a little embarrassed

Friends.

I'm a little embarrassed by my lack of blogging lately. I'd apologize, but I think sometimes it's necessary to take a step back and kind of recoup from the blogosphere. The month-long absence wasn't entirely intentional, but a friend of mine put this quite well: I've noticed that I tend to feel "burnt out" on blogging especially when life includes a lot of big decisions and/or hard, weighty things...

That's kind of spot on for me. When there are things that I may not want to post about or am distracted by, coming up with my quota of weekly blog posts feels draining instead of inspiring. There has been a lot going on in our lives lately, a lot of stresses and decisions and shifts. It felt unnatural to try and force constant, lighthearted posts when I simply wanted to focus on life, and take lots of naps to recover from the day to day. For the month of June, I am working 10 hour work days Monday-Thursday which has proven to be very tiring. I know it sounds stupid, but sitting on your butt in front of a computer all day is a total energy sap. I have to go lie down just to recover from sitting down.

AND, we finallllyyyyyy closed on our house yesterday!! The house hunting emotions are over, and it's finally finally finally time to turn this house into a home. You know, now that it's 111 degrees all day err day, let the summer projects begin! We are so thrilled. We kind of naively thought that the hard part was getting The Bank to accept our bid, but that was just the beginning of nearly two months of struggling to get to this point. The journey was an exhausting one but now we have a [not-so] brand new home that's all ours [as soon as we replace the carpets, paint every wall, and deep clean the bajeezus out of it].

I've been working on a video tour of the "before" of our house, and I will be posting that here probably this week! I can't wait to show you all how grimy the place is, and hopefully spread our incredible excitement for the potential it has. You just gotta look past all of the scattered gummy bears stuck to the stairs and the moldy refrigerator, and you'll be running up inspiration lane.

See you soon!

the doors of ireland

Sometimes life moves on a grand scale. There are big things to see, giant projects to complete, large obstacles at hand, momentous occasions to celebrate, ginormous stresses to handle, monumental milestones to reach.

But sometimes, it is small. It is simple. All of the adjectives that mean "big" have been swept away by time, and you are left with the itty, bitty, neat, fine, ordinary things. It's as if you've been staring at an oncoming tornado, gigantic and swirling from sky to dirt, and suddenly it disappears and you notice that the sun is shining, the buds are blooming and you're a bit hungry.

The nectar of living can be found in these moments. Sometimes it's harder. But I find that the joy can be sweeter. When we went to Ireland, I remember a lot of the big things we saw. The Cliffs of Moher, the castles, the immense landscapes and gardens. But I also remember the tiny clovers I tucked in my hair and the feel of warm rain and the sporadic collection of colorful doors in Dublin. The smaller things that caught my eye, the things I found romantic and sweet.

When you find yourself in these seasons of waiting, when the calendar is empty and your soul is wanderlusting and all of the big, wonderful things have fallen away and it's just you and the daily grind, take heart. Take many hearts. Grab at them and let them love you. Grab at them and tell them to let you love them. It's easy to feel restless and to try to force something big into your life, to fill it with the many wonderful somethings you think you need. But everything you need is right here. Refocus on them. Don't wish them away. Let your eyes absorb the bright doors and give thanks for their marvelous color.

beautiful things

post: why we camp,

This has quite possibly been one of the darkest weeks of my life.

It's difficult because it's almost entirely internal. I can write about it and try to express it, but I place a mask on my face every single day as I go to work and interact with others. I focus on small things and make jokes to my friends and watch comedy shows and movies constantly. It's a very lonely feeling, a very personal struggle. I tend to cry on my way home from work and before I go to sleep. Those are the moments when I have time to myself to grieve. To be quite honest, I have been listening almost exclusively to Enya (a sure sign of brokenness) at work and hardly getting anything done. These days are very blurry and strange. I feel very tired. But I also know that life must go on and time is passing by whether I want it to or not. I realize I'm taking this very hard, and I must pull myself out of it somehow. 

Grief, prayer, acceptance, tribute, hope, love. 

Back in November I wrote a blog post called Stamps of Life. Something led me to reread that piece this morning, and I am now a puddle. Oh, my little November self, if only you knew. Thank goodness you didn't, because you were able to write something that your February self needed very, very badly. 

Here are some of my stamps of life. 

Beautiful moments, scenes of love, colorful pictures of memories that last and transform. 

Oh, Lord, you make beautiful things. Beautiful things out of the dust.

chapel hill

post: wanderlust wednesday

fall in virginia

bazille and camille by claude monet

parliament building in london, england

spring in virginia

ceiling details in florence, italy

smokey the cat

post: cypress gardens

epcot center, disney world

bike in paris, france

blowing rock, north carolina

the cayman islands

post: to be a writer

animal kingdom, disney world

dalkey, ireland

kilkenny, ireland

auntie, that's me

Let me just take a second to talk about being an aunt.

I've always known I was going to have kids. Probably a lot of them. I grew up in a family of 4 kids and adored it, and I hope to have a good little nest of children someday because siblings are an absolute blast. There's really nothing like them. My mother-in-law used to tell my husband and his siblings when they were little, "God has chosen you all to be best friends for life." 

And that's really the best way to explain it. It's a wonderful relationship that's unique and lasting. I wrote a post a while back about my lifelong wish to have a sister, but I really wouldn't trade my 3 brothers for anything.

But then there's aunthood. It's kind of a state of being, it's a calling. A calling that's completely out of your control. It's powerful. It redefines your identity. I entered aunthood almost four years ago, when little bebe Abigail was born. She was so cute and pink and big-headed and life-changing. Watching her grow has been...insane. Crazy, brilliant, exciting, scary, shocking, wonderful. It absolutely makes my own life seem so much faster. When you're able to track your own days by the constant changes in a child, you realize how quickly it all goes by. 

I'm just going to be completely honest with you all and say that I don't naturally like kids. I know it's a horrible thing to say, but I also know that I'm not alone. (Please tell me I'm not alone?)

Being around kids doesn't come naturally to me. My husband is the one who is going to be an absolute natural, the one who I think has wanted to have kids since he himself was a child. He has always wanted to be a dad.

Me? Well.
I'm the weird one who is totally fine not to hold the new baby. Who has to restrain myself from disciplining random kids because they're driving me crazy. The one who has really naive and ridiculous views on how to parent because oh boy if that was MY child... I'm the one who talks to children like they're adults because I can't stand baby talk, and because I don't even know how to gush over them. Instead I say things like, "What's shakin'?" or "Sup?"

I'm the girl that never babysat in my teenage years because I'd rather be broke than spend my days with little kids. I know I'm a terrible human. I would normally make jokes about it but it's honestly something that scares me. What if I'm a terrible mom? What if I don't even like my kids? I don't like most kids. It's the truth. I'm really sorry about that, especially if I've side-eyed your kids before.
Which I probably have.

But here's the really beautiful light at the core of this post: being an aunt.
Oh gosh, if becoming a mom is even more transformative than being an aunt, I can't wait to be that woman. Abby opened up a brand new corner of my heart that I didn't even know existed. I now have 5 nieces and nephews, and I love them all so much. Which is the great thing about love - it isn't stingy, it doesn't deplete, it multiplies. Despite my fears about being a mom, not having kids has never been an option for me. My dad once told me that he has always grieved for childless couples who decided when they were young that they never wanted kids and insist they're better off without them - because they'll never truly know. The joy, the transformation, the purpose, the legacy. They couldn't possibly have understood the gravity of their decision when they made it. And maybe they never will - or if they do, it'll be too late.

Even in my short 26 years I've seen career-minded couples devastated by their inability to have children in their late thirties and forties because they thought for sure they didn't want kids, that their lives were too busy and important to have them. I could talk for a long time about what I believe about children (hint: it's in the Bible), and how I think this generation is incredibly selfish (I'm lookin' at myself here too. Hiiii), but of course it's not up to me to make those decisions for other people. And I'll stop myself before this becomes a totally different post. But I absolutely want kids. I don't want to put myself above the future of our family, and what it will be like when I'm 80 to have children and grandchildren surrounding me. People who are literally a part of me. I want to be that old lady surrounded by loved ones.

Abigail is the oldest of my nieces and nephews and is now at the age where I can actually talk to her, and tell her secrets. I can see her eyes light up when she sees pretty clothes and jewelry (I can't even handle the excitement of our future shopping trips together), and I have a front row seat to observe her developing her own tastes and interests. She is a fabulous little creature and I love being close to her.

Being an aunt is the best because:

1. I am a precious one in her life. 
This is an honor, you guys. I'm already in the core of her life, by no merit of my own. I have the power and the blessing of being there for her. There are a few people in every child's life that will always be there as big influencers in their development. The immediate family is first, and then come the outer rings. Friends and extended family. Realizing the preciousness of our relationship, the honored role that I have in her life, is quite humbling and miraculous. It's real and it's for life.

2. There is a deeper connection with my siblings. 
Watching someone become a parent is quite revolutionary. It changes them and changes the relationship, and the fact that they flipped the switch and changed the rest of us into aunts and uncles makes it a much deeper and more meaningful connection. And the rest of us are no longer just siblings; we're a part of this joyous little club of aunts and uncles. We're no longer bonded by just the past, but by the future as well. Those relationships take intention, patience, love, honesty, hard work and understanding. Loving someone's children is like the white stuff in the center of the Oreo. It's important.

3. It is a small taste of parenthood. 
Emphasis on the small. You get real-life examples of what being a parent is like, but you get to leave. You don't have to stick around for the tantrums or the blow-outs. When everyone's sick or exhausted or teething, you can just peace out and go to brunch. Sip that mimosa and chillax. It's a great wake-up call for snobby childless folk who claim to have all of the answers, because parenthood is no joke. It's the real deal. You learn so many lessons by being an outsider looking in. It's enlightening and, for those of us planning to be parents, preparatory.

4. I have a beautiful new friend.
As an aunt, I'm family, but I'm also something else entirely. The calling of being an aunt transcends into an opportunity for real friendship with a child who loves me, looks up to me, and confides in me. I remember being a little girl and having a few young women in my life that I worshiped and adored. I was absolutely fascinated by their lives and wanted to be just like them. I love being on the flip side of that now, watching these kids grow and falling in love with the people they are becoming. I want to be their best friend. In a responsible, auntie-like way, of course.

We always talk about family around the holidays, but I think it’s a great time to dig a little deeper and really examine and appreciate the various roles we have as family members. Brother, sister, father, mother, daughter, son. We all have roles and are irreversibly part of the whole. Family is a beautiful puzzle of imperfect people made to love and support each other. I love that. 

And being an aunt is my favorite thing. 

stamps of life

I was thinking the other day about how life leaves scars.

It's a common concept, this idea that we're all constantly healing from, repressing or feeling the residual scar tissue of past pains and heartbreaks and memories. Sometimes they're seen as a good thing - these invisible (or sometimes quite visible) marks of trial and error, betrayal and tragedy. Learning experiences that make us stronger in the end.

This is a little bit different than my posts on clothes and movies and books (which I still love to write about), but sometimes this blog is a reservoir of my thoughts and various rabbit hole adventures. Other stories that come from perhaps a deeper place inside my mind.

As I thought about life's scars, my mind began to tumble down that rabbit hole and eventually led me into a gallery of imagined people. I'm there too, and we're all covered in our vivid white scars, wounds of all shapes and sizes. What do they mean? Where did they come from?
I then started thinking of other invisible markings we may have. If we have marks from the troubling and painful times, shouldn't we also have markings to prove our triumphs?

I began to imagine the white scarred skin covered by stamps of color. The people became hosts to a vivid myriad of high-resolution experiences. Stamps made from words of love, traveling and discovery, blossoming friendships, victories, memories, and more. Stamps of flowers, maps, pictures, places, people, things. Tattooed from head to toe by the blessings.

It's kind of a miraculous picture in my mind. Because I think sometimes those scars can be pesky. They can be blinding. Just like our daily imperfections that preoccupy and frustrate us. Just like that story in the Bible where Elisha and his servant are surrounded by their enemies in the mountains, and Elisha asks the Lord to open his servant's eyes. When He does, the servant is dumbstruck to discover that the hills are packed with horses and chariots of fire - an army of angels standing guard around them. There is so much we cannot see and do not know.

There are two very basic things I learn from looking at my own stamps and scars.

1. This World is Broken
2. There is Hope

This world is broken and always will be. It's called sin and if you don't know about it, I suggest taking a look at the definition. You can't walk out your door without garnering a cut or a bruise - there are sharp weapons shooting across the air at every moment. It's a dangerous place to be.

But there is Hope. And His name is Jesus. He has scars too, because He was magnificent enough to walk in this world and is living proof of its weapons. His scars are real. If you don't know about Him, then welcome to the Truth, my friend. He is the author of those stamps of life, and I guarantee He's already made some on you. You may call them blessings or luck or karma but those are just empty shells assigned to the true source.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and brings so many thoughts of family and memories and above all, gratitude. Second best to gratitude are my grandma's mashed potatoes. But even in my short 26 years this life has managed to scar me. And I have been renewed, every time, by a brilliant stamp. Scars are real and they sometimes last for a long time, but there are things that are bigger and better. Things of color and life. Like purpose in Christ, like truth, like eternity.

I generally know what my scars are and how I got them, but I'd like to think that if you put on those magical glasses (or those God-given eyes) that allowed you to see life's many marks on my skin, I'd be a radiant kaleidoscope of color.

birthday! {frocktober, day 4+5}

Saturday was a day for sweet treats, napping and celebrations.
My best friend from college came down with her little boy to visit for my birthday weekend, which was such a blast! It's one of the great blessings of being back on the west coast. We went to college in California so we're much closer to all of our loved ones in that state!
On Saturday morning we went up to meet my sister-in-law and nephew for a fun little brunch, complete with macarons. I love macarons. She gifted me a dozen of them from this little bakery for my birthday, and even though I originally vowed to make them last, I only have 2 left!

When we got back to the house we rested for a little while (recovering from our s'mores hangover), then we headed out to celebrate my little niece Annabella's second birthday! Her and I are the October bebes. Which is fitting, since her middle name is Caitlin, too! (Side story: instantly burst into tears when they announced what her name would be - almost swerved off the road due to tear-vision). 

Sunday was the official beginning of my 26th year. It has begun. 

To be totally honest, I was in a bit of a funk. I think it was a combination of ending my year of being 25, my friend leaving to go back home, my fatigue (I took a 3-hour nap - s'more hangovers can be really long-winded), and the overall uncertainty of this next year of our lives. 

I have to constantly remind myself that I'm a lover of adventure, and that I am blessed beyond measure. It seems unfair that our tendency is to forget and grow accustomed to the great blessings of our lives. Disaster and tragedy have to occur before we remember to gather together, fellowship, compliment, cherish, edify. 

It's one of the reasons people forget God and feel rather confident that they have no need for Him. This world is a rather talented foe at encouraging greed, dissatisfaction and selfishness.  

I love birthdays and I adore silliness and simple pleasures and my morning coffee and presents of all shapes and sizes. I tend to like things, but they're not the intricate matters of life. At the end of the day, as I enter these late-twenties and realize the increasing speediness of each year, I am so grateful for this little life and everything it means to me and my loved ones. I am loved and I love back. I have two cats that purr and frolic and make messes and make me laugh heartily all the time. I have Arizona sunsets and sweet friends and parents that love each other. I have three brothers that I will love for all time, and surrogate sisters that have graced my life with girlishness and encouragement and love. I have my darling husband who laughs, cries, praises, rejoices, challenges, surprises, and delights. He and I will be hand-in-hand for the rest of our days, praising God all the way because all of these things are His. Big picture. 

So grateful for the gifts. 

law wife life

After three incredible years in law school, my husband is (right at this very moment) finishing his BAR EXAM today! 

I feel a very strange mixture of emotions and thoughts, not least of which is where did the time go!?

I am incredibly proud of all that he has done. It is the end of this particular journey we've been on, the end of an era.  

It feels so exciting and full of promise. I will still be a law wife in many ways, but it won't be the same.

We are now, finally, for sure, out of the college-y time of our marriage. 

We no longer enjoy all-nighters (or even just late nighters). We get excited about real-life things, like nice candles and amazing salads. We can't pick at our face anymore or eat whatever we want, our bodies are against us. Our metabolism is brought up in friendly conversation. Often. We think about owning a home all the day long. Everyone is having kids. Indulging means staying home and cuddling. I have regular panic attacks at work, looking at the files of school children born in 2009. A true delight would be to get a real massage. My back hurts. We have to look up bizarre internet slang. We don't understand youths. I complain almost every day about how lame kids TV shows are nowadays (because the 90's were awesome). I sit on my bum all day long at work, but when I get home I just need to relax. 

It has been such an honor to live with and grow up with my husband. I adore him. He is funny and sweet and so hard working. I feel so lucky to have been able to travel beside him in law school, letting him push me to make new friends and love a new place. He is the extrovert, the one who invigorates me and challenges me. I couldn't be more proud of him! I feel jittery as I write this, knowing he's sitting there, filling in multiple choice bubbles. His mind is such a wonderful thing. I am privileged to know it. 

I love our life and am thankful every day for the adventure. Tonight we will celebrate the enormous accomplishment of my husband's hard work, graduating law school and finishing the bar exam. It will be the beginning of a new life for him (after he spends a few days sleeping). Up ahead is a lot of mystery and more hard work and new learning and rich experience. I have no doubt in my mind that he's ready and able.

Congratulations Dustin, you magnificent man, you.

here i am

I absolutely love life.
What a mysterious, nebulous, spectacular thing it is. It can be baffling and surprising.
I love the way I constantly try to imagine the future and make goals and create ideas, only to be proven wrong in ways I never thought possible. Is that just me?
It's a wonderful kind of graphic novel that only I can see. My eyes alone are living this particular experience, and for that I am in a constant state of awe and gratitude. Life is unique and strange.

All that to say...I truly never thought that at 25, I would be married and living in my parents basement.

There, I said it. We successfully moved from Virginia in the middle of May, leaving behind our home of three years and many fantastical people, places and memories. There were many tears involved. We're living the cliche, the poor broke married post-grads that are desperate for housing and love and money. 
I can't possibly say that it's terrible, though, because in so many ways we're living the dream. There's a lot of ice cream in our basement freezer. We're living in Arizona, finally, again, for good. The desert has welcomed us home in its typical summer way: scorching, sunsetting, wind-blowing, monsooning, stunning.
We get to see our families again. I get to see my parents all the time! We watched SYTYCD together and get to hug and talk and just be. We're being taken care of. We're watching our nieces and nephew grow up in-person. I get to drink my dad's coffee every morning. I am finally able to get my hands on the basement, the crazy boy-dorm that has been destined for messiness and boyish grime for the last 20+ years. We've scrubbed and painted and settled and decorated. It's cozy.
I have a job, too, as of yesterday. I am officially a Technology Media Communications Specialist, and I'm going to let you guess and figure out exactly what that means.

The last few months of our lives have been hectic and hard and sad and triumphant all at once, and I'm here to say hello, I'm back. I never truly left, I've just been living my life away from this screen. It feels good to be moving forward. The beauteousness (I love making up words) of life is always there, even if it's hard to see.

For us, though, it's not hard to see, because Arizona is the greatest place in the world to call home.

Welcome home, us.

real style talk

This is currently the background on my desktop at work.
I remember seeing this last year and just thinking, yes. 
Honestly, style is hard to explain. Is there a true definition? I'm not sure. There's fashion, sure. Trends, seasons, the ever-changing currents of the industry. But a person's style is...personal.

I once had a conversation with a dear friend who was asking me what was so important about makeup and clothes and hairstyles, and why it had to define a woman so much.
She was feeling pressure from people to look a certain way or shop for certain things - to fix her hair and dress more feminine.
It was kind of a soul-searching moment for me, because I love that kind of thing. I enjoy getting my nails done, I love shopping and picking out clothes. I get excited about outfits that just work in my mind, that I really love wearing.

original post

original post

I hadn't begun blogging yet at the time of our conversation, which occurred somewhere around late high school. But I had always enjoyed those girlish activities of getting ready each morning and wearing perfume and wanting to feel pretty each day.
I'm not sure I answered her well, or if I really edified her in that moment. While I can't remember exactly what I said or what "wisdom" I tried to offer, it was probably something along the lines of "I'll take you shopping! I'll show you how fun it is!!!"

This conversation has been something I've thought about often.
I don't think style should be something that's expected or designed to be a certain way, it's just how you express yourself. It's being yourself on purpose. 
I have my own personal thoughts on what that should mean (including a degree of modesty, etc.), but really it's just about being comfortable and free in the way you look. I think the reason why so many women care so much about the way they look is because of the way it makes them feel.
For me, it's a culmination of my creativity. It's an exciting outlet for me. I can attest that many a time people have disagreed heartily with things I choose to wear, certain combinations or prints or what have you. Usually I just go ahead and wear it anyway. Maybe I'll regret it later, but in that moment, it's my work of art and I'll show the world at my own risk.

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original post

It has been exciting for me to see my friend find what things she enjoys over time, things that are personal and creative. Things she never knew she could love. Her hair, her clothes. They're not the end all but they do affect you. Material things and things of beauty do not a life make, but they are a part of living, and can mean so many things. Confidence, expression, creativity, delight, comfort, community.
Finding joy in something as small as a beautiful scarf. For me, these things are wrapped into the moments of friendship that come from chatting at the nail salon, knowing someone's favorite color, treating a friend to their favorite kind of jewelry. Having the smell of my junior high perfume bring swift memories to my mind.
Shopping together at a favorite store, picking out things you love and being excited about a necklace you thought was gone but was still there waiting for you. Being with my mom on long shopping days where we just browse and browse and snack and browse -- finding a prom dress for $40. Feeling like a princess.

These things are important the way a special dessert is important -- the way coffee, birthdays, a favorite book, a pretty painting, a road trip, an inside joke, are all important.
It's intentional, and it's worth it. Caring about the way you look in terms of being healthy and choosing life, choosing to be yourself on purpose.