curator of dreams

Remember when I used to write here?

It has been over a year since I clicked these keys with this kind of purpose, and it feels pretty good. William is now two years old, and we have welcomed a beautiful baby girl, Ginny, to our family. I spoke in my last post about the brevity of life, and I feel that now more keenly than ever!

Sigh. So William is two. It's crazy. He is a fabulous, creative, sweet, inquisitive, hilarious two year old. I have started to realize in these past few months that his first memories are lurking around us, bound to be etched somewhere in these colorful days. They are forming as we speak. I am so curious about which experiences his little mind will cling to. Will he remember the days when it felt like he and I were the only ones in the world, dancing in the living room and loving the simplest things? 

I remember odds & ends about my childhood, but many of my early memories have to do with make-believe, magic, and bedtime stories. In the stories my dad used to tell us, we were always the heroes. We met fantastic friends and daring creatures and we always, always won the day. How wonderful it was to have my imagination shaped, tended to, and nourished by my parents. I am beginning to realize what a mighty gift that is.

It is so incredibly exciting to have the honor of introducing the things that will someday produce nostalgia in the hearts of our children. I am a curator of dreams. It's a wondrous thought. At this beautiful age, everything that William sees, reads, tastes, and enjoys is more or less organized by us. We parent the archive of whimsy. We pass along things we loved as children, and find renewed joy in them through the eyes of our little ones. Things like the rooster minstrel from Disney's Robin Hood, and Renaissance Festival pizza. We then discover new loves together, like the Little Blue Truck books and Cadbury milk chocolate mini eggs. It is a fabulous journey. 

It won't always be this way, of course. As he continues to grow, he will find his own way more and more. He will develop preferences apart from ours, and he may even decide he doesn't like certain meals I make (gasp), or songs I listen to. All of these day-to-day toddlerhood things will eventually just be a tiny part of who he is. They will fade away, one by one, just as his habit of saying "I do!" to every question has now matured into a hearty "yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah". He will develop around and past them, and I will count myself blessed a hundred times over to know his future self the way I know him as a little boy. 

But right now? We dance to the Greatest Showman soundtrack, belting a million dreams, and he feeds off of my excitement, finding joy in the things we can share. His mind is a fascinating thing, reaching its many tendrils outward and constantly grasping at the things it loves best. Words, sounds, faces, meaning. I will use this time to imbue as much dreaminess to his memories as I can, so that one day we might be able to look back together and say, remember when all was magical? When you and I danced, and were the only ones in the world. 

craving lazy {frocktober, day 24+25}

Day 24 : Dress (remixed): gifted, Top: LOFT outlet, Cardigan: old, Shoes: Blowfish
Day 25 : Dress (remixed 1, 2): J. Crew outlet, Denim Top (remixed): Ruche

These last few weekends I have been having very acute cravings for laziness.

It starts somewhere around Friday morning, after I've had my coffee and I begin to count down the hours and the minutes to pajama time. My Friday night parties include me, my TV (or a good book), my cats, and something to snack on. I am quite the night lifer, I know.

My husband, though, is the opposite. He craves actual parties. He loves people and is energized by events and get-togethers and plans. I want no plans. I want couch. 

Sometimes it's a struggle to find a balance for what we both want and need. 

My husband feels really frustrated and unaccomplished when we spend too much time on the weekends doing nothing. (Which, I would argue, having an all-day sitcom marathon is not nothing). But, I see his point and I think lately I've just been wanting to crawl into my shell and disappear for a while. It's a part of me that shows up every once in a while, the extreme introvert that can occasionally take over. I've been especially susceptible to her lately. 

And also, I kind of just miss marathons. As disgusting as it was, I miss those years where we would literally watch TV for days, binge-watching shows together and being completely free to do so. Sure, we would eat our weight in crap like pizza and cookie dough but it kinda felt like a vacation. 

Right now we're stuck in that awkward stage of really wanting to partake in bouts of all-day indulgences, while also trying to find the strength and resolution to admit that oh my goodness my body hates me I'm too old for this crap. It's a side effect of the mid-twenties. 

Friday night I went to a 10 o'clock showing of Gone Girl with my dad and little brother and I feel like death warmed up. I just can't stay up that late anymore. I desperately want to hold on to my adolescence and take a full weekend to watch TV, but that's pretty irresponsible and is generally a waste of my time and a drain on my energy. It's time that I could be using to actually do something worthwhile. 

I wish I had the answers to feeling more secure, more grown up, more accomplished. I think we're both just feeling like we're in a rut and we're not sure how to get out of it, how to keep moving forward. We're just in the money-saving, planning, hoping in-between stage. Things are happening and we have ideas and goals and "I cant wait for"s, but it's just a lot of patience and waiting. 

Maturity encourages patience, so I'm going to keep putting on my dresses and going out into the world to nourish learning, activity, exercise, and relationships. 

That childish gal within me who wishes to stay in her pajamas for days at a time will just have to be saved for very, very special occasions. Like a real vacation, once we've saved up and earned one. 

why moving is the worst (but has made me a better human)

Dress: Ruche, Bangles: Kate Spade, Nails: Jamberry

I was born and raised in a small desert town in Arizona.
The kind of town with occasional tumbleweeds and excessive winter visitors. A big sky and a small population. Bright stars and dull shopping.

Despite of or maybe because of its flaws, I loved growing up there. I was a desert girl through and through. I had seen snakes and been stung by a scorpion, the desert was in my blood.
I lived in the same house for 18 years with my parents and my 3 brothers. I had my own room. I was a packrat, and I was proud. Sentimental to a fault, as they say.

After I graduated high school I broke the mold and went all the way to California for college.
Obviously you geography lovers (I do not count myself among that breed) will know that California is right next door to Arizona, but for me it was a lifetime away from home. I still considered Arizona my true home, of course, and returned there every summer, every holiday, and every 3-day weekend. I felt like I "moved" often, dorm to home to apartment to home.

But it wasn't until I turned 22, got married, and moved across the country to Virginia that I truly understood the concept of moving. It was awful. Absolutely terrible! I won't lie to you. Moving is the worst. It also can be the best thing in the world, but I didn't realize that until maybe yesterday.

When people say "nobody likes change" they're not lying. And there's a really good reason for that. People don't like change because they're terrible at it. It literally hurts sometimes. I think we were created to find comfort in things, whether it be people or places or things. We were created to love and have fellowship and be. Big changes throw us for a loop because we're really good at being invested in our lives. It's a flaw of being a selfish being, probably, this inability to easily accept the big shake-ups of life.
I'm probably speaking only to myself right now, but bear with me because I think I just need to talk this out.

I hate moving because it's hard. I hate it because it's exhausting, it's sad, it's frustrating. It costs money and time. It's lonely and overwhelming. It rips you away from things you love and leaves you vulnerable to disappointment and regret.

I love moving because it's hard. I love it because it demands hard work, loyalty, and togetherness. It opens new possibilities and inspires innovation. It rids you of clutter and excess (it lightens a packratty heart) and rouses reflection. It brings you closer to a future unknown, opening up your world to new ideas, new people, and new loves. It shakes you up and makes you look again, look closer, remember better, try harder.

Here is what I learned from that one time we lived in Virginia for 3 years.

I learned that there are kindred spirits everywhere. There are probably millions of people that I could and would be best friends with if I ever had the blessed opportunity to meet them. It makes me want to revive the age of pen pals. It's an absolute thrill to think about all of the strange destinies that led us to Lynchburg, to some of the best friends we will ever have in our lives.

I learned that you get what you give. Do you know how many unhappy couples and families we met while we were in law school? Far too many. It was our choice to love our city, and commit even further to each other by investing time and energy into our home, our marriage, and our friends (and our cats). We made so many incredible memories. Ignore the tears falling down my cheeks right now that you can't even see - I miss law school, that's how much fun it was. I wish it could have been longer. 

I learned that I actually could live somewhere else. My bubble is a little bit bigger now. I thought I would die being away from Arizona, but shockingly enough, I lived. We made a home somewhere new. One that will live in my heart forever. 

I learned how to be a better friend, daughter, wife. I was allowed to experience true love and loyalty from our long-distance loved ones. 

I learned that Fall is breathtaking, snow days are exhilarating, learning is never-ending, good friends are edifying, and first homes are lasting. 

And moving is the worst.