- flaky and golden, even when over-watered and steamed.

alterations

"Why does everything have to change?!"

Jake couldn't find the apple cider vinegar and he was upset about it. It hadn't been put back in its usual spot in the cupboard. Why wasn't it where it was supposed to be? Why must everything, even our pantry, shift and change? WHY CAN'T THINGS REMAIN?

He may argue me on this one, but I don't think the issue was really the vinegar. Jake is changing jobs. My job situations are shifting. We're changing our approach to childcare. It is suddenly summer, the air is heavy, and Jake's MS doesn't appreciate the heat. Jake's sister is moving. My mom has a big birthday coming up. Alice is walking. Our friends lost their dad last month and our other friend's mom is in the ICU. Additionally, the evolution of Kimberly LaCroix has suddenly become enormously clear to Jake too. Almost daily, Jake wonders aloud at the changes...

Jake's first impression of me was "proper"- artsy and well-mannered. This impression was soon followed by the details that I wanted to move to NYC and pursue a cosmopolitan, fast-paced life, get my doctorate in theatre, perform, direct, travel the world. What a life! And maybe someday I'll live it. But, it has become abundantly clear that it is not the life I want right now. Academia and upheaval? They don't appeal to my current priorities- they haven't for a while. The last year has revealed alterations slowly stitched in my person through the last half decade that I've known Jake.

+

I'm always thinking about what I'll get when I finally get a tattoo. I've settled on that now too, but when I studied abroad in 2007, I was considering the word "CHANGE." Then, I was considering it in Lugandan. I asked my home-stay mother what the Lugandan word for "change" was and she had no answer.

"You mean coins? Change in your pocket?"
"No," I explained, "change to who you are, like when you grow."

She proceeded to explain that people don't change. In Uganda, who we are is personified as a soul that resides outside our bodies. We spend our lives growing into this self- becoming who we are intended to be. You can't change who you are; you fulfill who you are.

+

Last week we had a backyard fire and Katie E, age 7, had the realization that Alice's initials (A.L.L.) are the "same as yours Auntie!"

[general confusion]

"Katie, what do you think my name is?"
"Auntie Linda LaCroix."

I'll attest that there are heaps of complements worked up in this one and not be amiss that my niece had no recollection of my name- and that it absolutely did not ring any bells when we finally told her what it actually was. To Katie and Artie, my name has merged with who I am- their auntie, daughter to Linda, wife to Jake, and mom to A.L.L. (so of course our initials match!). They've been more often slipping and calling me mommy too. Something about being a mom has catapulted me into a different realm in their eyes/hearts.

+

I dream of homesteading: goats, fruit trees, growing all our own food. I even read things about homeschooling. Homeschooling? You've got to be kidding me. Who is this meat-eating, gardening, person I've become? 

The same person who didn't eat meat and who wanted tight spaces and dirty city air. 

I'm the same person. And a different person too.

"This was a terrible idea."

We were smelly, thirsty, and uncomfortable. One of us was crying loudly and pathetically (ahem, Alice). And why are those tent flap zippers so miserable!? Why!? It was around this time in the wee hours between Sunday and Monday that I said aloud to a sleeping Jake, "this was a terrible idea."

Camping with a one year old? What were we thinking? Something like "oh, Alice will just sleep with me." Well, she did sleep with me- directly across my face. When we woke up on Monday morning Alice had rolled into the corner of the tent and was face planted onto the floor. When she stirred awake Jake whispered "she looks like a little gremlin!" 

Poor thing. She really did look like a sleepy little dirty gremlin. 

Other than the sleeping part, it was a nice trip to our favorite state. We visited family, stopped by Grammy's house, and ate at our regular, delectable places. The dogs loved the walks and hike and I never mind driving through the mountains. We live in a beautiful area, but the thing with ocean is that you can't see it unless you're right next to it. Mountains on the other hand? They're there, all around you, all the time. Big looming reminders of our smallness and humanity. As Jane Austen wrote: "What are men to rocks and mountains?"

I am a shameless peacock.

Sometimes you wake up in the wee hours to feed your young child and, upon completion of this task, sleep eludes you. The most incredible remedy for such an occurrence is to then, in those nimble, dreamy hours, receive the news that your brother has been published in the New Yorker. Shameless and inordinate levels of pride ensue.

Excuse my bragging (or don't for all I care!). MY BROTHER IS IN THE NEW YORKER. I am so proud of him.

on food poisoning and borscht

Jake was hit harder than I was. My uncle reminded me that is most likely because Jake ate more than I did. Fair enough. Jake ate about twice as much as I did and I think it is true to say he was in twice as much pain from the food poisoning. He took about twice as much time to recover. He spent at least twice as much time in the bathroom.

Food poisoning is certainly a result of the fall of man. We can all agree on that, yes?

So, sadly, Jake did not make it to the Ukrainian Christmas celebration for which I had been counting down days and enjoying the little knot of excitement in my throat in anticipation of Alice's first blessing. Instead, he was home in bed, nursing an empty, ache-y body back to health. My dad drove 2 hours each way to transport Alice and me to dinner- I was still too weak to make the drive solo- and then I caught a sleepy ride home with my sister's family. By the time I stumbled into our home at midnight I was shakey and beyond fatigued. I don't remember much of the celebration, but I am still grateful to have been a part of it. It was worth every moment of backseat nausea and dizzied conversation.

You can't keep our family apart- food poisoning, illness, divorce, even death. We are a unified force of nature, spanning generations and propelling the honest truth that love prevails and laughter heals. My dad made a toast in Ukrainian. My cousin's toddler sons provided the soundtrack for the evening- sweet, feisty, funny voices. Alice did her highchair dance and listened intently as my mom read her blessing. Her first blessing:

Dear Alice,

It is with great joy we celebrate this first Ukrainian Christmas with you. You are a delight in every way and we are so thankful you have blessed our family by your presence.

It is our prayer that your life will be one which brings peace to the downhearted and you will have the words to build up those around you. We pray you will have a sensitive heart that is also strong and courageous. We pray you will have a heart that longs to follow righteousness and spread God's good will.

Our blessing this year is also for your parents. Parenthood has just begun and your parents have experienced both exhaustion and exhilaration. They are already endeavoring to lay a foundation for your life. In their wisdom, they know they are not doing it alone. Each one of us has a part in the building of you up, and we join hands and hearts with your mom and dad as you grow. We will choose carefully how to invest in your character and life.

Your heritage is rich and though you never got to meet Grammy, you have a piece of her in your character. The same goes for Meema and Grandpa Brown. They are part of you. You carry on their goodness. We are so grateful.

So, with this gift may your parents be reminded we are invested in the building of you up and your roots go deep. God has readied you for awesomeness!

Love, Babah and Papa

Amen.

The thanks I give will never be enough, but I'll write it anyway- thank you Babah and Papa. And not just for the leftovers, which were Jake's first post-poisoning meal aside from dry toast. This is not just a thank you for giving us the last bit of borscht, for the Ukrainian cookies Jake shamelessly ate for breakfast all week, for the compote and kutia and stuffed fish. Not even just for opening your home, filling it to bursting year after year, sharing this intimate tradition with boyfriends and boyfriend's sisters. Its not just a thank you for any of those individual things, but a for all of it and more. This is one of those "greater than the sum of its parts" situations. Bringing us together, feeding us extravagantly, speaking words of reflection and hope over the children present- it all speaks volumes to the way in which you've chosen to live and give in this life. Its big while being beautifully small too. Sitting in that tight dining room, I couldn't help but think of the journeys and stories represented and how my mom and dad have been present and generous through them. Achingly invested in them. Oh, Linda and Steve- thank you.

on wearing sequins

In 2007, while studying abroad, my sister sent me a care package containing a CD. On it were the ultrasound photos of my unborn niece, Katie El. On Tuesday, I stood beside her, now a young lady, and held a mic for her precious voice to serenade a crowd of several hundred. Afterwards, a woman approached Katie and said "I was feeling sad, but you made me feel so much better." Katie just smiled and said thank you, clad in her sequins beret.

What a gift to be part of a community, to share in this event, to have this relationship with my sweet, snazzy Katie El. My sister, nephew, husband, and daughter all beamed from the front of the audience. My brother-in-law accompanied on the guitar. Add another bullet point on the growing list of ways Kristi's beautiful family has generously cared for me this year. I JUST sprung this "please sing/play with me!" ask on them last Thursday. Sure thing. No problem. Adam learned the song on the guitar without hesitation. Katie El immediately wanted to sing the song on repeat. Kristi and Artie jumped at the chance to cheer us on.

Wicked Local Staff Photo / David Sokol

This has been a year of intense joys and intense sadness. I cry easily, quickly, because so much is still sitting precariously on my surface of experience. So, nights like Tuesday are my own little lights, illuminating the truth of this year. Family. Community. Generosity. That's where it's at, folks. This is what it is all about.

The darkness crept back a bit this week. I found myself once again feeling disoriented and raw. Add to that the daily pain of current events and the world can feel clouded- thick with the sludge of heartache. Yet, it has been a kind week too, truly. People are generous. People are encouraging. People are doing good work, making strides toward a better world, working diligently to help others. Six year olds are singing and wearing sequins. There is much to be thankful for. 

I just have so much to work through. So many changes to process, still. My pastor sent me this quote today: The more roots you have in the new place, the more capable you are of mourning the loss of the old place and letting go of the pain that lies there. You cannot mourn something that was not meaningful and has not died. Still, the old pains, attachments, and desires that once meant so much to you need to be buried. You have to weep over your lost pains so that they can gradually leave you and you can become free to live fully in the new place without homesickness. (from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen)

I think I could still use some good weeping. I want to be freed up to live fully in all this newness. But, while I weep, I will choose to recall all the ways in which I have been cared for, all the turning points of provision, the kind words and shared tears and broken bread- the presence of God in this year. I already wrote it once, and I will write it again: there is much to be thankful for.

Another reflection I'm taking with my into this weekend: We are all so obsessed with creating lives of meaning and service and joy when most of us already have them. I want to be obsessed with the life I have, the ways I can and am serving, and the joy already woven through my days. I will continue seeking, of course, but I will choose contentment. Day by day.

sweets

A new little routine has formed, which I much prefer to the former routine of traffic, traffic and more traffic. Now, I leave work a few minutes after 5PM, talk to Linnie for the 10 or 15 minutes it takes door-to-door, and then arrive home to Jake holding Alice creatively in one of our carriers. Yesterday he had her facing out in the Moby wrap, smiling and kicking her legs, while he whipped up cinnamon buns and naan from scratch. He's a legitimate baker, this husband of mine, and the oven heats up our tiny abode so much that we haven't had the heat on in days.

We should need the heat, but all of Jake's work on the house, gutting and insulating room by room, combined with this avid baking streak, means that here we are on the last day of October and our living quarters still reside at a cozy 70 degrees much of the time without a drop of oil wasted. Praises be. The last day of October- can you believe it? Alice will be clad in a puppy suit this evening as we trick-or-treat with Katie and Artie around their little Salem neighborhood. I'm still racking my brain for a costume to match her. The only potential so far is rigging some paper cutouts of pointy ears to a headband, wearing my great aunt's faux fur coat, and calling myself a cat. We'll see. Maybe Jake will be a box of cat or dog treats. He is a treat, after all.

Yesterday was Adam, the brother-in-law of all brother-in-laws, birthday. When I met him he was a sweet-faced college student dating my sister. He is still rather sweet-faced- some things don't change- but now he has been a part of our family for over a decade. I have been witness to struggles and joys in his life with my dear sister, seen him grow as a teacher, a father, a man of faith, and appreciated the kind and compassionate way with which he approaches the world. Adam is the kind of nice guy with whom you can immediately feel at ease, who you don't hesitate to call and ask for a favor. And he's perfect for my sensitive-hearted, generous-in-spirit elder sis. I'm so grateful that he is part of our family and that I, in turn, am a part of the family he has made with my sister. Happy Birthday Adam. You're, truly, a wonderful guy.

And because Adam is the perpetual bearer of puns: Knock knock- Who's there?- Abby.- Abby, who?- Abby Birthday!

Helen

on a walk behind Grammy's house

Vermont was beautiful this weekend- the foliage, of course, mixed with unusually warm days full of hot sunshine. Family time. Beautiful drives. A good dose of nostalgia. We made the drive up for Grammy's funeral, a quiet, intimate gathering that I was relieved to experience. It seemed about time we pay tribute to this spark of a woman.

There are good stories to share about Grammy- how she drove a backhoe and would give her grandchildren rides in it's bucket, how she used her motorcycle to pull her daughter on a bicycle, how she saw her last couple years in an elderly home as "ministry to the old folks," working to make the other residents various crafts out of plastic canvas and constantly trying to cheer those around her. She was 93 when she passed away this Spring- most of those "old folks" were younger than her, for certain, but few, if any, had her childlike spunk.

Grammy was not perfect, but she was heartfelt- striving, learning, seeking purpose. She was stubborn and strong and loved children most of all. Oh Grammy. I hope you're sitting with Ernie, enjoying a turkey club, and throwing back chocolate syrup straight from the bottle.

 

family portrait

We celebrated our third wedding anniversary last Thursday. It was our first date since the birth of our babe and Alice's first date with her Auntie. As can be expected, I was all sorts of anxious, self conscious, and second guessing. I was feeling exhausted and frantic as I got ready, fed Alice, and pumped, all seemingly simultaneously. But then, it was lovely. Since he wasn't lugging the carseat, Jake opened the car door for me. He told me I was beautiful and made me laugh the whole way to Duckworth's Bistro in Gloucester. Our server was kind and complimentary and wanted to see iPhone pictures of our new babe. At the end of the evening she sent our dessert to the table with a celebratory candle. And Alice and Auntie had a sweet evening together too. All in all- a hitch free evening. Who'd have thought?

It certainly feels like we've been married for more than three little years. So much has happened! We've added a puppy to our duo, bought an abode, adopted another pup, and then we fell in love with our little girl. And those are just the big things- the showstoppers. In between there have been long drives and hikes in the woods, home renovations and church membership, family illness and grad school, job changes and trips to the farmer's market. All the days that string into the life we have built together.

Then, we celebrated my cousin's wedding on Saturday. At one point I was feeding Alice while watching my niece and sister sway and tiptoe across the dance floor like interpretive dancing ballerinas. Later in the evening I ate wedding cake with Jake as my uncle, cousin and Alice swayed together to a slow song. Partying with family is my favorite kind of party.

My sister took these family portraits that night. Jake is wearing his wedding suit. Three big little years have flown by. 

I am endlessly grateful for how we have grown together and been challenged to be better people for one another and now for our daughter too. I want to continue growing together, moving together, shifting and sifting through together. This is only the beginning.

A song that Hannah sang and played at our wedding:

our garden grows

We grew this watermelon in our garden this summer. We also started growing a baby. Not in the garden though, in my womb. I am 13 weeks and 2 days pregnant.

I never thought about my womb before. I thought monthly about my uterus, sure, but I feel as if my uterus became a "womb" the day I found out I was pregnant: Friday. August 30, 2013. I had stayed home from work. I'd felt so darn tired for a couple weeks. Tired like I'd never felt before. We're talking asleep by 7:30PM. I chalked it up to work stress and took a personal day to regroup. Mid-morning I was vacuuming the house and felt suddenly overcome by a nausea unlike I'd ever experienced. My toes were nauseous. My toenails were nauseous. Promptly after the wave of nausea crashed in, so too did the absolute realization of why. OMG. Pregnant.

I took a test. Then I took 3 more. Then I went out and bought another kind and took that too. Then I went out and bought baby books and a little pair of baby converse on clearance. Babybabybaby. Once you know you can't get away from the surreality of this presence inside of you. I have a whole new reason to talk to myself in the car now, only I'm not actually talking to myself. I'm singing and talking to our little peach-size child. In my womb. I have a womb and a baby to boot. We're having a baby.

As we've told people it has become more and more real, leaving a place of anxiety and fairy tales, and coming to rest deep in the fabric of our day-to-day. Baby waved to us in an ultrasound 4 weeks ago and there is a little bump beginning to bulge from my abdomen. I have no control over what tastes good. I'm more prone to emotional outbursts and getting ever more prone to instinctively touching my belly whenever babies are mentioned. Its gotten difficult not to tell people. So we've told people.

Our families are thrilled and supportive and kindly providing opinions on names. My mom has purchased pregnancy clothes ("they're so cute these days!") that I've already worn. You wouldn't know they're maternity and probably couldn't spot that I'm showing, so I feel a bit sneaky and under cover clad in them; comfortable like I'm in pajamas and enjoying this little secret life hidden away in my special mom clothes. I've craved orange juice and fried chicken. I'm suddenly averse to avocado and eggs. Jake calls me "babes" now, plural on purpose.

And now #12 on the list has been updated: in progress, due May 4, 2014.

two years

Today is not the second anniversary of our commitment to each other. We made that decision way before the wedding day. On this day, two years ago, we celebrated our commitment with an intimate group who, as our community, committed to holding us to our promises. On that day we made public the quiet kinds of words not usually uttered in front of one's grandmother.

Happy Anniversary of a really great party. Happy Anniversary to my love[r]. And because we will never be able to say it enough- thank you to the family and friends who prayed and ate and danced with us that day, and showered us with love and gifts. You made it just the best day ever, and you continue to make our lives so very rich. 

rallied & encouraged

There has been no shortage of narrative fodder- graduation (grad grad as I've been calling it), Mother's Day, home construction (almost done!), another day spent with mom, the makings of a full fledged backyard garden- but, the will to set fingers to typing has been weary. Sometimes I feel greedy with my thoughts and it is a relief to let them linger. Through quiet commutes and lonely spans of time at the office, or simple cuddles with our pets, I slowly fiddle out my understanding. Cheers to time spent mulling and sipping on ideas.

In the days leading up to graduation I felt a bit silly about the whole thing. Asking family to come and celebrate my graduate school graduation? My mom got her MA while working full time and a mother of three kids. My sister did it as a mother of two. Neither of them walked, and I don't think I bought either one flowers or even said a really boisterous "congrats!" But, despite my anxiety and feelings of silliness, I'm thankful that I took part in graduation. In fact, I think that from now on I will grab any chance I can to ask family to come cheer me on. It is such an incredible feeling, to participate in a community ritual and search for familiar faces in a crowd. My brother waved and called my name as he snapped photos. My mom came up to the front of the hall to snag a hug after I crossed the stage. My mother-in-law teared up in the lobby saying she was proud of me. I know so deeply that my family loves me and I love them. It is not that I needed a reminder of that or needed it "proved" in any way. Still, it is such an extra gift when you see that love, that community, in action. I felt rallied and encouraged. It made me want to get my PhD just to graduate again.

It was also on Mother's Day, a day to celebrate and honor these mom-heros in my life. As we sat down for dinner and toasted the moms at the table I was again so thankful. I admire these women and an opportunity to be more purposefully vocal about it is welcome. Later that evening as my brother, my sister, my mom, and I walked arm in arm along the waterfront, I noticed myself clinging to the moments. My arm was bent at an uncomfortable crook, but I didn't care or want to shift for fear of losing the connection to these people at my sides. Thats the thing- I think I'm finally realizing that my family is made up of people. In some way I am still like a grade school student awed at seeing their teacher in the grocery store or at a park. You exist outside my experience? And although I cognitively know that of my family members- know that they're people as well as moms and siblings- it is a gift to also get to know them as friends.


I may have another degree, but I still have plenty to learn. May it always be so.

on hives and love

It has been a stressful, hive-inducing week. Its no one's fault, really, and the week did start out beautifully, but by last night I was itching my red and bumpy hive body and crying over the chaos of our house being under construction (we're going on week four of the mayhem).

Sure, I'm sad that I will probably not wear the new knee length dress intended for my graduation on Sunday (a ankle length one will better hide the hive legs), and I'm so very done with the grit and crazy of our little abode, but I am trying to focus on the fact that the house project is ALMOST DONE and that graduation means I'm nearly a MASTER. Also, focusing on the wonder that is my loving, hard working, all-sorts-of-talented husband helps too. He's a good man.

As if you needed it, here's a little proof of his goodness- a photo of my precious nephew (who turned four last week...FOUR!) and my precious husband:

a breath of fresh air

We used to be Fall people. Putting on jeans and a wool sweater to go apple picking, mulling cider wine in the evening, and roasting marshmallows over a bonfire- we claimed Fall as our favorite season for all these reasons and more. But, this year Jake and I both admitted that we've converted. Maybe its because we're a little older. The Fall, with all the green dying into brown and heading into a season of darkness, feels too much like aging and the cycle of life. Spring though? The earth feels pregnant with life and everyday a little more of it bursts forth, revealing tulips and daffodils where there was only dirt just days before. The landscape is covered with color and sweet smells billow in the warm breeze. The simple gift of driving with the windows opens seems like enough of a reason to now say we're Spring people.

On Monday my brother stopped by to see where I work and take me out to lunch. Our date turned into an adventure, driving past the World's End (a park in Hingham, MA) and going all the way out to Hull, a strip of land curling into Massachusetts Bay and ending among the islands of Boston Harbor. If you're familiar with  the strong arm shaped peninsula of Cape Cod, picture its younger sibling, located just south of Boston. We sat on a beach under a windmill, watching planes landing through the mist across the bay, spending time we don't often have and talking about things we don't often share. The ocean breeze was cold, but that Spring sun was warm enough to keep us comfortably sitting on a large rock and sharing pastrami on rye.

I know you can sit on the beach in the Fall too- can go on small adventures to discover new places- but there is something about this Spring that feels rejuvenating.

baby steps

Sometimes doing work on your little house means that when attempting to lug sheetrock through a tiny kitchen, the toaster is knocked off its shelf and into your face.

But you know what? Headache, swollen forehead and all, I was still just blissfully happy to wake up in the strong arms of my hardworking hubby this morning. No matter the state of our home, or the stress on our weak-nerved animals, we have all that matters in the world.

PS: The only thing those pictures have to do with anything is that they're downright adorable and make me happy. Artie can barely go five minutes in the same room with Dallas without saying "oh, she's so cuuuuute" or "auntie, I love your dog." That Dallas accepts his [sometimes rather forceful] expressions of admiration just makes me love our dog all the more too.

the wrong reaction

I feel grateful for the safety of my family, friends, and, honestly, myself. I'm grateful that I felt inclined to leave work a little early on Monday because it was sunny and I'm still fighting this sinus infection and it seemed like the right thing to do. Because then, as I sat on our porch having just arrived home, Jake called and asked if I'd heard. Explosions. At the marathon. We had just been on the phone during my commute home, as I drove right through Boston, joking about the idea that maybe my brother secretly ran it again this year.

Is it wrong to respond to tragedy with thanksgiving?

I don't think so. I prefer gratitude to anger. One motivates positive forward movement, while the other instigates negative, retroactive reaction. That's why yesterday I chose to focus on the helpers like Mr. Rogers taught me to, and why today I focus on the planned time with family this afternoon. And why tomorrow, if nothing else, I will focus on the truth and beauty I know exists in this world, in stark contrast and opposition to any selfish, cowardly action attempting to prove otherwise.

Image above is a painting by Rebekka Seale- an artist and blogger whose work I'm currently devouring. Buy the original here.

on vanity

My sister is incredible.  For many more reasons than this, but for this alone too: she is going through the process of having two dental implants.  This would be enough to make her brave and strong. I refuse to go to the dentist for cleanings, never mind surgery and bone grafts and drilling into the jaw and such that goes into a dental implant.  But, to boot, the two teeth being implanted are her front teeth. THE TEETH. The most obvious of teeth to have missing from your mouth. And, to top it all off, this process has not been a smooth one. Swelling has meant that for over a month she has been, more often than not, front-tooth-less. No front teeth at work. No front teeth at Easter dinner.

Here I am, unsure if I'm ready to have a baby because I don't know if I'm willing to share my body in that way with another human being. I don't know if I'm ready to selflessly love a little baby, accepting stretch marks and baby weight and loss of sleep as part of the process. I think I may still be too immature and vain. I'm definitely too vain. Then, there's my sister, laughing over her public toothlessness.

Its a nice little kick in the shins. 

plenty of room

Grammy wrote us a letter. The last line reads:
Take care, + don't do anything I wouldn't do. That gives you plenty of room!
She's nearly 93 years old, a widow for almost 10 years, and still she has such life left in her. Its inspiring, to say the least.

Jake is planting seedlings in little starter pots right now. Cauliflower, broccoli, cucumbers, lettuce, peas, squash, tomatoes, okra, carrots, green onion, cucumbers...our GARDEN! I'm getting so excited to be working outside on our little patch of green, and for Jake to really have a sizable garden to be proud of again.

Its been a hard week. A full and busy week. And it has been a good week too. Jake is so blasted supportive, and my family could not be more awesome. Somedays I just spend my drive to work listening to old voicemails from my mom- I have nearly 2 years worth saved on my phone- and that puts me in the best possible mood.

Have a wonderful weekend. Do something you're passionate about; something that makes you feel alive. Life is too short to do otherwise.