whidbey.

every other summer, kay and terry rent out a gorgeous house at whidbey island. we lounge, we eat, we explore, we crab, we boat, we comb the beach, we try to find the perfect shells, we try to get excited about finding the perfect shells (right maggie?), we have precious cousin time, we have precious adult time. we experience what it is to be a family. all together, bundled in one house, sharing beds and bathrooms and mealtimes and everything. sharing LIFE. the past two times i got to experience whidbey as a marvel, i was pregnant. i had the unique opportunity to peek into the future - to when our kids would get to experience this truly special time. we are here. i saw it for the first time this year. and it was beautiful. not to mention, this was my first time where i got to have wine and lime-a-ritas on the beach. this year, we had family poker and the kids camping outside in a tent and pizza at langley with the girls and sandwiches and pie at knead and feed and painting shells and luke catching a salmon and amazing dinners and hardworking crabbers and fishermen and celebrating a very special 60th b-day (complete with personalized song and hand motions by the grandkids). so many, many memories that we and our kiddos will have for all of our lives. there are few things that make my heart happier. until next time, marvels and christies. thank you.

in the trenches.

These days, it feels like we are in the trenches.

Take this morning, for instance. One kid woke up wailing at 5 a.m., which in turn woke the other kid up. We still had one WHOLE, precious hour before we all had to get up for work and school, so we plopped the kids down into bed with us, their warm milks in tow. Sweet and cozy, right? Wrong.

There was plenty of room on the bed, yet each kid decided to sleep right on top of us. Upside down. Elbows in my ribs. Feet kicking my face. Any mention of making them change positions was met with sheer horror. Then they got into each other’s personal space, and it was all over. Anarchy. Terror in the streets. Or should I say, terror in the sheets.

Realizing our shot at getting some sleep was pretty much dead, we got up to get ready. I won’t go into detail about what ensued, just imagine the torturous harmony of two kids screaming on the couch for no reason. They even had fruit squeezers in hand and Super Why on the TV. If all I had to do in life was eat and watch TV believe me, I wouldn’t be crying. But there they were – meltdown city. Not sharing, not listening, following us around with arms outstretched while we scrambled to get them and ourselves ready.

At one point I sat on the bed listening to the chaos in the next room, feeling the weight, not just of this morning, but of every meal time, every nap time, every play time gone wrong. Feeling the weight of it all.

It felt a lot like failure.

It’s a fact. We are in a season of dealing with tantrums and stubbornness and strong wills. And I wonder which traits are just phases and which ones they’ll carry through life.  I wonder about Caleb’s attention span and why we sometimes have to tell him something 20 different times before it sticks. I wonder why Kenzie can be impatient and dramatic sometimes. At times, it can be a very un-pretty picture - one that I feel I need to clean up, fix, instragram –before presenting to the world. Because it’s one thing to sit on your bed, in the privacy of your own home, and feel like a failure. It’s quite another thing to be in the middle of a restaurant or at a friend’s house and be exposed - to feel that THEY are thinking that you and your kids are failing.

And then I saw this – a post by Anna. Three years ago, this lady - a witty, talented, honest, NORMAL, God-fearing wife and mother – let her kids go outside and play in the rain after school, and one of them never came back. Her 12 year-old son, Jack, fell into a flooded creek and was swept away. She writes about Jack on her blog and about the every day tension of living purposefully in this world while longing to be in another one. The one where death and pain and grief don’t exist. The one where her boy is.

Losing your child. I can’t imagine, and yet through her writing, I am able to – sort of.

In this particular post she answers this question: “What do you wish you had known as a parent?” 

Her response made my stomach drop. Literally. Floored me. She said this:

“Hmm. I wish I had understood that while I was trying to make Jack's life "easier" by having him conform to other people's standards, I was most likely just letting my own insecurities and pride keep me from enjoying Jack exactly as God made him.

Truthfully, I was probably just trying to make things easier on ME not him. I knew he was a thoughtful, incredible kid, but I sometimes wished he were more rough and tumble, less sensitive, less shy, and more happy go lucky.

This doesn't mean I regret any of our heart to hearts, even the ones with tears, or the way I helped equip him to learn how to make friends, handle his emotions, and cope with challenges, but I just wish I had realized, far earlier than I did, that God did not give me Jack so I could fix him or change him. He gave me Jack to love and to fight for.”

She would’ve ENJOYED her son as God made him, and not made him CONFORM to other’s standards. She would realize that God gave him to her to LOVE AND FIGHT for, not to change and fix. Of all the things she wished she’d known, it was this.

Yes. She made me understand.

The world tells us that our worth is in our accomplishments, appearances and possessions. That there is a standard that we all need to run towards. I don’t want my kids to buy into that for a second. That they have to conform. Or perform. They don't. They just need to be exactly who God created them to be.

And I can model this to them, by not striving to reach that worldly standard for myself OR for them. By being okay with the muck and the mess of everyday life. By showing them grace knowing that I need grace, too (EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY!) By not caring if and when people are judging. By not projecting my insecurities and pride onto them. By being comfortable in my own skin – just as God made me.

So today the prayer of my heart is to teach and correct and discipline lovingly.

Just as God does for me.

To tell them no matter their strengths or weaknesses, I will love them always.

Just as God tells me.

To give them grace, knowing they aren’t perfect, and they don’t have to be.

Just as God gives me.

To show them that there’s nothing they need to do to earn our love and there’s nothing they could ever do to lose it. Not. One. Thing.

Just as God shows me.

cha-cha-cha-changes.

I wrote the below post weeks ago. Since then, a lot has happened. Good and exciting things. But in the interest of never forgetting .... 


I have three enemies and their names are change, risk and disappointment. I usually run far, far away from them. Recently; however, I’ve found myself in situations where I am running toward them – and I’m running alongside them with the three people I love and want to protect most in the world.

Needless to say it’s been overwhelming.

The CHANGE of moving has been harder than I expected - and I expected it to be hard. Our last day at our house hurt my heart in ways I couldn’t imagine. I was annoyed that it hurt so much, especially since it was such a GOOD thing, such a BLESSING that we sold our home. It was something that I – even more than Luke – wanted, yet still, walking through those empty rooms, posing for a last family picture on the front porch and closing the door on the home that would always be a part of us … but that was no longer ours … Ouch.

The RISK of putting all our eggs in one basket – the basket that is the beautiful house on 37th Street. The house that we are doing a lot of crazy things for. Like renting an apartment for four months. Like competing with other buyers. Like taking a chance on a short sale that might not even go through. This wave of change may have been an easier ride if I hadn’t had to deal with the risk.

And then there’s DISAPPOINTMENT. It rears its ugly head now and then. Lurks around corners, laughs at me, says WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! It shows up in the form of competing offers or unknown timelines or the tricky fine print. And it threatens to break my heart.

Yes, this past week I’ve been the girl who almost said no to the one last picture on the front porch because it was just too hard. I’ve been the girl who judged her new neighbors within five minutes of seeing them (and hearing them). I’ve been the girl who had to get things out of boxes and organized right away to provide “stability” for the kids, but who was sometimes so overwhelmed that she couldn’t multi-task or even “task” for most of the time. I’ve been the girl who drove by the dream house about five times in the past four days, parked outside of the driveway and prayed. (Disclaimer: the home isn’t occupied, so there was little chance of anyone calling the police. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors were also joining me in prayer … “Dear God, please don’t let this nutcase who keeps driving by here be our new neighbor.” Don’t worry – should we get the house I will work hard to earn their favor).

In a few months, I am going to reread this post and we will either be residents at said dream house, or we’ll be somewhere else entirely. I will remember that this little move got off to a rocky start, but I will also remember – no matter what the outcome - the good, because there is PLENTY of good. Here’s some so far:

1. We have a sparkly, blue pool that Caleb jumps into with reckless abandon while Kenzie splashes around in her ballerina swimsuit.

2. I have a pantry, aka, a place to put food and appliances where I can actually see them and know what I have. It’s pure genius and I don’t know how I ever survived without.

3. I’m learning that I can be judgey and close-minded. That might not sound like a good thing, but now that I clearly see those parts of my heart I can ask God for new parts. :)

4. Caleb and Kenzie don’t even care that we moved. I was expecting to have some heart wrenching story about how Caleb just couldn’t say goodbye to the old place and how Kenzie won’t sleep in her new room. But I don’t. They like the new place! And that makes me more happy than anything.

5. I don’t have to take care of a yard. Yards exist solely to embarrass me.

6. We have CABLE. Pretend this is #1 instead of #6 because that’s where it is in my heart. Food Network and I have been reunited after a few, long years of being culinarily uninspired. Yes, we still eat frozen pizzas and fish sticks, but at least I’m inspired. And I am better able Keep up with the Kardashians. It’s all I've wanted in life.

7. We have a balcony overlooking the playground and pool. It has been my go to spot during the chaos to sit, reflect, relax and people watch. I love it.

8. I may have walked to the Leasing Office one day, and then not been able to find my way back. They tricked me by having two pools (and the pool was my landmark), when I thought there was only one. I was confused and bewildered, but it did afford me the opportunity to explore the different buildings and be thankful that we found such nice apartments.

9. I’ve met cute little neighborhood kids, who want to tell me ALL about their lives. And I love hearing it.

10. I usually don’t allow myself to get my hopes up if I don’t know the outcome. We’ve had some highs and lows in this whole short sale offer on the house. I’ve TRIED to have low expectations and not to get my hopes up, but (AHHHH, this is dangerous to say) … I really believe in our fight for this house. I really believe we CAN get this house. And I really believe we WILL. This hope in my heart is refreshing. I've wanted to hide it, stomp on it, erase it, but God has kept it fresh, steady and alive. I feel like He's telling me to be open to the risk because I know at the end of the day, we will be okay. We tried, and if God doesn’t want us at that house, He will close the door on it. He won’t let it happen. But He CAN and WILL give it to us if it’s really meant to be for us. My HOPE is in HIM. It's not always in every situation, but at least in this one – it's been powerfully present. And that has felt good.

seven years.

Boxes line the hallway as we prepare to move out of the only home our little family has known. My heart is tingly. I feel powerfully in my soul the magic that exists when you create a home, and the mercifully slow - but still painful - ripping of the bandage … the part where we say goodbye.

I have a hard time thinking that something so real and present and constant in my life will soon move from reality to memory – from real and tangible to something I’ll only see again in photographs or feel in my heart. The stuff packed in boxes will be unpacked in a different place and we all will have to find different spots and spaces to dwell. My kids, who have an affinity for routines and familiarity, will have to find a new familiar. It overwhelms me both in good and hard ways.

And – a little surprisingly – the image I keep seeing in my head is of just Luke and I, newly married posing for a picture on the front porch. I look at that younger, skinnier version of myself and realize that that girl didn’t even have a clue. She didn’t know that seven years later – seven years into her marriage – she’d be leaving this house with two amazing babies and memories too good that she almost can’t stand to let them go.

But the reason I know it’s going to be okay is because God is teaching me what “home” is. And it’s not the cozy front porch or place you snuggled together and watched movies. It’s not the kitchen where your babies sat in highchairs while you cooked dinner. It’s not the familiar location where you knew the people at your local Safeway and Starbucks. It’s not even a place. It's where He's planted you and given you the people that you love.  Luke, Caleb and Kenzie are the warmest, most secure, most beautiful things to me and with them by my side, I will go anywhere.

In a couple of days, Luke and I will be celebrating our anniversary. As I scan our increasingly empty home, I am so struck by how much he has given me. Encouragement, support, laughter, strength, advice and a love that is just about as unconditional as it gets. Our very best memories of the past years are as good as they are because of the man he is.  How lucky am I that I, and our sweet kids, get to call him ours.  I know that THAT is a gift that I will never have to say goodbye to, or move away from. It’s just a precious, grace-filled blessing I get to keep for all of my life.  

     

Happy Anniversary, Luke. Thank you for being our home.

calebisms.

Just some things recently seen and heard from our Caleb B:

Caleb was playing with Play-Doh at his little table. Kenzie kept stealing pieces and trying to eat them. He was patient at first, calmly telling her “No, no baby. That’s not for eating.” But after the fourth or fifth time of telling her to stop, we heard him say, “Kenzie! I said don’t eat it! I’m tired of this!”

I was sick and resting in our room while Luke and the kids were playing in the living room. I got up briefly to go see what they were doing. Upon seeing me, Caleb says, “Mommeeeeeee! Are you feeling better? Join us!”

The other day we were snuggling on the couch and I was looking at Caleb’s hands. Caleb looked up at me and said, “I think you need to cut my nails. It’s time.”

Luke and Caleb were going somewhere and as Luke was pulling out of the garage, he realized he forgot something. He pulled back up, ran into the house and then got back into the car. As they began driving away, Caleb said, “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Caleb is an expert at naming stuffed animals and toys. He named Kenzie’s dolls Ela and Olivia, and her lion Kuma. He named some other toys “Finally” and “Dinkin” and “Bucky.”

One night, Caleb was crying in his crib because Luke wasn’t home and he wanted his daddy to put him to bed. I let him cry until he was ready to talk it out and be a big boy. The next morning Kenz was crying about something this convo ensued:

C: No, no, Kenzie! No throwing a fit!
M: Then why did you throw a fit last night?
C: I did? (He put his finger on his lip and looks up like he’s deep in thought.) I’m sorry!

There are a few words that Caleb mispronounces and I just can’t correct him because it’s too cute. He says Vancougar instead of Vancouver, alligator instead of elevator, mines instead of mine (“is that yours or mines?”), mato instead of tomato, cado instead of avocado, froggy instead of foggy … just to name a few.

We’ve been calling him Caleb B his whole life, so he calls his sister “Kenzie Bees.”

He’ll say the most grown up things like “What did you say, now?” or “What was that, now?”

He’s a protective big brother and thinks he can tell Kenzie what to do. The other day, Kenzie was playing with a small object, and he said, “No Kenzie, you can choke put that down.” When she didn’t, he said, “Onnnne, twoooo, threeeee … that’s it – you’re going to time-out!” I stopped the little charade when he attempted to pick her up and remove her from the scene. She just looked confused the whole time.

Other frequent brother to sister phrases we hear:
“Kenzie that is NOT okay.”
“That is unacceptable baby.”
“Gotta tell the truth!” (Never mind that she only knows three words.)
Kenzie, mommy’s here, it’s okay!

When he wants to get out of doing something he’ll say, “How bout we do that tomorrow?” or “Not today, maybe tomorrow.”

We constantly hear “What are you doing?” and “Where are you going?” even if the answer has already been given. Repeatedly.

I love it when we are getting ready for dinner or a nap and he asks sweetly, “Can I play for a little bit?”

I’m a little afraid sometimes what will come out of his mouth. The other day we were touring a house and he kept looking at the realtor. Finally, he asked me (with her standing right in front of me) “What is her name? Does she have a dad?” (That could have gotten awkward, but she thought it was hilarious.)

Every time he stands on the back of the stroller he says “On aboard!” (instead of all aboard).

Sometimes he’ll be playing with his toys, giving them different voices. When I say, “Who are you talking to?” he’ll say “Nothing.”

He loves it when we are all four sitting together, laying in bed, driving in the car, or going on an outing. He calls it “family day,” and often calls for “group hugs.”

He has always been so quick and generous with his “I love yous.” We get them all the time at random moments and it never gets old. Recently he’s been saying I like you, too. “Daddy, I like you.” “Mommy, I like you.” And we take those opportunities to tell him, yes we MORE than like him … we LOVE him with our whole hearts. But the liking part is important, too. The more he grows and we learn more about his quirky personality, empathetic heart and effortless humor, the more I can say with complete certainty that I LIKE this boy. I really, really like him.

home.

Our house is officially on the market! And in no surprise turn of events, I'm a little sad.

Seven years ago we found ourselves in a bidding war for this house. I really wanted it – admittedly because we were getting married in a couple short months and I didn’t like our other living option. During our last walk-through of the house before making our final offer, the owners happened to come home early and we got to meet them. I tried my best to turn on the “pick us! pick us!” charm. It turned out that the wife knew our good friend Leah! So we talked and talked and hit it off. In a brilliant move by our realtor, he suggested we enclose a personal card with our offer so the owners would know that it was us. I remember writing that card and selecting my words carefully. I wrote about how I wanted to make their house our home ... our very first home together ... where we’d make memories and hopefully start a family. I wanted it to be a place of warmth, and security and hospitality and love.

This past week I’ve thought many times about that card and how those words weren’t just a ploy to get the owners to accept our offer – they were truly the prayer of my heart. And then I think, with utter thankfulness, about how much of that prayer was so graciously answered.

I won’t sugar coat it. It wasn’t long after we moved in that our charming little home started to feel a little … crowded. I love hosting and entertaining and cooking for people, but our house was sometimes an obstacle. My big family kept expanding and they basically had to sit on each other’s laps when we had them over. I couldn’t host a shower if there was a big guest list. After we had kids, we lost a guest room and sleeping arrangements had to get creative when anyone visited. I’ve spent several days over the past few years cursing that house, complaining and dreaming about the day we’d move into something bigger.

But now, as the possibility of us moving is as real as it’s ever been, I realize just how special this house will always be to me. It was the house that welcomed us home from our honeymoon – a blank canvas for us to color. I filled it with way too many Target trinkets. I tested recipes in the kitchen. I tried (and failed) to be a gardener.

It was our foundation through the most horrendous goodbyes and the sweetest reunions. It was our stable backdrop through arguments, tears, decisions and uncertainties. It was our warm shelter when the outside world was too cold and chaotic. There we could be us. Just us.

And when I think of Caleb and Kenzie’s childhood, I will think of this house. It was the place where "welcome home" banners hung from our porch as we brought our babies home from the hospital. Where we gave them baths on our kitchen counter. Where they kicked on their changing tables – him in his room with the airplanes swirling around him and her with the collage of mirrors above her. Where they first sat in bumbos then highchairs then boosters then at their own little table. Where we spent sleepless nights and took temperatures and first let them cry it out.

While it never felt big to me, it almost always felt like enough. It felt cozy and familiar and a place I wanted to be. It felt like home.

I know this blog may be premature. It may not sell and we may be there for more years to come. But maybe I need this. Maybe I need to remember what we are potentially leaving behind. It makes me realize – stay or go – we are going to be fine and we are right where we need to be.

I am reminded once again that we are living today the life that we will reminisce about and miss later. No, I won’t miss the steep driveway and not being able to get our car up the hill even at the lightest dusting of snow. But I will miss the warmth. The security. The hospitality. The love.

I wrote my hopes and dreams for this house seven years ago before I knew anything about how our life would turn out. The shadows on our front porch have grown from two to three to four. And I remember when that shadow was just one. Of all the times I've thought that it may have been better for us to have lost that bidding war seven years ago, I have to know we are who we are today because we won.

that's what she said.

"I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you've actually left them."- Andy from The Office

I watched the last episode (ever!) of The Office last night, and I found myself in tears. I hate goodbyes – any kind – whether it’s goodbye to a place, a person or a goofy, awkward sitcom. Me and goodbyes just have never meshed.

It’s not like I have even kept up with the show this season. But I do remember all of the many episodes I've watched over the years that have made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe. It's one of my faves. And something about it all being over struck a nerve. It was the same thing when the Cosby Show or Seinfield or Friends ended. It wasn’t just the shows. It was how they somehow followed me through periods of life. It was saying goodbye to characters you knew. It was waving one last time at memories of snuggling on the couch on a certain day of the week at a certain time, of friends gathering together every Thursday night at someone’s apartment for “Must See TV,” of traditions and rituals and things you could count on.

It got me thinking about the other, bigger goodbyes in life that are five million times harder. As Lisa emails us from India, my mind is transported to the time when I was there and fell in love with the people, the places, the feelings. I remember gut wrenching goodbyes through eyes blurred by a million tears. I remember standing in a hot, crowded airport and clinging to my relatives and never wanting to let them go. I remember coming back home and wondering if going back was worth it, knowing I’d have to endure the hard feelings of leaving again.

Then, there were the goodbyes of growing up, of moving to a different neighborhood and changing schools. There were the goodbyes of graduating high school, of sitting with your friends the night before they left for colleges in other states. There was that lump in your throat knowing that it wouldn’t be goodbye forever, it wouldn’t be goodbye to your friendships, but it was goodbye to you and them being who you were then in those days.

I’ve only been to a few funerals in my life - but those that I’ve attended where we’ve celebrated long, happy lives - I’ve been struck by this feeling. Every person you’ve loved and who has loved you gathers at your funeral to say GOODBYE - to remember your life and how you’ve affected theirs. Your impact on the world is revealed and celebrated. Because really, this world is the people in it - and when you show them love, help them, make them laugh or become a part of their everyday lives – you are changing the world. What if we didn’t wait until we say goodbye to highlight a person’s life or celebrate their value? What if we didn't wait until they weren't here to tell them just how great they are and just how sad we'd be if they were gone? What if we didn’t wait until after they were gone to bring everyone they loved together in a room to laugh, cry, hug and love?

I feel like a recurring word in my heart these past few years is NOW. Because so much of my inclination is to look back or look forward. I remember with nostalgia the “good old days” or I think ahead to when we’ll be in a different place doing different things. But I want to be intentional in reminding myself that NOW - today - is when I am making the memories that will fill my heart years later. I don't only want to remember these days, I want to remember how I let the goodness (goodness that is always present even when it's not ALL good) to seep into my skin and infiltrate my heart. I want to remember that I really lived and appreciated all there was to live and appreciate.

Andy was right. These are the good old days, even before we leave them.

And goodbyes have their place. Because to care about something so much that it hurts to be without it can be a gift. And closing the door on one season or time in your life can open you up to new people, places and moments that are all parts of God’s careful and caring intentions for you.

Yes, I got all of this from an episode of the Office. What can I say? Sometimes Thursday night TV can be life changing. And since I never thought I’d ever be quoting Andy Bernard in this blog, I may as well close with lyrics from a one-hit wonder by Semisonic:

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end”

I'll remember this next Thursday when I'm missing Jim and Pam.