Let it Be (Natural) Light

The thing I hate most about this house is my bedroom window. My bedroom is a converted garage with the lack of insulation to show for it. I can't see out the window and wouldn't want to if I could. It looks over the garbage at the end of the driveway to noisy 35th. Last year, one night, before I fell asleep, all I could think about was windows. I missed our bedroom window in our Parkland house that looked into the quiet backyard where Ed helped trim the laurel hedges. There was one tree. I missed our bedroom windows in our home in Roslindale, Mass. The one behind the bed frame that brought in the wind and was moved through to the other window that overlooked the back yard. There was one tree there, too. I watched the seasons change through that window. In the winter, I would crack it and breath in the sharp, crisp, freezing air of a New England January. I still smell it now and I can see Ed & I running to the car, freezing, laughing after a perfect night at Matt Murphy's in Brookline.

I'm drunk with grief. Reality is settling in. I break down in absolute brilliant despair cleaning up the kitchen dishes. I imagine I will call these months the thawing out period. I'm finally daring to ask whether it's even possible to ever feel such complete amazing, secure inspiring love. I need to see the possibility. I am so lucky to miss someone so fully and completely.

I need windows. I need lots of light. I need a bedroom window, or windwos, where I can have those moments we all have- where we pause outside of place and time to remember what was and imagine what could be. I want to see outside in those moments.

So, first on the house list: a bedroom window that looks outside where I can see easily and naturally what was and what is.

4 Months

Dear Ed,
It's been four months since you died. Our lives have changed so drastically at such a day-to-day core level that it feels like four years. Strangely, though, your presence can be so strong through our memories. I will sit still and can see you perfectly, hear your voice, feel your all encompassing hug.

Jack is doing good. I signed him up for baseball and Keith is going to tackle the whole equipment thing (the bat rules are exhausting; I miss ignoring those emails). Jack's also going to do the half day Sounders camp during spring break. He's a little nervous, but I think it will ultimately be a confidence builder. I hate that you aren't here to play with him. I played soccer in the backyard this weekend (penalty kicks). He put up with me; we both know there is no replacement, but we don't say anything.

Reese is, as always, equally amazing and exhausting. She sounds like Kathleen Turner because of a cold and her eyes are all watery. But, it doesn't stop her from running away and laughing when I try to get her dressed in the morning. She's incredibly smart and picks up on everything. She's talking so much, you'd be amazed.

I'm falling apart at the seams everyday, but faking it quite well. I got a massage yesterday after work; it was brutal. As the guy was working through a particular knotty knot in my shoulder, and I was trying to breath through the pain, I couldn't help but see the metaphor for grief. He would repeat, "breath through" and "let it go." Yeah, right. I never thought breathing and letting go would be So. Hard. But, I tried. And, I try everyday, every moment.

As I keep looking at houses, I'm channeling your good sense. Keep the vibes coming.

Love you,
Laura

Nothing Yet

The realtor called earlier this week. As expected, there are little to no homes to look at. In short: nothing yet. Apparently, houses should be on the market in the next few weeks. Nothing yet.

The mind is compassionate. It must be. Mine allows me to feel nothing when I picture happy places. Sometimes I will sit still and force myself to imagine last summer, in the backyard that week after school started. We bought a 500 water balloon pack; blue and green to represent the Sounders and the Seahawks. The weather was 90+ degrees and I can see Ed going into some Zen state while he filled 20, 30, 40 balloons, tossing them into the kiddie pool for Reese and Jack who would destroy them in five minutes.

I can see the scene. But, I don’t feel it. I feel nothing. It’s why I don’t feel much when I’m in the most pitiful places, the places that I used to avoid at all costs, even picked careers around. Like being the last person at school on a Friday. Since I was in middle school nothing brought on instant depression more quickly than still being on school grounds when no one else was. Same was true for high school, for college, and then for my teaching career. So, I hardly noticed that I was one of the last people in the building Friday afternoon. They shut the big front doors of the building so I had to go out the back. I didn’t pass a single person on the way to the parking lot.

Here’s the thing, I know I’m still processing. I know that the worst of the reality check will come in a few months and then maybe again next year. I know my mind has me on the slowest of I.V. drips of emotion so I can survive. It’s why I question those hopeful feelings – because I know they are based in something else—something not fully truthful—something that isn’t this new life. I know my mind hasn’t let me feel the fullness of the nothingness left behind when Ed died.

But I know hope resides in this fact: the flipside of nothing is a blank slate. I think that’s why I’m okay moving forward with the home hunt. While finding a home represents so much of what our family was and who I was, it also represents a new life, a blank slate, a richness of life waiting to be fully realized.

One Place: The New Reality

I met with a realtor on Saturday. I gave him our basic requests: a house close to the kids' school, three bedrooms, two baths, a backyard. What I didn't tell him was that I can vividly remember the vision board Ed & I created in 2008. The one that sat next to the desk in our two bedroom apartment in Admiral (hidden a bit because we felt a little silly). The vision board that had us paying off enough debt to work towards a downpayment on a house.

Honestly, the dream of owning a home was nearly a joke. There was no logical reason to believe it could happen anytime soon considering the amount of debt we had accrued while also collecting substantial college loans. If we were smart, we would have expected to buy a home in ten or fifteen years. But that was too long. So, I found a picture in a magazine of a house that looked nice to us, cut it out and put it on the bulletin board. Somewhat randomly, we picked FALL 2012 as our target and wrote it in big letters, cut it out and put it beneath the picture.

By August 2011 we could -amazingly- see possibility in our fall 2012 goal. We couldn't see exactly how the downpayment would happen, but we had worked and planned toward 5% down. We knew it wasn't exactly prudent, but we had good jobs, good credit, and a dream, dammit. We set a date with our good friend, a banker, to discuss turning our goal into reality. We were going to meet on November 5th.

Plans change. Ed crashed to the ground while coaching Jack's soccer team. He died before noon on Saturday, October 8th, four days before our fifteenth wedding anniversary. And. Everything. Stopped. Then, it was all different.

"They" say not do make any major changes the first year. I would argue that NOT continuing the momentum towards finding a home by this fall would actually count as a major change, at least that is what my gut tells me. So, I'm looking. I'm looking for that one place that alluded us for fourteen years while we established a family identity, pursued academic and professional goals, learned how to be an amazing team, and scratch the surface of moving beyond surviving to thriving.

I plan to log the search. I realize there will be a tension related to finding a home that logistically and emotionally suits this new family of three as I'm working toward a goal represented by our old family of four. In many ways, the search will mirror the grief process. It's hard enough, so why not include kitchen layouts in the process?

Mindfulness

The word that has become the theme for Lent is mindfulness. Duh. Lent is all about sacrifice, about being uberconscious of what we have because of what we don't have.

I began thinking about what I'm unconscious of, or what I am "mindless" of. Not to play the consumer trump card, but there's a root of consumerism at the heart of much of my mindless habits. They include, but are not limited to, food and purchases.

I started with food; that seems to be one of the most common things given up at Lent- chocolate, desserts, dairy, the list goes on. Also, I still have 10 baby weight pounds that I would really like to lose. So, to avoid creating what is essentially a Lenten diet (which somehow detracts from the more meditative mood of Lent), I thought that my Lenten focus would be on eating only foods that have ingredients that I could visualize. In other words, if I couldn't easily and clearly picture everything thing in the food, I couldn't eat it. My first thought was that my Lean Cuisine microwaveable lunch would be gone -- and my schedule just doesn't allow for making lunch when I go to work.

So, I thought of the next mindlessness habit- using the debit card. I'm amazed at how much money I can blow through with the debit: Twenty bucks here (grocery store), fifty bucks there (Target). So, after talking with Ed, we've decided to go CASH only, other than paying bills online and with checks. We use Amazon fresh for our groceries, but we're aware of what we spend there.

Each week during Lent, we're going to look at our budget, what we need to purchase during the week (gas, haircuts, diapers, oil changes, etc.) and get the cash out. The convenience of the debit will be gone, forcing us to count our cash and budget within it.

This should be interesting....

Preparing

Lent starts next week. It's all about undoing habits that don't let us closer to a genuine life. Many people give something up. I think I could give up SO much: scraping the skin around my fingernails, eating after 7:00 PM, desserts in general. But, I'm trying to figure out the one thing I can change that will upset all the other habits I want to change.

I'm curious to see what I come up with.

(BTW, I'm trying to figure a way to balance the habit-upset period of Lent with a desire to fully live in the moment, knowning that whatever is happening in THIS moment should be happening).

Four Months

A good friend of ours, Sara, came up to take some pictures of the family. She is a nurse, but does photography on the side; you can check out her photos on her website.

This is one of our favorites of Reese. Just the other day, I was explaining to my mother-in-law that Reese didn't wear certain clothes anymore-- that "she hasn't worn those since she was a baby." I got a laugh. I meant "since she was a newborn." Reese is clearly in the magical four month stage- all smiles and coos, not quite mobile (she just started to roll over).

We're drinking up everyday.

Resemblences

For the first three weeks of Reese's life, we couldn't figure out who she looked like. She has the most perfect round face and head that looks nothing like anyone in our immediate family. She also makes faces that don't look like anyone. She has a particular face that means she is peeing which is hysterical; she'll purse her lips into a perfect O and bug her eyes; we know that fter her lips go back to normal, it is time to change her diaper. The second picture reveals this tell-tale peeing expression.

At first, I thought Reese resembled the shrunken head guy from the end of Beetlejuice (where Michael Keaton is in the waiting room of the afterlife), especially when she is filling her Pampers. But, I just looked up still images from the movie and let's just say that Reese is much cuter.

But, last week, she made a few faces that - ever so briefly -- reminded me of my mother. Yesterday, Jack, Reese and I went down to my sister's and mom's to play in their yard and swim in their pools (a kind of last hurrah to summer) and I asked my mom if she had any baby pictures. She has one (!). Lo and behold, it was like looking at my daughter. So, I feel like I gave birth to my husband with Jack and now my mom with Reese. Genetics are amazing. My mother's head is, like Reese's, perfectly round, as is her face. While I haven't been able to capture a photo yet that looks like my mom, I have no doubt I will soon enough.

And Baby Makes 4

Reese Emily Kingston was born at 2:10 PM (after a glorious three pushes and 10 minutes) on Friday, July 24. She has the honor of sharing her birthday with my older brother, Chris, and has the names of both great and great-great grandmothers. She also came into the world not five days before the hottest ever recorded day in Seattle and hottest week ever in Seattle.

These pictures reflect her most common activity; the hat photo (taken before the heat wave) is her first day in the world (when it was a mere 80 degrees); the one with the bear (and my baby blanket) is around day three; the last with the blue shirt is two days after the 103 record-breaking day. Note the need for less and less covering. So much for swaddling.

She doesn't look like anyone quite yet, though she does make some remarkable Ed-like faces, including an amazing sneer that would rival Elvis. When she sleeps, she makes a sound that isn't quite human. When I heard it in the car, I thought it was the car, but Jack noted that "Reese sounds like a creaking door." And she does. If and when I can, I will record it to play back in a future haunted house similiation.

All is going well. We're feeling blessed and lucky and in love.

Waiting for Baby

It's not often that one can write with certainty that their life will change dramatically in the next few days. So, I should probably focus on cherishing the fact that I know things will change. And, for the most part, it will be positive (not like losing a job).

I'm in the early stages of labor and will likely have our second child in the next day or two. I put this as a matter of record. I knew the baby would come early (I'm still not convinced of the sex so I'm not using he or she just yet), and had in fact asked the kid to wait for the weekend so Ed & I could get our ducks in a row for our classes. So, assuming things go as planned, I appreciate the good listener hanging out in my uterus, doing all he/she can to help out.

I am not anxious, excited, or anything. I'm dealing with all of this much like anything else big to prepare for - I'm preparing very stoically and practically. Or, more likely, I'm a master of denial. I'm answering emails, writing bills and feeding the cats. I've also tried to keep Jack on my bed to talk with me since it will be a few days before we talk again (and then his entire world will have changed, too), but he's more interested in expelling all the energy a 5 year old has. He's in the living room with Ed playing catch with a Boston College football. I can't believe we did this whole birth thing with him five years ago.

Whenever we go on vacation, Ed & I don't get excited until we are actually headed toward our destination. The travel process is rarely physically painful (traffic is nothing like contractions, the patience waiting has some connection to birth). But, I'm starting to distance myself and wonder when I will get excited- what I will experience with this baby. Will I be plain exhausted like I was immediately after Jack was born, happy to let Ed hold him while I rested, or will my knowledge of the absolute highs and lows of Jack's early months give me some perspective to appreciate this baby more thoroughly, despite the exhaustion?

So, time to put denial aside and start timing those contractions.

Laura is running out of small talk...

I did it. I caved. I joined Facebook. There’s an article in April's Real Simple, something I read after joining Facebook, that related FB to a huge cocktail party. I was wondering why I was feeling that familiar disjointed sense of things-- that nagging feeling I get at large parties where I am simultaneously annoyed at having to come up with small talk and sure that everyone is having a much better time than I am. In one of my few and recent wall posts, I wrote something to the effect that I realized that FB was merely the greatest procrastination tool around. It is. You can take these quizzes – things like “what does your birthday say about you?” or “who were you in a former life?” Since I was pegged as Marilyn Monroe and have read many quiz questions with words that are spelled wrong, I have a hunch that the quizzes are mere time wasters- like Facebook. Mostly, FB is a chance to peek into very small snippets of people’s lives you may not have talked with in years.

I find collecting “friends” a bit more addicting than I’d like to admit. It could be one of the reasons I caved into the FB culture in the first place-- since I’ve moved on average every 18 months or so since 1996, it’s been challenging (to say the least) to find and establish a solid friend base. Sure, we have a handful of friends that we’ll see now and then, but not anyone, including family, that we see on a regular basis. We live in a neighborhood that we love for it’s location, but is at least 20 minutes from anyone we know well, giving our weekly day-to-day lives (and, for the most part, our weekends) a somewhat isolating vibe. I dream of having friends over for dinner regularly (like weekly) and/or going out with friends and/or family regularly. It’s in my list of “25 things that mean success” (taken from Julia Cameron’s book The Sound of Paper; a list that also happens to include “ample bras and underwear that fit well”—something that pregnancy is keeping a dream instead of reality).

Part of the whole “see friends regularly” dream involves the idea of convenience- that it would be just a easy to have someone over or go over to someone’s house as it would be to just stay home with our family. That might only happen if you live within a few minutes walk or drive, right? From my experience, authentic enjoyment comes from low to no expectations—a long drive or travel tends to increase expectations (yes, even a 15 minute drive on I99). Lately, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I either need to go knock on my neighbor’s door or we need to move again closer to family or friends (the first is easier in a more openly friendly town- the kind that actually has residents willing to go to a stranger’s for dinner; the second isn’t too likely as I find myself emotionally mauled by the idea of packing a single box; besides, I refuse for Ed & I to both commute over 45 minutes to work).

Makes you wonder why I haven’t posted an open invite to dinner on Facebook. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like the forum for it. FB seems more like the place where someone would be eating dinner at home, alone, and posting what they are eating for all there 200+ friends to see and comment on. That’s begging for small talk-something I am not good at. It’s probably why I won’t have 200+ friends in my FB. That’s okay; I’ll settle for 5 around my dinner table.

It's a Gurul...

Jack & Ed sat very patiently this morning for about 25 minutes while the ultrasound technician took all the necessary measurements. At the end, she predicted (80% chance) that our second child would be a girl.

Since we've been home, I keep asking Jack to remind me whether the baby is a boy or a girl, mostly because he is still trying to work out his Rs. When he says thirty, it sounds like forty; when he says forty, it sounds like thirty. When he says "girl" it sounds like "Gurul"- it's the most extreme version of his speech impediment. I'm equally worried that he's going to need speech therapy and fully entertained. It takes all I have not to laugh.

Ed's on spring break next week and I'm on spring break the following, so we're hoping to find time to feel excited about our daughter. Of course, my spring break will find Ed watching Jack while he prepares for spring quarter and my spring break will be all about watching Jack while I get ready for my spring quarter. During these times, I work hard to be thankful for the flexibility of our jobs and a relatively small March daycare bill.

But, yay- it's (probably) a girl...

Feline Love Languages

For the last few months, our cat, Max, has had a tooth that was slowly coming out of his mouth. It was on his right side and each week it seemed to fall out of his gums ever so slightly, causing him to have this amazing fang. It was also beginning to turn black and his breath was beginning to smell rancid. Now, before you think we need to be hauled off by KPS (ahem, kitty protective services), I should tell you that we realized that spending a large amount of money on Max was unavoidable, so we made an appointment with the vet to get it checked out, knowing that dental surgery was inevitable.

Apparently, it was more inevitable than we had imagined. About a week before the appointment, this last Wednesday morning, as I was letting some buttered toast nourish me and the fetus into finally getting ready for the day, I noticed that Max’s tooth was lodged sideways in his mouth. He couldn’t close his mouth, and his paws were red with bloody puss. I called Ed into our room with a panicky voice that made him think that there was something wrong with the baby.

We called the vet and brought him in that morning, where he stayed all day. Two teeth were removed; his teeth were cleaned. We brought him home Wednesday night, drunk from an anesthesia hangover.

One of the reasons that we put off making the appointment is because we’re cheap bastards. About a year ago, at Max’s appointment, the vet let us know that the tooth issue was going to come to a head. She gave an estimate, saying that the cleaning and possible extraction would cost between $250 and $500. Who has that much? We don’t (we are planning on living in a 2 bedroom, 900 square foot apartment even after the baby is born to save money, despite the close living quarters). We haven’t used a credit card since moving to Boston unless we could pay it off in one or two months. $500 is not a pay-off amount.

When we got to the vet, I told Ed I would go into the room, even with my low threshold for adrenaline release because of the pregnancy (in other words, it only takes the hint of tragedy to make me hurl). I was afraid that he would get the estimate, ask what euthanizing would cost, and in the event that putting Max down was even $50 cheaper, would choose that option. You can only imagine his response to the estimate that ranged between $550 and $975. I didn’t care (that much). Max has been with us for over 10 years, gone through all our moves and life changes, and still has the softest fur.

Now, Ed may seem like he’s both cheap and cold hearted. But, I realized in this whole ordeal that we just have different feline love languages. You see, I am more than willing to be in the vet room with Max, talk with the doctor, sit with Max on my lap for an hour or two at night, get up to feed him and love him despite his annoying early morning meowing. Most of that drives Ed crazy. BUT, I cannot give Max medicine, I cannot force him into his cat cage, I cannot chase him across a busy Chicago street during rush hour in the middle of a driving trip across the country. Ed, on the other hand, can do all of these things in a way that doesn’t cause him to end up shaking with PDST afterwards. In fact, Ed goes to a mental place that allows him to see the need for what to do, what’s the best situation, no matter what the short-term inconvenience or pain it might cause him or the cat. AND, he does it without prompting- last night, he held Max down, inserted the syringe of painkillers and squeeze the whole amount in as if he was cleaning up the dishes after dinner. I tend to leave the room and imagine that it’s not happening, or, if I’m in the room, close my eyes, look away, and go to a happy place until it’s all over.

So now, I'm enjoying that we only have two days left of painkillers and antibiotics for Max, but more than that, loving how much I can see all the ways Max is loved. I'm sure he feels it, too.

(Nearly) A Year in Pictures

This weekend, I decided to download the pictures from our camera--only because our memory card was full. We had 327 pictures from the last year (spanning summer 2008 to february 2009). While I won't load them all here, I did realize that the blogs I tend to revisit the most have photos. Here's a highlight of our last year (I'll keep it down to 7 or so photos).

More soon on the coming baby, the current kid, and how realizing that I took on too much at work has impacted my ability to have coherent conversations after 7 PM.

When I talked about change, this isn't QUITE what I thought...

So, yes, it's been more than six months since we've posted. And, my last post was focused on wrestling with how to make genuine change. I won't go into a self-centered existential crisis diatribe, but the last seven months became more about letting go and letting change happen-- in other words, just rolling with all the balls we've put in motion since moving to and from the east coast and starting careers that are meaningful and enjoyable.

And, loving raising and hanging out with Jack - who is now 4 1/2 and makes me think that 4 is one of the best ages yet. So much so, that I really hope our next child pops out at least 2 1/2 years old.

I'll let you know. S/He comes toward the beginning of August. We went to our first ultrasound today; the baby (size of what, a grape??! and now no longer technically an embryo) was movin' and punchin' my utrine walls. Jack came with us and was a bit confused; he thought we were going to the doctor to get the baby out (!). So, he was a little disappointed, but did reiterate his desire for a sister.

Changes, here we come!

Defining Change

I suppose I should clarify what it "positive change" actually means before ranting and raving about how to go about and actually do it.

My current working definintion is akin to habit. Like biting nails or adding pepper to eggs, real change happens when I am not thinking about it anymore. It's as if the new action or attitude has become part of my DNA. And, because I'm nearly 35, having spent about 34 of those years establishing certain, perhaps more negative habits (like biting nails or eating after 8:00 PM), it feels like I'm swimming against the tide if I want to make changes for the better.

And, at the core is the desire to choose changes that bring the most pleasure to life. But, as I'm learning again and again, true, lasting pleasure requires hard work. And, strangely enough, that hard work becomes a constant thread in the weave of change--in other words, the work itself is part of the pleasure which allows change. Case in point: eight years ago I began work on my master's degree in English. I worked very hard in college, staying up late nearly every night and most weekends to write the best papers and create the best lesson plans for my English 101 classes. I worked so hard it nearly drained me completely. But, it did establish high standards that I am always working towards (if not always meeting). I worked for three years as a part-time instructor, making less than $30K a year, but working all the time. Now, I'm in a tenure track position--the greatest benefit is that I am teaching at one school where I can fully develop my teaching self. The hard work continues, but it is more like a drive, or ambition now; still a lot of work, but the work and focus is habitual. The ongoing implications-professionally and personal--of my habits as an instructor are only just starting to come to light.

The quote in the margin likens change, which is uncertain, to adventure. Obviously, then, change is an ongoing journey.

Tonight, when Jack was pulling books off the shelf to pretend and read them to the imaginary preschool we were attending to as two preschool teachers, I grabbed John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley and, as directed by Jack, began to read aloud. I read the third paragraph and, mostly because of my current obsession with what change is and how to make it happen for real, I read it as a metaphor of change:

Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us...The certain way to be wrong is to think you can control it. I fell better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it (Steinbeck's Travels With Charley, page 4).

Somehow, the balance of allowing change to occur while still attempting to plan it seems to be the intersection where real change occurs. That's my hunch. I'm still working out the details.

Almost started a new blog, but starting over can be a bitch.

At some point in my life (grad school? moving to Boston? new job?) I was in a constant frantic state of unease. It wasn't pleasant. In the midst of the unease I must have said or done something which made Ed turn to me with the kind of distant compassion you only see in movies that are meant to inspire Buddha and said, "Laura, you have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable."

It was an ephiphany. The ephiphany pissed me off. I hated that it made sense. Being comfortable with being uncomfortable seemed to have a kind of permance to it--that somehow, if I just accepted my insecurity and incertainty that I would simultaneously find some security and certainty. Ugh.

Lately, I've been working hard at trying to figure out how to make permanent, positive changes in my life. Ed & I have created a few goals for ourselves (the biggest include paying off debts and saving for a downpayment on a house) and I have attempted--in short stints--to make other changes.

CHANGE IS F****ING HARD.

For a while, at least, the posts on this blog will attempt to articulate what it means to change, how change does (and doesn't happen) and even work through why we feel the need for change. I guess I'm hoping to record as much of the process as possible so it gets easier.

Our Hair Still Smells Like Campfire

Last weekend Ed & I picked up a tradition we left in the Northwest: camping with our good friends, Alicia & Brian. The last time we camped was at Lopez Island in 2003. There was a burn ban and we had to roast our marshmellows over charcoal briquettes. On the bright side (literally), we were "forced" to find something else to stare at and spent a few hours star gazing, counting shooting stars & satellites in the sky and marveling at the milky way. It was glorious.

This year we headed to Larrabee State Park in Bellingham, a favorite spot. This year we also had children in tow. Jack, 3. Noah, 2. Balin, 3 months. Like Lopez, adjustments had to be made. Jack slept in between two very sober parents and Noah and Balin actually split his parents into two tents. But, the boys played hard together. Balin, all of a few months old, barely made a peep and the joke around the campfire was that he actually wasn't there. Jack, who stayed up with all of us until we went to bed, and Noah, whose energy and knack for getting into pretty much everything made Jack look somewhat LAZY, kept all of us acutely aware of his proximity to the campfire.

I realized about mid-way through Saturday that the most wonderful thing about the trip, other than getting to know our friends' children and having the time to just hang out, was that this was a tradition that we can keep up for years. YEARS. Because we're not moving across the country anytime soon, or ever. Can you imagine? Staying in the same place? This is a reality I'm starting to get used to.

Just Skim. This is Mostly about Pictures

Transitions have perks. When you’re living out of suitcases, leaving one life behind in anticipation of starting another, there are benefits. For one, you tend not to think about all the class planning you have yet do to because your books are packed away in a container heading somewhere through South Dakota. You also don’t have to worry about whether your outfit will work for the day because you only packed a very small amount that would fit in a suitcase already more than half full of toys and diapers. Oh, and did I mention the fact that you get to live RENT FREE in a large home with a big yard where most meals are free. My mom and dad were amazingly gracious and generous the three weeks we stayed with them, having put us up with a perfect shower head and a television in the bedroom (we go so used to it that last Saturday while Ed was watching Notre Dame, Jack walked into the bedroom where I was unpacking to tell me that we needed another T.V. so he could watch Sponge Bob. I’m beginning to consider it.). Jack loved the visit so much he tells me at least once a day that he misses Nana.

We are practically settled into our new apartment in West Seattle and it’s nice. The library is across the street and the grocery store only 50 feet further than that. Jack’s been at Alki all but two days since we’ve moved in and I’m loving his ability to form the “ch” sound when he asks, very clearly, “Can we go to the beacchh today mommy?”

All the same, I’m also having to face our new life reality – and all reality, good or otherwise, has a kind of permanence to it that contrasts with romantic transitions. Things like realizing that I’m not getting my first paycheck from my perfect job until the end of October. And, partly because of it, we won’t have any kitchen chairs for at least another month, forcing us to eat on the floor and/or couch for just a bit longer. And, planning? Ha. I just picked out books for my classes. Ed’s been good; he’s been organized and diligent. Me, I’m starting to see how the joy of transitions is just a fancy way of defining procrastination.

So, in the spirit of hanging on JUST ONE MORE MINUTE to the last three weeks in the middle of our fifth life as a married couple, here’s a handful of pictures from Ed’s drive from Boston to Seattle with his brother Steve (the first picture, driving somewhere in the middle of the country) and nephew, Elijah (the second picture, fighting car sickness in the back seat).

WWDD?

Yesterday we went to a family BBQ. Jack left my sight after about 2 minutes; he found my cousin's three girls, all older than him, and was happy as he could be. I didn't see him for nearly three hours. It was glorious - and now, I feel a bit better about daycare (though will talk more in a few weeks).

I had a lenghty talk with the mother of the three brilliant girls who entertained my child. Laurie mentioned that Ed & I seem so laid back, she wondered if we ever got stressed.

HA. The great secret about Ed, and probably me, is that we appear calm and laid back most of the time. But, left to our own space with one another(and, sadly, Jack) we can be two of the most up-tight, stressed-out, tense people we know. Snappy? Definitely. Heavy sighs? More than a few. Yelling over little things like not completely cleaning the ceiling fan to let off steam for not being able to figure out how we're both going to get ready in class on time? Happens on a regular basis.

Perhaps that is why one of our new favorite shows is Ace of Cakes. The premise is that there's a guy, Duff, who opened his own cake store, and he, plus a handful of artsy, yet anal, chillin friends/employees produce specialty cakes by a deadline. Charm City Cakes is established in Baltimore, and don't think I haven't thought about visiting. Just for the cakes and the people who make them.

On Thursday nights, we watch 30 minutes of carefully edited cake making. And, let me tell you, the cakes are AMAZING. Entire baseball parks, animals, planes, WHATEVER. We love the show in part because Duff reminds us of a friend, Jake, and the office manager, Mary Alice, reminds us of another dear friend, Elizabeth. Both are in Boston. Maybe that's why we are hooked.

But, then, I realized last week that another reason we like this show because everyone on it seems to handle the stress of deadline so well. Duff, the owner, this bald, bearded thirty-something with a goofy laugh, ROLLS with stress. Last week's episode showcased the creation of some yak-sheep animal for a scottish wedding. At one point Duff had his office manager pick him up a Kilt to wear and then hired someone to come play the bagpipes. All this while they were hours away from a deadline and right before all the "hair" fell off and had to be reapplied before the cake left for the wedding.

Any tension felt at Charm City Cakes is kind silence. Which, is exactly the opposite type of silence you would feel around me and Ed. Our stress silence is more like the stress you might feel if you walked in front of store owners on some beach front walk in Florida, nailing up plywood to prepare for the next day's category 4 hurricane.

So, now, our renewed goal is to be better about "rolling" with the stress which inevitably comes with life. And, our life, in particular lately with all the moving and new jobs. We are using Duff and his employees as our roll model. We'll let you know how it goes. . .