Kerianne’s Boots

It was Kerianne’s birthday. I don’t remember which one - 22 maybe? We all lived in the Leadenhall house together and we made a BIG DEAL out of everyone’s birthday. Balloons, banners, special dinners - it was all part of the deal.

All the girls in the house threw in on a pair of gorgeous cowboy boots for Kerianne. She’d been wanting a pair for a long time and we were all broke enough that spending $140 on boots wasn’t going to happen on its own. On our way out of the parking lot at the western store where we bought the boots, we spotted a Big Lots and decide we should grab a card and some wrapping paper. Once inside, Krissy and I start laughing at some of the silly things for sale and decide we are going to mess with Kerianne a bit. We buy the most awful little gifts - among them a miniature shoe figurine, a small cabinet with a rooster on it, and best of all, a stretchy bracelet comprised of little picture frames.

Once we get home, we fill the tiny frames with all of our faces, plus Bailey (my dog) because there is one more frame than girls in our house. It’s hideous and amazing.

We all dressed up and went out to a nice tapas place for dinner. We then present her with our “gifts” and act as if we are so proud of them. Natasha can barely speak for fear of bursting into laughter. Krissy sells her chicken cabinet with an explanation “I thought about all the cabinets you have and how much you use them and when I saw this one with a rooster on it, I knew you had to have it”  I tell here that the shoe figurine is representative of her love of shoes.

We really play up the picture frame bracelet as a big deal and her eyes go wide when she opens it. Don’t you love it!?!? We ask and make her promise to wear it out that night - with all of our faces beaming back from the little plastic frames.

She was so gracious and we were all biting the inside of cheeks trying to keep back the laughter. At one point, I have to get up and go to the bathroom because I was literally about to burst into tears over how she was so sweetly trying to be appreciative of these horrible, tacky presents.

We get through dinner, and when we get outside we say to her “Kerianne. Those gifts we gave you were terrible.” No they weren’t! She said back. And we all start laughing hysterically. “Yes, they were!” we said back, “but here is your real gift!” and we pop the trunk and present her with the gorgeous cowboy boots.

She started jumping up and down and burst out laughing. “I was wondering what the heck was going on!!!” she said “they just didn’t seem like gifts you guys would buy!”.

Needless to say, it was a birthday to remember and a story we all giggle about whenever we get together.

Love,

M

The Battle of Dreams and Wings.

Sometimes the fear sets in and I find myself staring at the wall in the dining room trying to find a name for the color. Putty. Sand. I feel panicky and overwhelmed and my first instinct is that I want to paint it.

The American Dream.

A house. a picket fence.

We have these things. and we earned them with our own hands (or rather our heads, if we’re splitting hairs here)

94 percent of the time, I marvel over this accomplishment.

Not because it’s anything noteworthy.

Lots of people buy houses (many of them bigger and more impressive than ours)

but it’s the fact that we did it.

you and i.

For some reason that feels particularly weighty.

When I think about how impractical and irresponsible we were in the beginning.

How one time when I was twenty I bought a bunch of clothes on a credit card and never paid the bill. (I didn’t pay a lot of bills back then)

Or how you never really had to be responsible for much but yourself for a lot of years.

How we never saved any money. spent every dime.

But we figured it the hell out, didn’t we babe?

We got our heads in the game when we decided to make a life together and we started to sweep up the mess and hang a photo or two on the walls.

You took me from a girl to a woman with all your ideas and hopes and the pile of dreams we kept adding to.

I welcomed you to your first responsibility… me.

And somehow, as the years passed and we grew accustomed to being a Mr. and Mrs. and a mama and daddy we took enough right turns to buy ourselves a little house.

We signed our names on the dotted line.

Do you remember how complex those feelings felt as they fell down on our shoulders? A wish. A dream. A reality. A responsibility. Heavy and beautiful.

And so 94% of the time, we walk around with our fingertips dragging the walls, feeling the old bones of this place that belongs to us now. Where we hold on to plans to paint over this color in the dining room with no name. And where we mark our children’s heights on the door frame in the kitchen.

but that 6% of me. It’s the part of me that still exists in the world you found me in.

The one that still is trying to find her feet and feel comfortable with these deep roots we’ve laid down.

Sometimes I wish we could pack up the kids and a couple of suitcases and set off for something unknown. Sell it all. Shed everything but ourselves. And find a place that doesn’t come with a contract or a commitment or an initial here, please.

I hold my breath that the roof will make it a few more years before it needs replacing. I lie in bed at night wondering what we would do if I lost my job. I wonder if it’s safer to never tie your dreams down to a pile of bricks.

But then I find myself daydreaming through the kitchen window about growing grass in the wasteland that is our backyard. And watching the way our magnolia tree dances in the wind. Our magnolia tree (It’s ours, baby, OURS!). And oh, how lovely the echo of our children’s voices sound as they bounce down the stairwell and through the halls. My thoughts linger on how perfect our front porch is for watching rainstorms.

And I realize that the 94% is always right. We all need a little bit of fear to remind ourselves why we do what we do everyday. Why we work hard and we take the risk. Why we decide to sign on the dotted line. A little fear moves us - not away from our dreams, but straight into them.

Love,

M

I Don’t Make Resolutions…

at least not the year over year kind. But here’s 5 things I’d like to accomplish in 2012. 

1. Take the kids somewhere cool in an RV. 

2. Grow a garden big enough that I can share with our new neighbors.

3. Host a dinner party at least every 3 months.

4. Get drunk. ( I know this sounds absurd, but I haven’t done it in three years -what with all the baby growing, baby feeding & baby caring I’ve been responsible for. I drank a cocktail a little fast at dinner with Brent the other night & got so warm and fuzzy feeling for a bit. I kept thinking that I owe it to myself to send both kids to the grandparents one night so that we can let loose and get completely, laugh at everything- I want to dance by myself on the sidewalk- can I sleep in your lap on the way home-silly drunk. )

5. Write letters to people I love and mail them off. It’s been far too long since I took the time to do something like that. 

Marriage.

I hate when we argue, but most often, it is the thing that reminds us we are human. For so long we were a couple and then our eyes blinked closed and they opened to us with a baby on each hip, an official new title: mama. daddy. and less time than we’d ever had before for our individual selves and our relationship.

This is nothing new and it’s nothing unexpected. I remember feeling that people who reckoned themselves to giving up parts of their relationships because of their children were just flat out wrong and they weren’t trying hard enough.

But I know differently now. Because we try as hard as you can imagine to stay connected to one another while keeping all of our plates spinning, little bodies washed, bellies fed, naptimes and bedtimes on schedule and on any given day, it’s hard as hell to feel like I’ve been really, truly inside of your head and arms and mouth.

So when there have been too many moments since your arms wrapped around my shoulders or I’ve rubbed the scruff of your chin against my forehead, we sometimes find ourselves tearing away at one another because all the frustration has to go somewhere and we’re each other’s easiest and most accessible target.

But when anger flashes in my eyes, when frustration flies from your lips, I am never scared. Because we built this house of our marriage to withstand a rainstorm, a flood, wind and limbs and leaves. You laid the bricks and I poured the morter. And I know that one of us will walk away. and we both will breath. and always, every single time,  I’ll find that place in the curve of your body that God made just to shelter me.

So we go on, being human. Living with our imperfect selves. Recognizing each other’s weaknesses and loving despite. Creating our balance. Fighting sometimes. Forgiving always. The day in, day out of for better and for worse. Sometimes sacrificing small parts of ourselves for each other and our children and in turn receiving the overwhelming gifts of this life together.

Our one certainty: We are in this together. And you will make me cry and I will make you furious and we will laugh and live the best we can. We always make it work. Because when the dust clears we are left standing here with the each other and the truth. No other could love me as you do. No other could love you as I do.

I’ll ask “I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” and your eyes will narrow and your lips will turn up at the corners and you’ll say “Afraid so, babe.” and it’s a beautiful thing to realize every.single.time.

Love,

M

My husband