four years later

Four years ago today we threw a wedding together with a tiny budget and the generous help of so many friends and family.  We had a little church to use for free, my mother's dress, altered for free, flowers and decorations done beautifully by a friend, dinner and desserts by talented aunts, photos worth thousands more than we payed, and incredible music performed by musically-gifted friends. I prayed for snow... and we got the first blizzard of the year. There were surprise fireworks and surprise additions to the ceremony—one of the sweetest children I've ever worked with shouted "I do!" before Dave could say it, and it was a perfect interruption I still can't remember without laughing. Our ceremony made me cry tears of joy. When I threw my bouquet, my dear friend who caught it fulfilled the superstition and was the next in line to wed. Not long after that, the man who caught the garter would go on to marry one of my bridesmaids. You can't make this stuff up. Every detail of that day was better than I had dreamed; I had a Pinterest wedding to set the bar for Pinterest weddings. And it was a day of surreal passing of time. It was there and gone like a candle is lit and blown out on a birthday cake. 

If you had a beautiful wedding or a private ceremony in a court room, big-budget ball or no-budget DIY event, they all pass so quickly and are just a memory of one day in the grander picture of a life together in the covenant of marriage. It's funny now to think back and try to remember my wedding. So much is a blur. But even thinking upon the four years of my marriage is sort of a blur. Time flies, as they say. The stunning fact is that I have entered a covenant that is intended to last my entire life. The meaning of the wedding day is important, but the form of that day doesn't have anything to do with the way I live out my covenant day after day. The wedding isn't all that significant to the ongoing state of my marriage. 

So today as I think back to the hopes and anticipation I had on that first day of marital existence, I remember a mindset that couldn't see the hills and valleys ahead, but was certain only that my "I do" would guarantee I would be traveling over those landmarks together with my husband. Four years' perspective makes me think I will consider my present mindset naïve as well compared with the retrospect of decades of marriage. I'm always learning more about myself and about David and about God's purpose for marriage. As happy as I have been, as frustrated or content, as inspired or tired, my marriage has been a tool for God to shape me into a person who more desperately seeks Him to meet my heart's needs and more deeply thanks Him for the overwhelming depth of joy that has come to me. 

What can I really say? The fact that marriage is never perfect isn't a novel idea. But as we celebrate the four short years we've shared, it's hard for me to simply write about how wonderful it has been, or how amazing my husband is (even though he is amazing and deserves to be so praised) because the reality is that marriage isn't always amazing. It's hard work. But it's the most worthwhile endeavor of my life and I want to pay it tribute rightly, without the facade of perfection or the surface-level appreciation for only the good. As incredible as the high points have been (motherhood is right up there) I have to also stop and acknowledge the work of God through all the trials (like motherhood!) We're not perfect, but how beautiful it is to give and receive grace in the midst of our imperfection. I am so thankful for the love and faithfulness of my husband, because he extends it whether I deserve it or not. I am thankful for the meals he's cooked and the dishes he's washed and the days he's put up with my selfishness or the conflicting expectations that go right along with being married to another human. I am thankful. And I am hopeful. 

Thank you for marrying me, David. I respect you. I love you. 

hello D E C E M B E R

December is full of meaning for me. Advent season begins, my anniversary is on the 3rd, my birthday the 24th, Christmas, and saying goodbye to the old year. It's hard to fully appreciate each day in December; I get a little December burn-out. This year I hope I slow down and participate in celebration and not live through my December too quickly.

To finish off November, we got several inches of snow here yesterday. It was unbelievably serene. At one point I was gazing out a window at work and saw a statuesque buck sitting under a pine bough in the lightly falling snow. He was so still I didn't see him at first, his antlers coated in white. He was too far away for a good photo with my IPhone and I was wishing the black-Friday DSLR I ordered had already arrived. But maybe that would have ruined the moment. Que sera sera. 

Some evidence of snow appreciation for you:

vinter sjel • winter soul

If you happen to be around me when it's snowing, you will find out that I have a favorite season; no matter how much I love the others, Winter takes the cake. Perhaps I am influenced egotistically by my Christmas Eve birthday. Or perhaps growing up in the harsh winters of Minnesota forced me to find the good in the cold, snowy fate awaiting us from November to April.

I recently read this and learned that the Norwegians have an expression for their fondness for the cozy, happy aspects of winter in their near-Arctic communities: koselig, a word for which English is really lacking a counterpart. I should coin something to express how I feel about the sweet stillness of winter nights, the crisp way the air brightens your cheeks on a walk, the perpetual-twilight made by the reflection of snow in the night, the warmth of the oven filled with good things to eat, the crackling fire that mesmerizes you as you converse with friends, the clean freshness of each new snowfall, and the drowsy comfort of a warm bed in a chilly house. What word could encompass all that and the countless other little emotions tied to a festive season of tucking in together and giving thanks for the year's blessings, in hopeful expectation of the new gifts to come with Spring? Maybe in English one word can't unify all that, because English speakers are scattered throughout every climate and don't have that same shared experience that would allow just one word to make sense to all. I should have been born in Norway.

I sat here in front of this screen trying to come up with a word anyway. Failure. If you can think of one, please share. I got nothin. 

When I talk about this with friends and neighbors in this cold Midwest, most of them don't get it at all. The only shared experience of winter for them is a mutual hatred of cold, impatience with the tedium of snow, and enjoyment in commiserating about it. I am sorry if you feel that way; I think you're really missing out on an entire season and the joys it has to offer.

The joys of winter are here already in these parts. Friday brought the first snow of the year in a decisive way. No sooner did the last trees shed the leaves of their peak autumnal glory, than a foot of snow fell to close the gap of fall and winter. We're half a week away from thanksgiving and I have already had my minivan snowed-into a garage stall, got the family all geared up in full snowsuited glory, and trudged through snow banks in rural South Dakota.

Saturday morning we went out to a friend's farm with the dual purpose of foraging greens for a wreath and affording my hunter husband a chance to bag a pheasant. He didn't get a bird, and I didn't get a ton of greens on the farm (I did end up getting some really lovely juniper clippings from some rural ditches on our drive home) but it was a lovely morning in the fresh, deep snow, and it was Roger's very first interaction with snow. He wasn't amused when he fell over in his thick snow suit and didn't know how to get up, nor when he got snow on his wrists inside his mittens and realized how very cold it is. It was just a little too deep for him to walk through, so either Dave or I carried him most of the time. 

The gathered greens were really horrible to work with, as they were not the soft fir or cedar I would have liked to find, but the wreath turned out pretty nice, I think, in a rustic way. The juniper smells so nice and there are even a few blue juniper berries. I posted a snarky photo of myself making the wreath on the floor of my bathroom Saturday night, because I never get craftsy and when I do it's SO not the idealized, Instagram-worthy kind of craftsy where all my organic clippings and tools scattered in my workspace have a nice, natural aesthetic that screams #livefolk. Ha. You'll notice I didn't include the floor of my bathroom (or the pine-cluttered tub) in the photo. 

After the wreath was hung, I used the rest of my greenery to decorate on shelves out of Roger's reach. We probably just won't even mess with a Christmas tree this year... Our's is so little and wobbly, Roger would destroy it in about two seconds. But I like our tiny apartment's Christmas decor as it is, and I'm happy it's done so we can get right into a festive spirit next weekend when we return from Thanksgiving travels in MN/WI. 

Whether I will be punctual in taking down the Christmas decor is another story. February may need a little koselig to keep us in the cozy, enjoyable mood for winter.

today {memoir}

A short (2-hour) workday meant a slow and enjoyable morning, and a free afternoon to share with my tiny human. He awoke from his nap and it was raining and he was grumpy and we snuggled in my bed for at least thirty minutes while he was waking up, and he let me stroke his hair and he touched my cheek and gave me kisses like I'm his only love. When he perked up we bounced on the bed and he giggled and I tickled him and asked him to make every animal noise I could think of, but he mainly wanted to growl like a tiger, and I let him. When daddy got home we went downtown to the diner for fried pickles and a burger and beef stroganoff, and Roger screamed and cried when we made him wait to eat his fried pickle spear because he couldn't understand how hot it was. So we let him hold one and he dropped it and said "hot" like he realized we weren't just being mean but then he wasn't sure it would cool down so he cried some more, and then when he finally got a bite, the pickle slid out and he was scared of the strange green tongue sticking out of it that he didn't expect in these weird too-hot French fries. Then he ate my stroganoff with me and stuck his fingers in my ice water, and we went home and I was overcome with how amazing it feels to be his mother and I scooped him up and told him so and tickled him until I thought better of so much roughhousing so near to bedtime. Then I asked him where his belly was, and his ears, and hair, and eyes, and toes, and fingers, and I laughed and clapped when he knew them all, even his chin. And daddy swept him off to read books and pray and sing and go to bed with his array of stuffed animals and his favorite blanket, and I didn't hear him make a sound when David came out and closed his door because he was probably lying there under his blanket, hugging his buddies, going right to sleep.

This is it. This is the golden era. This is where I want to be. This is my perfect life, fully saturated in what it should have, lacking nothing. This is the fullness of the present that is elusive if not sought, invisible if not looked for. This day has been my reminder of  Providence. Of the adequacy of how much I have and the vanity of what I have not. For right now, in this God-ordained moment, I am fully blessed. Why should I allow my heart to want something else, when I trust the One who has me in His hands and is giving me what I need for each day, and nothing more. So I will eat my manna and praise Him. I will remind my fickle heart to slow down and see what is right before me. 

our sweet October

October has come and gone in a flash of brilliant gold, and like never before I have reveled in its glory. Days nannying have meant the privilege of making leaf piles, snapping a million gold-hued photos, and gathering bushels worth of apples with the little ones almost everyday. Weekends have seen us traipsing about the city, picking pumpkins at the farmers market, in the fields on the sides of roads gathering the last of summer's late-blooming flora for the vase in my little kitchen. I have baked something sweet every single weekend of October. This  has been one of the loveliest autumns of my memory.

My husband is finishing his season of exterior painting. In January he begins his new full time "tent-making" job as a salesman and estimator for the same painting company, while continuing his Sunday pastoral duties as connections pastor. We are both so excited for the opportunities that we believe will come through his new position, and we are both relieved that the season of manual labor is coming to a close. I have felt more of the burden of domestic responsibility while his job has been so physically demanding. Having him back on a 9-5 type schedule, where he gets to do something in his gifting which gives him energy instead of just draining him is going to be such a relief to our day-to-day functioning. I'm excited to both get home from work around the same time again, and have dinner together every night. To have him take over bedtime for Roger regularly again. It's the little things. They add up and make such a difference in quality of life.

Tomorrow is that handsome man's birthday. Since it falls on a Monday, we will both be working all day. So I've made him his requested birthday apple pie this evening, and it's just finishing in the oven now. It will cool overnight and we will pick up some good vanilla ice cream after work tomorrow and serve it on top of warm slices of pie and celebrate together in our little apartment. Roger will probably run around and do cute things and we will have a low-key night together. 

November is starting so well, I can only expect it to be another wonderful month. But don't misunderstand; I can't tell you October has been perfect (or easy!) but it has been good. There are struggles everyday and I could have every reason to be discontented and want this next month to go more smoothly and have less stress, fewer nights of lost sleep and toddler tantrums, a better-kept apartment that is always clean, and all my desires and prayers answered in easy, direct yeses. . . But I am learning how much better I feel, how much more thankful, how much more I appreciate what God has given me in each moment, when I choose to see the good and trust that God has ordained my days and hours for good purpose. I have made practicing thankfulness a habit and I didn't really notice the difference it has made until this beautiful October. And I'm choosing to carry on in that habit and breathe. And notice. And enjoy what's before me in my simple little life.

trying to remember it

I was so tired last night, I fell asleep right after I put Roger to bed, sprawled on my tummy on my unmade bed at 7:23pm. I woke up thirty minutes later when Dave got home from an extra long work day and wanted some time with me before his own inevitable collapse. We had leftover meatloaf and apple cake and watched The Office and told each other the funny little stories of our day apart. He was ready for sleep by 9pm and I was wide awake from my accidental nap. So I lay in my bed, my little family tucked in for the night, my mind running over life and motherhood and the cruelty of children growing up and the imperfect nature of memory. 

I was trying to relive my labor, trying to remember how it felt to be in the contractions and to give birth slowly through the night. And as I realized I have already forgotten all but a few moments of it, my heart started to ache. I want to remember it all, but if so much of it is already lost, how much else of my little boy will I eventually forget?

I can still sketch a memory: Roger's birth was not traumatic; I labored serenely, they told me after. I felt myself to be in a sort of labor-induced trance that carried me through most of it, and my amazing doula and nurses kept me relaxed through the difficult parts. My midwife encouraged me to vocalize when it was time to push, and I remember feeling like I was doing something incredible with each crying push through a contraction. I remember vaguely those infinitely lost moments of first beholding my tiny, huge 8lb 6oz baby. There is a moment I'll never forget when our eyes met, when his crying stopped as he listened to my voice. But so much else is a blur.

And as I lay there last night thinking about the memory and the gaps of memory, I realized how important it is that I write it down before it's lost forever. And how important it is to me, as a mother whose privilege of raising little ones lasts only a few short years, to record and lovingly keep safe each special memory from this precious time. What a gift it is to be here now. And how tragic if I let it slip away unaware, and only later realize how much I miss it and how lost it is.

And I write this to you, mamas, to remind you to slow down and take it all in. To write it down. To put down your phone or your camera and just live this. To not let slip these messy and beautiful moments that are so uniquely transient. 

You get to have another childhood, as a mother, because you have an up-close view of the world of your children. You can choose to be all here, feeling with them as they feel, learning from them because they still have that fresh faith and honest spirit we adults can leave behind in our cold and cynical brush with the harsh world.

And I write this mostly to myself, to remind myself to place my values rightly; not to be just busy, but to be just present, even if that means my to-do list is perpetually half-finished. 

...

And this isn't what I wanted it to be as I wrote it out in my heart as I finally drifted to sleep last night. Too hard to put exact words to the stirrings inside, especially when I leave them open for the world to hear. But if I don't write it or air it out, I feel like it would be lost. And maybe there's just one other soul who reads this and feels the same, and realizes she is not the only one. 

autumn waves hello

Roger and I went on a walk to the farmer's market this morning. We set out at about 10am and returned at half past noon, him sleeping in his stroller, and I regretting my footwear.

The day is bright and clear and chilly like Midwestern autumn days are supposed to be. I walked past my dozen or so favorite houses in Sioux Falls on the way into downtown, and without Dave there to make fun of me, I took some pictures to try to capture their charm.

The camera lens is never a perfect conduit for the beauty taken in by the eye, but I try to ignore that. I did snap this one of the faded, white-washed brick house that Dave and I agree is our future home. You know, "someday."

I love the overgrown, careless charm of this house. And it's just as lovely in the winter.

We reached the farmers market in just enough time for me to snag the last of the arugula. So pesto is on the menu again, hurrah! 

Roger dropped his teddy at least twice while we walked. Thankfully I noticed both times and was able to retrieve it (having to backtrack and grab it from the middle of a busy street one of those times.) Most of Roger's favorite stuffed animals are actually from his daddy's childhood, so I had to get him a teddy bear so he has something that if lost on a walk, Daddy won't be heartbroken. Dave takes his childhood stuffed animals very seriously. His most highly-prized "friends" dwell on a high shelf in Roger's room so he can't ever reach them to ruin or lose them. (Dave is the sentimental one between us.)

I'm trying to decide what to bake today. I still have apples leftover from the ones I gathered from the trees at work last week (my nanny family lets me take all that I wish. It's another perk of my job.) Maybe a crisp or galette instead of pie like I made last weekend.

Although it's kind of hard to beat pie... I'll ask Dave and let him decide for me. I've got to fatten him up for winter.

Dave should be home soon; he's been volunteering on a charity paint project today and this afternoon we're going to go thrifting. Maybe I can even convince Dave to detour somewhere were I can gather more wildflowers for our kitchen table.

Gathering wildflowers is my F A V O R I T E . And Roger's nap is still going strong since I transferred him from stroller to crib. Today is already such a great day. I hope your weekend is going well too! Go outside, y'all!