HARD

8 a (1) : difficult to bear or endure

It's been a hard couple of weeks.  A month ago, I began exhibiting symptoms that were ultimately proven to be from a stress fracture in my left ankle.  I've been wearing an air cast for three weeks and have seen some improvement.  But it's been difficult to navigate de-cluttering our house, cleaning out our basement and getting everything spotless to get our home on the market while wearing a large gray boot.

It's been hard to split my attention between homeschooling our three children and organizing our home for sale.  It's been tough to homeschool at all when asked to leave our home multiple times per day for showings.  I've struggled to balance our need for stability with the flexibility required by the situation.  I'm trying to extend grace all around - to myself and to my daughters as they alternate between excitement about a new home and grief about leaving the only home they've ever known.  I'm slowly but surely learning that I can't homeschool daughter #3 in the ways that worked for daughter #1 or daughter #2.  My children are nothing if not individuals.

Yet through all of these difficult things and my anxiety that has accompanied them, I have heard small whispers from God.  Whispers to rest.  Whispers that He is in control and will be with me no matter where I live.  Whispers that His radiance is a gift I couldn't hide even if I tried.  Whispers that I should listen not only to Him, but to those around me.

When faced with selling and moving out of a house that's been occupied for ten years, the to-do list is a long one.  We had multiple items that needed attention in every room.  Some of them were handled by a repairman, some by a painter, some by our family.  All required time, attention and management.  It's so easy for me to fall into the trap of believing I am responsible for it all.  I'm not.  I believe that where we live is ultimately up to God, not me.  And He's been guiding us along this path faithfully and clearly - not by directing me, but by directing my husband.

A few weeks ago, we found a home we really liked.  By the time we got upstairs, J was sold.  He loved it.  We were a week or so away from putting our house on the market, but went ahead and made an offer (contingent upon the sale of this home).  Negotiations went back and forth with the seller.  We made what we felt was a reasonable offer and the seller still wanted more money.  I wanted to just agree, largely because I didn't want to have to go through this arduous process all over again for another house.  But J agonized over it, talking it through with me, running the numbers on his spreadsheet and just feeling generally unsettled.  We ultimately decided to stick with what we thought was our best offer - even if that meant walking away from the house.  To our shock, the seller accepted.  It was so clear to me that J was listening to God through this process because he felt so much peace after we agreed to stick with our top price and not be moved, even though he was the one who first fell in love with this house.

When it came time to look at offers for the sale of our house, J was again the voice of wisdom.  After six showings in three days, we got an offer.  My instinct? Take it and be done with it.  J's thought?  Make sure we get the best offer.  He asked our agent to follow-up with the other agents who had shown our house and see whether any of them planned to make an offer.  Ten hours later, another offer came through - better than the first in every way.  So our house is under contract and we wait only for the inspection to happen before sighs of relief can be expressed by our entire family.

If the last few weeks have been hard (and they have), I can't imagine how difficult it would be to navigate life without a partner like J.  He is wiser than he realizes and more comforting to all of us than he knows.

In the midst of all this craziness, I missed writing J a birthday post celebrating his 38th birthday on Monday.  Please consider this evidence that I am so thankful for him, evidence that he's the one I want by my side in good times - and hard ones.

My Guy

STILL

3: used as a function word to indicate the continuance of an action or condition

Sixteen years ago, I woke up ready to face the day.  I'm not a morning person, but this day was different.  It was busy, with nearly every moment scheduled out, but I didn't mind.  Because at half after six that evening, I was going to marry J.

I'd met him three and a half years prior, while studying for an art history exam.  Truth be told, I liked him right from the start.  He was focused on passing the final (very focused, since he'd bombed an earlier test), yet kind, welcoming and engaging.  We studied slides together for a few hours.  I pointed out the things I thought would be on the next day's final and made sure I had the important images fresh in my mind.  I was disappointed when it was time for him to head back to his dorm room and for me to keep studying.  I left the library that night hoping I would see him the next morning at our exam.

Nearly twenty years later, I still look forward to seeing him in the mornings.

J and I have changed a lot over the time we've been together.  When you meet your mate on your twentieth birthday, I think that's inevitable.  I was an art history major when he met me, a girl who felt like a fish out of water in the preppy, wealthy environment of Vanderbilt.  I was never quite sure who I was during those college years.  As someone who's never been good at deception or pretending, the artifice of Vanderbilt was intimidating for me.  Yet J was himself during those years - unassuming, friendly, fun-loving.

I still value that J is who he seems to be and that I can be myself with him, just like I could all those years ago.

While I was out of place in college, I've found my niche in East Nashville.  Here I have a neighborhood that lets me blend in without requiring that I put on camouflage each morning.  I've gone from being a girl in a jean wraparound skirt with a button down shirt to one in a flowing skirt and boots.  J's fashion evolution has been milder.  When I met him, every shirt in his closet was blue.  There are sprinkles of green, yellow and even (gasp!) purple now, but the style of shirt remains classic.

The clothing may have changed, but I would still choose J to share my closet and my life.

I think when I married, I imaged that J and I would always be basically the same as we were on our wedding day.  I've found that to not be true.  We've sought different careers than we imagined back then.  We've changed outwardly and inwardly.  We've grown - sometimes in the same direction, sometimes in different ones.  When I woke up on that morning sixteen years ago, I thought I was choosing my husband once and for all.  What I didn't know is that marriage is really a series of choices to have J as my husband.  Every day, in countless ways, I have choices.  I can choose a book I know J would like, make a dinner he will enjoy, watch an episode of Warehouse 13 with him.  Some times selfishness wins and I choose what I want over what he might want.  This ebb and flow in marriage is inevitable (and perhaps necessary).

This fact remains: I would choose him still.  After sixteen years of marriage, three children, job changes, wardrobe changes and oil changes.  I do love him. Still.

LIPSTICK

: a waxy solid usually colored cosmetic in stick form for the lips

My husband J turns 37 today.  He and I laughed together last night about what a post with 37 things about him might contain.  Even as we joked, I had another idea percolating in the back of my mind.  There's an event that recently happened that says so much about who my husband really is.  So in honor of his birthday:


On our last night in Tobago, J and I got dressed up for dinner out.  I had showered, dried my hair, donned a dress and even put on a bit of make-up.  I don't wear make-up with any regularity because most cosmetics make my face (especially my eyes) itch.  I decided years ago that I'm just going to look the way I look and not spend hours trying to find concealer and eye liner that I can actually wear.  Even so, there are times when a little make-up makes me feel dressed up.  This was one such night.  Yet after I was ready I looked in the mirror at my colorless lips and complained aloud, "I stink at being a girl.  I don't even have any lipstick to wear."  I borrowed J's chapstick (having lost mine en route to Tobago) and stopped worrying about it.

We returned home to Nashville the next evening and jumped right back into life.  Within an hour of getting home, K had announced to us, "School starts Thursday and I don't have a backpack!"  J and I looked at each other wide-eyed.  She was right.  Yikes.  So Monday morning, J took K to Target for a backpack and lunchbox.  When K showed me her purchases, J reminded her, "Show Mommy what we got for her."  I looked in her cute purple backpack and found a tube of lipstick in the bottom.


Surprised, I looked up at him.  J shrugged his shoulders and smiled, "I wanted you to be able to feel like a girl when you want to."  It's not a big gift, I realize.  Clearly I don't buy lipstick very often, but I'm sure it costs less than $5.  Yet I hope you realize what a big gift this tube of lipstick was.  It's a big, huge, invaluable gift to have a husband who buys you lipstick not because he wants you to look a certain way, but so that you can feel like a girl.  It's a priceless gift to have a husband who listens to the little things you say and then acts on them without being asked.  It's a treasure to have a husband who doesn't worry about buying the wrong shade or what people will think when he's checking out or whether I might take the gift the wrong way.  I hope K will remember her father giving this gift to her mother and that she'll want a husband who loves her just this way.


I'm not sure J saw this tube of lipstick as momentous.  Later that night, I hugged him and thanked him again for it.  "I could count on one hand the number of husbands I know who would buy lipstick for their wife."  After a pause I added, "In fact, you might be hanging out on that hand all by yourself."


There's a lot to celebrate about J on his birthday, but I hope one tube of lipstick tells you all you really need to know.

FIFTEEEN

: the number of years of marriage we celebrate today

Fifteen years ago, I was excited, not nervous.

Fifteen years ago, my husband drove to Mississippi on his way to the wedding (this was a fairly significant detour).

For fifteen years, we've read together - recommending the best books to each other - and accepting over time that while we both love to read, we love different books.

For fifteen years, J's been the one I call with good news, bad news, scary news.  He's listened, advised and laughed.

For fifteen years, we've negotiated household duties.  We're not neat freaks and both dislike cleaning.  A match made in heaven?  Not quite.  Someone does have to do it.  Housework has been the source of the biggest fights we've had.  I figure we're not too bad off if housework is our biggest issue.

For fifteen years, we've slept side by side, switching sides with the seasons.  I want to be near the air conditioner.  He doesn't like the fan blowing on his face.  I don't want to sleep near the bedroom door.  Ahhh, the millions of minor negotiations and compromises that go into a good marriage.

For fifteen years, I've studied this man's face, its nooks and crannies, its curves and stubble.  His face has changed over time, but not much.  He'll always be a baby face and I'll always be glad to see that face as he comes through the door to our home.

In fifteen years, we've watched hundreds of football games, two world cups, dozens of baseball games (can you tell which sport I prefer?) and more ballet performances than either of us could have imagined.


Over fifteen years, we've changed.  We've changed homes, jobs, diapers.  We've grown up together and stayed remarkably in-sync over a decade and a half.

Truth be told, we've had our ups and downs over the last fifteen years.  But a flat line of a marriage sounds like a death toll.  I'm thankful to be in a marriage where the peaks more than make up for the valleys.

I wouldn't trade a day of the last fifteen years.

LAUNCHPAD

: a nonflammable platform from which a rocket, launch vehicle, guided missile, or girl can be launched

It's difficult to write the perfect blog post for every occasion, but as I was thinking about Father's Day and how to encapsulate what J is for our girls, the image of a launchpad came to me.  I recently read Lift and if motherhood is about breathing life into your children's hopes, dreams and talents, then fatherhood is about giving your children - especially your daughters - the firm and stable ground from which to launch themselves.

J is just this stability for our girls.  They know who he is, what to expect from him and that he will be there for them no matter what.  Girls can't jump as high, soar as far or fly as long when they don't have a launchpad for a father.  Any basketball player will tell you that you can't get as much height when jumping in sand as you can when you're on the court.  Girls know when their fathers are dependable like a launchpad and they know when they're like shifting sand under them.

They also know that some fathers allow them to land gracefully, crash and burn or take the long way back home.  This knowledge gives them the confidence to pursue their dreams, knowing they'll never be alone in their successes or failures.

I was talking with a friend not long ago whose husband enjoys a more flexible schedule than J does.  (On weekdays, J is consistently gone between 11 1/2 to 12 hours.)  She asked how I manage it with grace.  I admitted that I don't always handle it gracefully, but that it's easier now that the girls are older.  There's the added factor that J loves his job.  More importantly, when he's here, he's fully present.  He eats dinner with us every night.  He helps put the girls to bed.  He attends every game, every recital, every school.  He knows what's going on in our girls lives and knows who they are as people.

This is a dad who willingly watches our daughters' favorite TV show, which happens to be So You Think You Can Dance.  He doesn't just watch it, either.  He watches with us, critiques choreography and execution, has his favorites and his not-so-favorites.  Is he a closet dance fan?  Not really.  But he's a fan of our daughters.  And they love watching this show.  A loves the dances, B loves the music, K loves the performances.  So we do this as a family - we watch, we vote, we laugh together, gasp together, recall our favorite routines from past seasons together.  And if J is sometimes wishing he was watching a baseball game instead of a dance show, he never lets on.  This television show is more than a way to kill a few hours on summer evenings.  It's a launchpad for family memories.  It's a shared experience that helps strengthen the community that is our family.

I have no aspirations for my daughters to be astronauts - A hates math far too much for that, B could never follow all of the rules required and K will probably never be tall enough - but I do look forward to seeing the confident, bold, strong women they will be because they have a father who served as a launchpad for them.

INADEQUATE

:not adequate :insufficient

Words, as much as I love them, are sometimes inadequate.  Today is J's birthday and I've pondered what to write to honor this special day.  Do I write about what he means to me?  What he means to our girls?  What I love most about him?

Words are inadequate to paint a proper portrait of this man who loves his work, loves his family, loves his wife, loves God. 

Words can't show or tell how much he means to me - or to A, B and K. 

Words can't convey how often he puts others before himself and loves us all so well.

Words are insufficient to honor this day in the way it deserves.  Instead, we tried to show it with some beef brisket, roasted vegetables, cupcakes from The Cupcake Collection (key lime for the birthday boy) and small presents to show him we know him and love him.  Those things don't quite do it either, but we had so much fun decorating the table, making a card and wrapping presents with him in mind.

Since my words are inadequate to mark this occasion, I'll just have to do my best to live and love in a way that makes up for the times when words fail me.

The man I love

FOURTEEN

:the number of years I've been wed

Last year, I wrote an anniversary post for J.  Months after the fact, he shared with me that he bookmarked the post and went back to it and read it when he needed a pick-me-up.  It made me feel honored that my words would touch him in this way - and put a ton of pressure on me for this year's post!

In honor of the kitchen renovation that has consumed our time, our home and our budget for the past four or so months (including planning time), I thought I would use some specific examples from the kitchen that show you why I still love J fourteen years later.

1) The Decision - The decision to renovate our kitchen is itself a measure of how much J loves me.  About a year ago, we considered moving.  We had even found a house we liked and made an offer.  When that fell through, we looked at other homes in our neighborhood, but we didn't find anything that was exactly what we wanted.  You'll notice that I said we looked at other homes "in our neighborhood."  That's because I adore our neighborhood and have no desire to move.  J, on the other hand, would move to the suburbs in the blink of an eye were it not for his wife's entrenched desire to live in a neighborhood, not a subdivision.  So when we didn't find the perfect home in our neighborhood, J floated the idea of looking in a neighboring county.  With great hesitancy I agreed to at least look at a few online.  Ultimately, we decided to stay where we are - and renovate our kitchen.  J is gracious and would never say it, but were I not so in love with this part of town, I'm sure he would have found a way to move instead of living through a renovation.

2) The Plan - Once we decided to renovate, we had to figure out exactly how to make our kitchen functional. This was no small task in a kitchen with five doorways.  After months of polling friends who visited, J was the one who insisted we needed help.  He called one design firm and set up a meeting.  When that one didn't work out, he encouraged me to meet with someone else and try to find the right fit.  I did and I am so thankful that he persisted in this.  We needed a full blown plan.  We needed a blueprint to work from.  And my analytical husband knew this from the start. 

3) Crisis - No renovation goes exactly according to plan, no matter how much help you have in crafting the plan.  In our case, we found the unpleasant surprise on Day 2 that an HVAC vent was running through the wall that we planned to cut for a pass through.  This revelation came close on the heels of other bad news regarding the stove (more on that later), but J didn't let the HVAC crisis get to him.  He's good in a crisis, whether it's a crisis with our home, our children or something else.  As we head into the teenage years, I'm sure I'll come to value this trait even more.

4) The Process - There are thousands of big and small decisions that go into a kitchen renovation.  I don't think it's possible to make this many decisions without some conflict.  I remember my frustration boiling over at one point when J wanted to cross examine me on a choice I'd made (I have no idea what the choice actually was - I just remember my frustration) and I told him that I felt like our kitchen renovation was somewhat analogous to our process for buying a flat screen TV.  With the TV, J was the one who cared the most.  So I deferred.  I told him that I wanted the 42" but I didn't complain when he bought the 46."  I wanted the same deference on the kitchen.  J didn't cease to have an opinion after that conversation, but he did defer to me on many, many decisions.  Such as...

5) The Colors - We're several days (a week?) into the renovation when I realize that I haven't picked a color for the hallway.  B has picked the color for her room and we've agreed to a shade of blue for the kitchen.  So what is the perfect color to transition one from Secure Blue to Poseidon Turquoise?  I called J as I stood with the ring of Sherwin Williams colors in my hand.  "Do you care what color I paint the back hallway?"  "What? No.  Just pick one.  Whatever you think is fine."  "OK!  Thanks!"  In case you're wondering, Lily Yellow is the perfect transition color.

 6) Trust - I found out a few things about J over the course of this renovation.  One important thing:  he can't visualize anything.  So every time I suggested something, he would ask, "Can you show me a picture?"  Well, no, I can't show you a photograph of the image I have in my head.  So at some point, he just had to trust me.  One such case was the desk area.  I really wanted a different countertop material to distinguish this area from the main kitchen area.  J couldn't visualize it, but he let me go with the New Venetian that I wanted.  And it looks great:

7) Encouragement - While J is the numbers guy in the family, he has encouraged me throughout this renovation to not compromise solely for the sake of cost.  The sink in our old kitchen was a divided sink that wouldn't hold a soaking 9 x 13 pan in any configuration.  I wanted to replace it with an apron front sink.  Then I priced them.  Have you?  Well, they cost about ten times the cost of a regular stainless steel sink (I am not exaggerating - ten times!).  I came home from the store resigned to getting a plain divided sink.  But I really didn't want a stainless steel sink.  J wasn't willing to give up so quickly.  He looked online and found the perfect compromise:  a large basin sink that wasn't apron front and was half the cost of the apron front.  And every time I use this huge, beautiful sink, I am thankful that he encouraged me to get it.

8) Honed - While J encouraged me not to compromise on the choices we made solely for the sake of cost, there were certainly times when we needed to compromise with each other.  I'm not a fan of granite countertops.  The high sheen makes me feel like I'm in a cold, formal and uninviting place - pretty much the exact opposite of how I want my kitchen to feel.  J wanted granite.  I wanted soapstone.  He could care less about how shiny the counters are.  He just wanted granite.  The compromise here?  Honed granite countertops instead of polished ones. 

9) Appliances - And then there were the decisions that J made so that I wouldn't have to make them.  He cared more about the appliances than I did, so he offered to take the lead on this.  Unfortunately, the first round didn't go well.  We agreed on a stove he'd found and only after it arrived did we realize it was the wrong kind.  We debated whether to just use it anyway or get the kind the kitchen was designed to have.  The clincher in our decision to ignore the budget and correct our mistake was when J asked me, "If we keep this stove, will you cringe a little every time you look at it?"  Me, hesitantly, "Yeah, probably."  J:  "Me, too.  Let's just get another stove."

10) Splurges - We have a pot filler in our kitchen.  Until a few months ago, when I was trapped on the sofa recovering from surgery and watching lots of HGTV, I had no idea what a pot filler even was.  Now I own one.  This was purely J's idea and I must admit that I love it.  It uses the space behind the stove nicely and I love not having to carry a pot of sloshing water from the sink to the stove.  Instead, I can fill it right on the burner.  This definitely didn't fall into the necessity category and I love that J wants to shower me with gifts, even during a kitchen renovation.

11) Side Project - In the midst of a kitchen renovation, we decided to finish B's room a bit more as well by painting it the colors she wanted and getting her a loft bed.  The bed had to be assembled and I have the spatial concept skills of a newborn.  That pretty much left the task to him.  I was his assistant, handing him screws, pieces of wood, etc.  And then it came time to turn the bed over.  Ummm.... the ceiling was too low.  I'm still not sure exactly how we managed it, but I followed J's instructions, we maneuvered the bed around and B now has her very own loft - complete with sleeping and reading areas, much to her delight.

12) Contractors - As we neared the end of the renovation, it was increasingly tiring to have contractors in and out of our house.  The pantry was up, the shelves were in, but the walls had not been painted.  At this point, I didn't care.  It's a pantry, who's going to see it?  But he really thought it needed to be done.  So I called in the final set of contractors...

 K and I spent the morning painting it.  J was right.  It looks far more finished.  And K loved helping me.

13) Surprise - For our wedding, J and I received a hand made ceramic tile from my pottery teacher at Vanderbilt.  When she gave it to us, she said, "Maybe one day you'll have your own home and can install it in your kitchen."  Fourteen years ago, that seemed a long way away.  But here we are, years later, renovating our kitchen.  I knew I wanted our kitchen to have blue walls and the colors in the tile fit perfectly.  Then, eight days before our renovation started, J broke the tile.  It was a complete accident and he felt terrible.  A friend suggested we install the tile anyway.  I talked it over with our contractor and we decided to break the tile in a few more places and install it with grout in the cracks.  I dare say I love it more than I would have whole.  It's the perfect reminder that life - and marriage - never go the way you plan.  There will be breaks, cracks, fissures along the way.  And you can choose to mend and celebrate them or you can try to hide them.  I'm thankful to Jason for the surprise gift of brokenness that adorns our kitchen, the very heart of our home.

14) Anniversary - I'm thankful to be celebrating another year married to J.  He's not perfect, but neither am I, so that works out well.  He compensates for my weaknesses, listens to my desires, meets my needs both spoken and unspoken.  And he'll get to spend many more years eating the food I prepare in this kitchen...

J, thanks for living with me, loving me and caring for me - through a kitchen renovation and for the last fourteen years.

DATE

4 a : an appointment to meet at a specified time; especially : a social engagement between two persons that often has a romantic character b : a person with whom one has a usually romantic date

I have a date tonight.  With a cute guy.  A guy who makes me laugh.  In fact, he's on his way to pick me up right now.  I've known him for seventeen years and he can still make my heart race.  My kitchen has been out of commission for more than two weeks.  My daughters are out of town this week.  If there exists a more perfect set of reasons for a date, I do not know it.  In fact, it's pretty much date night followed by date night followed by date night.  And then we'll hit the road to drive north and retrieve our beloved daughters.

But in the meantime, we've already seen a funny movie together, hung out at a local pub, and had dinner and drinks at my new favorite East Nashville restaurant.  I've also slept late, worked out every day (OK, OK, it's only been two days, but still!) and had lunch with a friend.  Tonight J is picking our dinner location, so it will feel like an old fashioned date.  He'll pick me up in his car - a car any high schooler would be happy to drive.  He'll open the door for me.  He'll pay when the check arrives.  Only this time I'm sitting on the sofa typing on the laptop, not primping in the bathroom mirror while I wait for him.  And if he wants to hold  my hand, I'll definitely let him.

I love the opportunity to have dates with my husband.  Sure, we spent a portion of our date last night talking about things like work, the kitchen renovation and my preparations for homeschooling A next year.  But we also laughed together, had cocktails with dinner, ran into friends at the restaurant, ate great food and enjoyed being together.   I envy my friends who manage to schedule a weekly date night.  We've never managed that with any consistency over the course of our nearly fourteen years of marriage.  But we do try to make time for each other and with each other.

So instead of standing on the back deck and grilling something for dinner, then serving it up on paper plates, I'll be out on a date with my husband.  Sounds infinitely more appealing, doesn't it?

SATISFYING

3 a : to make happy : please b : to gratify to the full : appease

My husband doesn't get a lot of vacation time - two weeks goes pretty fast with family stretched from Alabama to Wisconsin. So it was a special treat for him to take a vacation day on Friday. The girls had school and we were having a party on Saturday, so he picked this as a vacation day in part to help me with party prep and in part to give us some time alone. It's difficult to put into words how satisfying this day was to my soul, but as WordGirl, I'll give it a try...

Working Together - I won't lie, it was nice to have help cleaning the house, meeting with a contractor about a new fence and running errands. I often feel closest to J when we're working on a project together and Friday was especially nice because we accomplished a lot without assembling or moving any furniture, thereby avoiding frustration on my part and swearing on his.

Day Time Date - In the midst of errands, we had lunch together and lingered. We weren't paying a sitter, didn't have an appointment pressing up against our time together and there were no work projects hanging over our outing. I can't remember what we talked about, but it wasn't our children or the mundane activities of life. Actual adult conversation can be shockingly hard to come by, especially in the busy month of December.

A Glimpse of Our Future - I told J as we headed out for errands and lunch that it was so much fun to have a day together because it made me excited for the day (still 12+ years away) when K starts college and I have him all to myself again. I've heard lots of couples struggle with empty nesting but as much as I love my daughters, I look forward to it being just J and I again someday. The girls can visit as often as they'd like...

Who I Am With Him - J makes me feel good about myself. He laughs at my jokes, tells me I look good and enjoys my company as much as I enjoy his. I feel like a better, bolder Shannon after a bit of time alone with him and that was a nice bonus heading into a party where our house was filled with friends from all of the various facets of our life.

Thankfully, starting in 2010 J will have an extra week of vacation. I can't wait for another Date Day in the spring. I'm sure it will leave me as filled to overflowing as Friday did.

ESCAPE

1 a : to get away

Sometimes I just want to get away. There's not a consistent prompt for my desire for escape. It's not that I hate my life (love it, in fact). But I do long to get away. And while that is an impossibility this time of year when taken literally, I have known for years that the cheapest, best, most exciting vacations lie between the covers of a book.

Earlier this week, I was somewhat weepy, mopey and out of sorts. I had an ache in the center of my chest and longed for a good emotional outpouring. And I knew just the book. It's the sixth book in a series that's been out for a while, but I had been saving it for just the right moment. You see, it's the kind of book I know I'm going to voraciously consume once I start it. This series is not high art, it's more Entertainment Weekly than The New Yorker. But I love the characters. I love the way they love each other and how the book just sucks me in and carries me along.

Unfortunately, my desire for this book hit on a Sunday night when the library (and all bookstores) were already closed. Monday was then filled with chores that needed doing after time away from home for Thanksgiving. So I didn't make it to the library to get a copy of the book. I tried. I called J and had him check to see if the branch library nearby had a copy. It didn't. And I couldn't make it to one of the branches that had the book before closing time. So I figured I'd wait another day.

J had other ideas. When I came home Monday night, dragging three tired girls behind me, the book was sitting on the dining room table. Not a library copy. My very own paperback copy.

To say that I was grateful doesn't quite cover it. I had tried to explain to J the ache I was feeling and my desire to assuage it with a book. He clearly heard me. And the beauty of being married to a reader is that he got it. He understood how the right book at the right time is better than an all expenses paid vacation to the Bahamas. I was so surprised, so touched that I cried as I thanked him.

And I've hardly put the book down since. I've read at night, in the car, while I eat my lunch, when I should be doing other things. I'm over 400 pages in (which still leaves over 1,000 to go with this book) and it is just the escape that I wanted and needed. And how blessed am I to have a husband who bought me the ticket for my escape?

HEALER

1 : one that heals: to make sound or whole

Today is J's birthday. We have often joked that he is ill-suited to a name that means healer. When he gave blood years ago in preparation for a surgery he was having, he passed out. For the births of our first two children, he left the room during the epidural, smiling apologetically to me as he made his exit. For K's birth, he merely turned his back so that he wouldn't have to see the needle slide into his wife's back. Once, as I read to him a vivid description of what asthma feels like, he nearly hyperventilated. He was not designed to be a "healer" in the medical sense of the word.

But as I think about celebrating him on this day, it is true that he has healed me in many ways. I have spent much of my life feeling unloved and, worse, unlovable. J has shown me the fallacy of this thinking and has spent thirteen years proving day in and day out that he loves me, whether I deserve it or not. He has made great strides in making me a whole person instead of a shell of a woman. For that, I am grateful.

Happy Birthday, Honey.

MELANCHOLY

2 a : depression of spirits : dejection b : a pensive mood

I've waited too long to post about the great trip that J & I took to Louisville a few weeks back to see one of our favorite bands play their final show. I'm not sure I can capture why it was so great and what I loved about it. Nevertheless, I'm going to try:

The show was ten days before our 13th anniversary, so it was a special night for a lot of reasons. It was fun to share the experience of driving a few hours north just for a concert. While it took a lot of planning to get the girls farmed out to spend the night with various friends, it felt spontaneous, young and fun. J and I have been to Louisville a few times and always enjoy the city. It was a quick trip, but spending the night in a nice hotel and having dinner at a bar followed by a concert felt more distinctive than an anniversary date here in Nashville would have been. We soaked up the time together.

It was also special to be a part of The Muckrakers' final show. A few months ago J told me to check out the blog of Rob Carpenter, the lead singer of The Muckrakers. I was skeptical that I would enjoy his blog. To say that I am not musical is an understatement. So what was I going to have in common with this guy? If he blogged about writing or playing music, I was likely to be confused, bored or both. Instead, I found a very real guy who wrote in an authentic voice about his life. Yes, he's a singer-songwriter, but he's also a dad, a husband, a baseball fan. Prompted by various posts, J and I had each corresponded with Rob via e-mail prior to the final concert. J introduced himself to Rob before the concert began and we were able to chat with him for a bit before the concert.

Since I'm not a huge music fan, there has to be a good motivator for me to go to a concert. I do enjoy small venues because I can often hear the lyrics better live than recorded (lyrics being the only reason WordGirl listens to music). The motivation for this concert was the time alone with J, the shared experience we would have after this anniversary road-trip and getting to see someone I've gotten to know via his blog play music.

In spite of the fact that this was a concert, there was a touch of melancholy in the air. It was, after all, their last concert. Rob, his wife and daughters were leaving Louisville not long after the final show and this was the last time these four guys did their thing together. It was a great show. They played all of J & I's favorite songs and then some. They came out into the audience and did a campfire style sing along. The band cried some. I cried some.

On the drive back, I told J that I was thankful that I didn't know I wanted to write until recently. It would be so hard to be Rob Carpenter and walk away from not just on the dream of this band, but his gift of writing and performing. While I don't know him personally, I get the feeling from all he's written about it that the timing of this is right for him. I hope he'll continue to write - music or something else. But it was somewhat sad to know our first Muckrakers concert would be our last.

Oddly enough (or perhaps not, if you know me), the touch of melancholy this concert embodied made the trip even better for me than another concert would have been. It made me thankful that these four guys shared their gifts with the crowd that night. It made me hopeful that they will find other ways to use their gifts. It made me long to stretch myself and reach for dreams that seem out of my grasp.

THIRTEEN

:years from July 27, 1996 to today

Thirteen years ago today, I married J. You can tell a lot about a man by looking at what he loves, so here are thirteen things he loves and the reasons why they make me love him.

1. He loves to make me laugh. J loves to tell silly stories, crack corny jokes and generally lighten my spirits. I tend to err on the side of serious, but J brings out a side of me I didn't know existed. This trickles down in our family to make us a more fun-loving bunch than we otherwise might be.
   
2. He loves books, maybe even more than I do. A high school friend who was in our wedding saw J receive what was probably his favorite gift: several first edition mystery books by some of his favorite authors. She turned to me and said, "Wow. You actually found a guy who loves to read like you do." I can't imagine being married to someone who resented the way I lose myself in a book instead of relishing it.
3. He loves football. You might think this is a given, or that it should appear on the list of reasons J loves me. But I am truly thankful that we share a passion for college football. At the first football game we attended, J attempted to explain to me why we were punting. I interrupted to give him my assessment of our offense thus far and assured him I understood fully what was going on. Love at first kickoff.
4. He loves Vanderbilt. It's not easy to be a Vanderbilt fan and a football fan. This team takes the wind out of your proverbial sails with regularity, yet J is the eternal optimist. He's the one who thinks this time every year, "This could be the year we have a winning season." History does not support him in thinking this, but he thinks it nonetheless. I love this about him.
   
5. He loves popcorn and ham & hard rolls. I love this about J because it's one of the things that links him to his family of origin. A bowl of popcorn or a ham sandwich on Sunday are not just meals. They are a way that he remembers - and honors - his parents and his childhood with them.
6. He loves baseball, but will spend an afternoon or evening with me at the museum. We've each taught the other things over the course of our courtship and marriage. While I love football, baseball is not my game. J has taught me to enjoy a good baseball game. Even better, he takes an interest in the things I love. On our honeymoon, we picked a city where we could attend a major league game and go to an art museum. Luckily, the Red Sox had a home series when we needed it and we got to see Boston together.
   
7. He loves numbers. I was an art history major in college. I'm not a numbers kind of girl. But I love that J loves numbers. He loves working with them. He loves the stories that numbers tell. And I love this about him because he is different than me. I love that we can be passionate about different things and still passionate about each other.
   
8. He loves music. This is another way we are different. I like music, but I don't love it by any means. J, on the other hand, would have it playing non-stop if he could. I love that he tempers his love for music with his love for me because non-stop music wears away at the edges of my mind and leaves me frazzled and over-stimulated. I love that his love for music has exposed me to music I would never have encountered without him. I love that we celebrated our anniversary at a concert, something I certainly would not choose without him.
   
9. He loves our daughters. Not just a little bit. Not because he should. He loves them for the unique girls that they are. He loves their quirks and foibles. He loves their strengths and weaknesses. He loves them in a way that is healing and inspiring to see.
10. He loves So You Think You Can Dance. That's right. The man who loves football, baseball and all things sports also likes a dance show. I think, like me, he loves this show because it is something for our entire family to watch. We love seeing our daughters dream about being up on that stage someday. We love hearing them applaud or critique a performance. We love the way B's favorite judges are the ones who encourage the dancers. We love the way A's favorite dancer is, of course, a ballerina. We love the way K runs to her room to don dress up clothes in honor of the occasion. And I love that his love for our daughters overflows in this way.
    
11. He loves the Lord. J is a wonderful, loving man who wants to be an even better man. He knows and acknowledges his weaknesses, which makes him one of the strongest men I know. And he rests in knowing God can help him be the better man he can be.
    
12. He loves my body. Even after three daughters and years of ignoring, if not neglecting, my body. He loves me in t-shirts, in skirts, in whatever. When I'm feeling my grungiest, J leans in and says, "You look great." And he means it.
13. He loves me. Not the surface Shannon, but the real one. From the moment I met J, I never felt like I had to be anyone else around him. He's broken down walls I didn't even know I had built to protect myself. He's loved me when I'm unkind, selfish and downright unlovable.

May my daughters all be blessed with a man who makes them feel this way. In fact, the greatest gift I think I've given my daughters is to have J has a husband. If they look to him as what a husband should be, they will end up with the right men.

HELP

1: to give assistance or support to (help a child with homework)

I just witnessed the sweetest thing. J and I have been procrastinating for days the mowing of our lawn. When he came home from work tonight, he headed straight upstairs to change into bug-repellent clothes and started mowing right away. K was so excited that she gulped down her dinner in order to go help him motor (which is what she calls mowing).

By "help" him, I thought she meant clear the sticks out of the way, move the hose to the garden, etc. Here's what she meant:


This is sweet for so many reasons:

K wants to help her dad "motor" the lawn. How many girls are clamoring to be eaten by bugs and walk around the lawn pushing a mower that is higher than her head?

J lets her help him. Clearly, our five year old, 32 pound daughter was not a true help. J could certainly have completed this task faster without having to slow his gait to match hers and push the mower with one hand.

J & K both take this for granted. I don't think it occurred to K that J wouldn't want her to help him mow. And J didn't give much consideration to telling her not to help. Their love for each other is so easy, so comfortable, so much a part of their lives that they are willing to spend time together in whatever form it takes. J doesn't realize what a gift this is to his daughters. K doesn't realize what a gift it is to have a dad who loves her with such constancy and availability.

I'm more thankful than words can express that my husband lets my daughter help him mow the lawn. It's a small thing. As he came in sweaty and tired, he wiped his forehead and said, "It took a little longer. But it was worth it."

Yes, it was. And by letting her help him mow the lawn, he's helping her grow into a confident woman who knows she is very loved. He's given our girls a huge gift - the gift of taking his love for granted.

STRONG

1: having or marked by great physical power
2: having moral or intellectual power

What makes you feel strong? J played soccer Sunday afternoon. He scored a goal for the first time in years and came home glowing with post-goal and post-game bliss. J enjoys soccer for many reasons, but he freely admits that part of the joy comes from its link to his past. He likes pushing his body today to do what he routinely did 20 years ago. He likes to see that he "still has it." And while he didn't say it, I think it makes him feel strong to be out there on the field, seeing plays develop and positioning himself to block an opponent or aid an offensive gambit.

As J relived his soccer game by telling me all about it, it occurred to me that, in stark contrast to J, links to my past do not make me feel strong. I was not (and am not) an athlete. There's nothing that I used to be able to do and long for in a slightly wistful way. There are certainly some skills that I've lost or have atrophied over time. I used to be able to talk with high level business executives in an intelligent, insightful way. I think I've probably lost that in seven years away from the for-profit world. But it's not something I regret losing since I made the choice to leave that part of my life behind.

In fact, when I feel strongest is when I think about all of the things I can do now that I never would have attempted years ago. Even though I'm not an athlete, I enjoy running. I wouldn't have imagined being able to say that ten years ago and I feel strong when I run. I feel strong when J and I have a disagreement and I manage to actually talk it through with him instead of shutting down to avoid conflict. I feel strong when I write something from my heart and hit the "publish post" button.

Maybe I don't miss who I used to be because I wasn't very accomplished to begin with. But I think it would be more honest to say that my previous accomplishments just didn't mean as much to me because they didn't come from the real me. I am proud that I've spent the last few years peeling off the layers of desensitized, artificial me in order to reveal who I am today. Because those other layers made me feel weak, but in my own skin, I'm strong.

CLIFF

: a very steep, vertical, or overhanging face of rock, earth, or ice : precipice

J and I went to see the new Star Trek movie last night. I am by no means a Trekkie and was honestly compelled to see this largely because J.J. Abrams directed it. I am addicted to Lost because it keeps me guessing and twists my expectations continually, so I wanted to see what Abrams would do with this concept. I really enjoyed the movie: I liked the character development, I liked the plot, I think Chris Pine as James Kirk is a cutie. AND it was a nice date night with J.

While watching it, I was struck by how many times Kirk is skidding up to, sliding over or hanging on to the edge of a cliff. Kirk is the very essence of self-destructive, impulsive behavior, so I'm not suggesting I want to spend my life imitating him. But it did make me think about how much of our lives we spend trying to avoid the cliffs instead of accepting them as a part of our lives.

I want life to be easier than it is. I want to parent my daughters without damaging them. I want to love my husband well. I want the laundry done, the kitchen clean and the house tidy without constant effort. I want to sit down to write and have the words flow from my fingertips. I want to pray about, meditate on and ponder a question and receive an answer. Clearly, this is all sheer fantasy, not reality.

Life is not easy. It isn't a straight road with clear markings that takes us exactly where we expect. But would we really want it to be? What would we learn if life were like this?

I think I've personally tried to avoid the cliffs in life out of fear of falling. But what was interesting in last night's movie was that the one time Kirk went over the cliff, it brought great blessing. The other times he managed to hang on and pull himself back up, but the time he fell he found friendship and help. It changed the course he was on.

So am I too afraid of the cliff and what it might bring to fly over it, tumble down it, careen up to it? What am I missing out on because I am too bound by what I know and what I fear? I'm not asking for a cliff to appear tomorrow, but I hope the next time I see one in the distance, I won't change course just for the sake of avoiding it.

WEDDING

1: a marriage ceremony usually with its accompanying festivities : nuptials
2: an act, process, or instance of joining in close association

Do you cry at weddings? I do. But it hasn't always been that way. In fact, when I think back to my own wedding, the emotion I remember is excitement. I had spent the summer living at home with my parents. J was living in Columbus, OH where I was scheduled to start grad school in the fall after our late July wedding. We had spent about two months apart leading up to the wedding and I was so excited when J arrived the week of the wedding, that I just quit worrying about anything at that point. Several little tasks on my to-do list were never marked off, but I couldn't even tell you what they were. All I cared about was that I was getting married!

At the weddings that we attended after we were married, J and I would smile through the ceremony and squeeze hands during parts that reminded us of our own nuptials. I didn't cry. He didn't cry. We just left feeling renewed and reminded of why we had married each other on that hot July day in southern Alabama.

But about nine years ago, weddings changed for me. Instead of relating to the bride, which brought huge smiles, but no tears, I began to focus on those words "give away." This little moment in the ceremony was not a big deal to me during my own wedding, but now it stood out in bas relief. I was one day going to have to stand in front of those I love and give my daughter away?! What was this craziness? Even worse, my daughters would be excited to be given away, just as I had been. This definitely brought some tears.

I know (logically) that I will be smiling through tears of joy when A, B and/or K walk down the aisle to wed. But (emotionally) I can't believe I'll ever be ready for this. I actually get a tad angry when I think about all of this giving away stuff because mothers and fathers of boys don't have to stand there and give up their sons. I'm sure there's some archaic reason that it's structured the way it is, but it still seems wrong that J and I have to foot the bill for a party celebrating giving our beautiful daughters away!

We attended a wedding this weekend. A sat between J and I, with B on J's right. I leaned over to A and told her to hold her daddy's hand because he was sure to cry when they started playing Jesu. She looked puzzled and asked "Why?" I tried to explain that when we watch a bride walk down the aisle, we see her. We look at those bridesmaids and see her sisters. That, of course, is not sad to her at all.

At the reception, K went outside to pick flowers and then gave them to "the princess who got married today." I know my little girls want to be princesses who get married one day and I hope they are as excited as I was nearly 13 years ago at my wedding. But I'm sure I'll still cry.

TEMPERATURE

2 a: degree of hotness or coldness measured on a definite scale b: the degree of heat that is natural to the body of a living being

The air conditioner in our van is broken. It blows some cold air, but only through the defrost, not through any of the vents scattered around the van. We’ve known this for a few months, but there’s never an ideal time to be without our vehicle for a few days and it hasn’t been warm enough to make the lack of air conditioning a real issue. Until today. Today we took a seven hour road trip… to southern Alabama.

If you’ve never been to southern Alabama (I’m talking Gulf Coast here), it’s hot. In this part of the country, “winter” (such as it is) skips right over spring and runs headlong into summer. I realize it’s not yet May, but I packed sleeveless tops, skirts and flip flops for my daughters to wear this weekend. I know they will not be cold.

J, however, is another story. Since the air conditioner on the van only blows through the defrost, he’s been freezing for about 100 miles. While he has icebergs forming in his ears, A is so warm back in the third row of the van that she’s taken her shirt off. That’s right, my eldest daughter is topless and thanks to tinted windows and her small stature, I’m not even making an issue of it. I feel so bad about the balmy temperature of the van that I figure if taking her shirt off makes her more comfortable, so be it.

Never one to let an opportunity like this pass her by, K has removed her shirt as well. As Kate’s reasoning goes, if her sister gets to do it, so should she.

I am still fully clothed. My own personal solution has been to drape B’s blanket over the visor to the side of my window. It’s blocking the sun that beats down on me as we drive southward. We may look odd to passersby. In fact, I’m pretty sure we do. But tempers flare when the temperature gets off, so right now we’re doing whatever it takes to keep everyone cool.

IDYLLIC

1 : pleasing or picturesque in natural simplicity
2 : of, relating to, or being an idyll: 1 a: a simple descriptive work in poetry or prose that deals with rustic life or pastoral scenes or suggests a mood of peace and contentment

K and I had a nice day today: It's been a beautiful spring day, with blue skies, warm sun and a light breeze. A left something in the car this morning, so I put K in the stroller and we walked over to the school and took the long way home. After lunch, K wanted to watch a movie and asked me to join her. Surprisingly, I did. It wasn't my favorite movie fare, but as a bonus we watched it in bed and K let me snooze for 15 minutes alongside her. Later in the day, she wanted to ride her bike and wanted me to watch her. She waited patiently, sitting on her bike on the sidewalk, while I finished loading the dishwasher. Then I sat on the porch and watched her pedal her way back and forth.

When I relayed all of this to J, he said it sounded idyllic. I laughed and replied, "Well, I've also swept and mopped all of the downstairs floors and the stairs, while doing three loads of laundry. I think an idyllic day would involve less work!" But after reading the definition of idyllic, I must admit that he may be right. It certainly was a day "pleasing ... in natural simplicity."

A few nights ago, I went out with some friends. During our time together, we discussed, in part, what our standards are as mothers for time spent with our children. Specifically, time spent playing with our children. One friend talked about how her children deserved more of her time than they get, while another brought up how our expectations surrounding this issue have changed dramatically in recent decades. When moms got together 50 or 60 years ago, I seriously doubt they discussed whether they spent enough time playing board games or Barbies with their children. Instead, their days probably looked a lot like my day today: time spent with my daughter, but interspersed and alongside work.

There is a natural simplicity to children playing alongside mothers as they accomplish their work. This type of activity allows mothers to interact naturally with their children and seize teachable moments like counting the eggs that go into the cake. It also allows children autonomy to play in a childlike way without adult direction or interference.

I sound fairly confident of this, don't I? Yet I question my need to nourish myself and wonder whether I cross the line from self-care to selfishness. There is a cultural perception that mothers are meant to be mothers first and women second. But I'm not sure that is healthy or helpful.

When J said my day was idyllic, I instantly pictured a day where K and I played together, took a walk together, picnicked together, etc. Of course, in my mental picture, the house was clean, the laundry was folded and the dishes were done. This idyllic picture will never be reality. If I wait until I have everything done to snatch moments with my daughters, it will never happen. So instead, I'll enjoy the moments with them alongside me and remind myself of the natural simplicity of mother and child side-by-side, living life together. That gives me a peace and contentment that I can have every day.

TIMELINE

1: a table listing important events for successive years within a particular historical period

B is working on a timeline for school. It's a pretty straightforward project. She is to put a penny from each year since she's been born on a poster and then write one fact from each year on the timeline. But I find myself wondering whether time actually is a straight line. I know logically that it is, but I don't think that's how we experience it. I think time seems to rush onward during some seasons and drag slowly during others. Then it loops back on itself and you wonder whether you've done this before.

One of my favorite books is The Time Traveler's Wife. It captures this sense of time folding over on itself as it tracks the relationship of Henry (the time traveler) and Claire (his wife). It's told in a unique way and I think we remember our relationships much like this book relates. J and I have been married for over 12 years and I don't remember our time together in a linear fashion. My memories leap from one moment to the next, linked not chronologically but emotionally or by some hidden mental trigger. We spent the first year of our marriage in Columbus, OH, so those memories are fixed in a separate place in time, while everything else swirls together, merges and separates.

Even as I help B look back on her seven years of life, it is not linear. I can tell you wonderful qualities she possesses or funny stories or touching moments shared, but none of these will escape my lips or my fingers in the nice, neat way a timeline is laid out.

I think if I were to try to create a timeline of my life, I might have to create a time loop instead. It would be fascinating to see where the overlaps occur. How did a poster I owned in college impact my current view of what it means to be an artist? How do the cumulative experiences J and I have result in a marriage? Where do I want the next curve in the loop to take me?