Of Downtown and Dinosaurs

I can't believe its been a week since I woke up to Mount Rainier in Washington.  Last night we tied up the (very busy!) week since my trip out of town with a pretty bow, spending the evening with some dear friends.

We hit up the city with our kiddos after stopping for a quick dinner. The Hubs and I have known these two since middle school, and it was so surreal to be walking around downtown with two strollers.  Looking down at four pairs of shoes representing years of friendship and two sets of wheels representing two little boys who are sure to be buddies made me feel so happy.  At the risk of really pouring on the cheese....we've come so far and we have been so blessed!

(Me and my sidekick swooning over my sweet friend's newest addition!)

(Bundled. Up.  Fall is officially here in all its chilly glory. PS- giraffe hat and matching giraffe mittens?  Check.)

(There was a wholelotta "Do Not Touch" and a wholelotta little boy going on here...I have a death grip on the back of his coat.  He kept us on our toes!)

("Momma, what dat?  What dat?")

(Hello, cute.)

(Quick stop for some late night pumpkin spice lattes?  Yes, please!  I LOVE coffee shops in the evening.)

(We saw lots of art...this was a beautiful mosaic of the Garden of Eden- it was huge!)

(Not impressed.  But in his defense, it was past his bedtime.)

(We heart downtown at night!)

(The cool new parents! Momma is already a pro- feeding little peanut on the go.)

We topped off the evening with a pre-road trip diaper change in the back of our cars.  My, how the times have changed- from double dates at the movies to double diaper duty in the parking garage. I'll take it!

Newbie and I are hanging out on the couch this morning while Daddy-O sleeps in.  After waking up at 4 in the morning the past three days and working long hours, we figured he's earned it. (Thanks for working so hard for us, Daddy-O!!!)  But do you know how hard it is to keep a toddler quiet?!  If he's not whaling on Opie (his new wrestling buddy) and belly laughing, then he's shouting, "Dat's me an' da dinosaur!!!" over my shoulder while I upload pictures.   Its a little after nine now...if we make it until ten, I'm going to count it a success.

Its cloudy and cold outside today, and the first Saturday we've been together as a family in three weeks...I think I might smell a pajama day. =)  

Happy Weekending!

Mount Rainier

God captured my heart with this mountain.

When I arrived in Washington last weekend, it was lost on me that this mountain was even here, and as I traveled down the road on the way to the Love and Loss conference, BAM! 

(Its Mount Rainier, and its glorious.  And very volcanic.  I'm glad I didn't Google it before I left home, or I might not have gotten on the plane. =))

There it was, its presence unmistakable once we turned the bend in the road.  I’ve never seen a mountain like this. The Smokies?  Yes. Been there, done that.  But an enormous peak floating high in the sky, hovering over an inconceivably large mass of rock melting into the east and the west as it stretches across the horizon?  No.  It was beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some serious How Great Thou Arts going on inside my heart because “mighty mountain grandeur”?  Yes, please.

Friday afternoon over the phone I made the Hubs promise to take me to the Rockies on our next vacation. 

Then Friday night happened.

Can I be real with you?

I wasn’t looking forward to this grief conference.  Not even a little bit. I might have even stretched the truth a little bit in the post I wrote before I left.  Because while I was excited to travel,  and hang out with Fun Aunt Janet, while I was touched that she and Debbie flew me all the way across the country, while I thought it was great that Janet orchestrated a grief conference for moms who had lost babies, I was not thrilled about attending. I knew I was suppose to go, and I knew it was going to be good for me, and in my heart I knew God had big plans, but I was so totally NOT looking forward to it.

Here’s why:

The last time I got on a plane, I was headed to Disney World.  

Folks, this was not Disney World. And I knew it.

It was a grief conference, and the pre-requisite for a grief conference is loving and losing. The loving and losing?  Its not a class anyone would willingly sign up for. The pre-req for this weekend meant that every woman that attended the conference had loved and lost.   I had done the math: every heart I encountered would be as broken and battered as my own, and quite frankly, that’s just not Disney World clientele and not exactly something to look forward to. 

Friday night rolled around and the hearts started trickling in.  The thing about the heart is, the heart speaks through the eyes, and that evening, every pair of eyes I looked into were broken and bleeding.  And by the end of the evening after we had split up into groups and shared our stories with one another, every pair of eyes was wet.  Souls were weeping, and I didn't want to go back.  

And it was far from Disney World and far from anything I wanted to go do over again the next day.  It was heavy.  It was raw and painful to sit with a group of women and show our wounds, to see one another’s hurts so fresh and real.  It didn’t matter if it had been six weeks or 39 years, babies were gone, and these hearts were broken.  And when we had poured ourselves out that evening, there was nothing to do but sit, dumbfounded at the mess.  Sopping tissues in hand, we just stared blankly at the mountain of broken hearts that had been piled at our feet in the middle of the room.  The weight of the world filled those walls, and the burden was suffocating.

When I went to bed Friday night I asked God what on earth I was doing in Washington.  Because the mountain was too high, the burden of these many women too heavy, and Lord, get me outta here.

There’s one person who knows how much I dreaded this weekend, and it was the Hubs.  He knew before I did that I wasn’t looking forward to it.  Honestly, I didn't realize how much I was dreading it, I only tossed around the occasional comment regarding my lack of luster over the whole thing.  But he saw through the slight reluctance and knew that at the core of my being, everything in me wanted to run in the opposite direction of that grief conference.  And he told me more than once that he was praying God would pleasantly surprise me this weekend.  I reminded him that surprises are not my favorite.  (I'm a handful.) And I might have rolled my eyes at him and shrugged my fear off with an explanation that its just hard to leave Newbie or my concern over how much laundry would pile up while I was gone.  There might have even been another eye roll in there somewhere. Then he'd tell me he was praying for a pleasant surprise anyway.  He’d never admit it, but I think he kinda likes having a stubborn wife.  It gives him a good challenge. 

Friday night I laid in bed, gritting my teeth, telling the Lord that I thought it was really lame of Him to drag me across the country just to bawl my eyes out and feel even more broken hearted than when I boarded the plane, as if that was even possible.  I questioned His plan because I knew He was big enough to take my doubts, and I think He probably patted me on the back and said, trust Me, Beloved, and rest.  Tomorrow is a new day.  But I didn't feel Him or hear Him because I was too caught up in my grumblings about how hard the night was and what the heck was I suppose to do now?  And I think even if I had stopped the grumbling, my heart would have been crying to hard to hear anyway.  Then I threw in a couple eye rolls and tossed them back across the country to the Hubs because NO WAY was this weekend going to end up being a pleasant surprise.  This weekend looked like heartache and horror and there weren't enough tissues in the world, people.  

Saturday morning dawned fast.  I threw myself together, scarcely applying any makeup because why would I when its just going to run down my face in a flood of tears anyway?  And I got in the car, numb from the night before and dreading what was to come.  I think I might have shot the breeze with Janet, but that was just a cover for what was really going on inside.  If I thought I could have talked her into turning the car around and just hanging at the mall all day, I would have.

I couldn't believe I was walking through the doors again.  And I was even more surprised to see the other ladies walking through the doors again with me.

 We came in broken and bruised from the previous evening, some of us even joking that we couldn't believe we came back.  Except we weren't joking.  We really couldn't believe we came back.  But there was something noticeably different about that morning than the torturous night before.  Eyes were still wet, hearts still aching, but this time around we knew.  We knew what one another carried.  We knew who and what the tears were for.  We knew not a single one of us wanted to be there.  And there was community in that.  There was community in the puffy eyes and the forget it, I’m not even going to put on mascara today.  And we shuffled together from the table of breakfast pastries and fruit and sat together, a bunch of eye-makeup-less ragamuffins.  A bundle of beautifully broken women sharing Starbucks and heartbreak over breakfast. 

It was a new day. 

We spent the day with the same small group of women from the night before and we talked.  We traveled to a few different rooms where seasoned women- mothers themselves- gently asked us questions about our children and our hearts.  And we answered, wadded tissues in hand. We talked about how we put the hurt in a box and tuck it under the bed and how it was hard to pull that box back out and unpack it piece by piece.  But these women?  These women are the most courageous women I know because they unpacked that box.  They unpacked that box Friday night, and they continued to unpack it the following morning. 

And though our stories were different, we found out we had a lot of the same stuff in the box.

We sat in a circle of chairs and together unpacked the pieces: the stupid things people have said, the fears and hurts and worries.  We talked about the whys and what-ifs.  We talked about how healing is an evasive word because really, while a broken heart can be mended back together again, there will always be the scars.  We talked about how we'll never be the same- how the woman in the chairs is a different woman than she was before those precious babies. We talked about eternal perspective and how we won’t know full healing from these wounds here.  He talked about God and how His ways aren't ours. We talked about blessing in raindrops. We talked about the salve for our wounds- the hope we have in Christ- and we rubbed the salve in deep.  

And what happened was broken hearts were bandaged.  In talking and sharing and crying and praying, we bandaged each other’s wounds. We encouraged one another, and it was salve to the soul; we hugged one another and it was a rescuing breath. 

The mountain was smaller when we scaled it together, because every time we looked back or up or down, we weren't alone.  He was there.  And we were there.  Together.  And look, those ahead of us were still moving, and those behind us needed our hands, and gently pull and encourage and love and maybe, just maybe, we're going to make it.  

Maybe we can do it, this living with a broken heart, after all.  Maybe we are better for climbing the mountain than to have never had to climb it at all. 

It was late Saturday afternoon when we spontaneously linked arms and held hands while a lovely voice sang and I wondered, what if the mountain, the trials of this life, the rain, the storms, the hardest nights, are His mercies in disguise? And as I stood in the midst of that group of beautifully broken women, I found myself feeling so honored to be a recipient of those mercies in disguise- to have walked through the rain and the storms, to have sleeplessly weathered the hardest nights- to know His mercy in ways only a heart that climbs the mountain can.  

When I walked through those doors on Friday evening, I was scared.  I was so afraid to be a part of a group of women whose tears couldn't be hidden and whose hearts were so deeply wounded.  The mountain was too high. But by the end of the weekend, I considered myself blessed to be a part of them, the beautifully broken, scaling the mountain because He loves too deeply to give us lesser things. I'm so grateful for the mountain.  So thankful God used my sweet Eden and my Jubilee girl to break my heart and make me homesick for Heaven in a way that dramatically changed the way I live my life.  So grateful He used my girls to send me up the mountain.

When the conference was over Saturday, I called the Hubs and thanked him for tuning into my heart so acutely that he knew exactly what to pray for, because though surprises aren't my favorite, God heard him, and it had been a very good surprise. 

I'm scaling the mountain, baby, and (SURPRISE!!!!) it's a beautiful view from here.

Thanking Him for the honor of sharing in a weekend with some incredibly courageous women, and giving Him praise today for the mountains and His mercies in disguise.

Sending lots of love to these brave mommas in Washington:

(Ladies- Sorry for posting our soppy no-make-up post-conference picture...I know I promised not to, but I figured since it was blurry it might be safe =])

And a big hug and thank you to Debbie and Fun Aunt Janet:

xoxo,

Brittany

Airplane Outtakes

I got in from an incredible weekend in Washington late last night, and I have to say, there’s something about traveling via air that is really interesting.  When I saw the man next to me pull up his knee high socks and put his shoes back on after spending a three hour flight barefoot yesterday, I decided that before I write anything at all about the weekend, I’ve got to write up some airport bloopers because the whole experience could not go unmarked. 

Air travel is just too removed from my everyday, and it was begging to get some attention.

First of all, I have a love/hate relationship with flying.  I love getting somewhere in two hours that would take two days driving.  I hate being tied up in departure times and fees and security check-in and take off your shoes or we’re going to pull out your fingernails one by one and DO IT NOW.

So any time I fly, I’m stuck in this sweaty-palm vs butterflies in the belly quandary, vacillating between “I will be somewhere awesome before lunch” and “if I don’t get to gate D7 in the next fifteen seconds the world will stop on its axis”.

The saga begins:

It all starts at the gate while you are waiting to board the plane.

Wow, really?  All those people just pulled in on that plane, walked off, and you are ready to board us onto the same aircraft RIGHT NOW?  Are you joking? What about all the Clorox and hazmatting?  I know you haven’t had time to wipe down all those seats and arm rests and replace the SkyMall magazines with fresh inventory sans wadded up gum and previous flight contaminants.  You are sentencing us to at least one communicable disease, you know.  I’m just saying.  There isn’t enough Airbourne in the world, folks.  

That voice in the ceiling really needs to STOP it.  Let’s get some hand delivered notes up in here because its getting old hearing about Craig's  bag and how he needs to come back to Gate G3 because he got it mixed up with another passenger's.  Craig?  Where are you?  This is making me crazy.

Then you board the plane, scrambling to find a place to stash your bags, and I've got news:  it doesn't get any easier.

Whoa.  Whats with the crazy eyes?  Aren’t you the lady that is suppose to help me find a place to safely stow my bag in the overhead bin?  I mean, didn’t the voice in the wall just tell me to ask you for help if my bag doesn’t fit under my seat?   Why are you hating on me?  I’m just trying to play by the rules.

The drama continues with the general blanket awkwardness of flying with people you don’t know.

First of all, why are you sitting next to me?  This is like a movie theatre.  Don’t sit next to me.  Also, don’t talk to me or look at me or do anything beyond the initial head nod and smile required to verify that you are not a creeper or a psycho.  

Why are you falling asleep?  What am I suppose to do when your head hits my shoulder and your snores break the sound barrier and render my headphones void?  Stop sleeping.

Are you seriously closing that window?  Really?  That’s a total party foul, man.  We are flying over mountains here.  Mountains not all of us get to see everyday.  If you are going to ask me to stand up in my seat so you can get up and go to the bathroom, you need to play by the rules and not waste a window seat.  Dude, open. the. window.

No, thank you, I do not want another Coke.  Another Coke is going to push me over the edge, and people were not made to use the restroom 35,000 feet in the air.  It goes against nature.  First of all, everyone knows how long you’ve been in there because there is a line stacked down the airplane aisle waiting for their turn and a posse waiting for you to ask them to move so you can get back to your seat who you have to sit with for the rest of the flight.  Not gonna happen.  Second of all, who says you’re not going to get sucked into that thing and spit out somewhere over North Dakota?  Not willing to risk it, baby.  Thankyouverymuch.

Please don’t talk to me.  Just don’t. I know this could potentially be a fabulous opportunity for us to pour our souls out to one another and really connect on a heart-level, but seriously, the flight attendant just gave me the crazy eyes, and I'm afraid to use the bathroom.  So you really don’t even have to say hello as long as you gave me the verifying nod and smile.  You’re not crazy, I’m not crazy, let’s put on our headphones and pretend like we’re not breathing the same air and sharing an armrest.  

Also, don't look at me.  Please.  I swear I look better than this in real life.  Flying makes me haggard and takes a lot out of me.  I haven’t even taken any instagram pictures since I entered the airport because it is a law of nature that everything is going to go kaput as soon as I pass the airport threshold. Don’t judge.  We’re all just hanging on by a thread.  Don’t you know if you have to go to the bathroom you could get dumped out on Mount Rushmore?  

Um, I want my mom.  This is too stressful.  I would ask for a drink, but they could be serving Seven Daughters, and we all know how that story ends.  

Tell me I’m not alone in this.  At least not all of it.

Bueller? .......Bueller?..........Bueller?...........

Washington Bound

Last time I took off on a jet plane I was with these two goofballs:

And I'm going to miss them like crazy when I leave tomorrow.  Especially the Hubs' stellar airport navigating skills.  Am I the only one who gets a tight throat and sweaty palms at the thought of finding the gate for my connecting flight?  The time constraint, the need for a bathroom break between stops (I have a love for in-flight Cokes and some serious reservations about using a toilet 10,000 feet up in the air. Its a bad combination), the incessant voice in the ceiling asking you all these questions about your bags and who's touched them, and all while you're still halfway across the airport from the plane that's suppose to take you to your final destination....its enough to send a girl into a fit of hives.  

I'm always a basket case before I fly, and having the Hubs there to lead the way takes a good amount of the crazies away, but they are FULL BLOWN today folks, because tomorrow homegirl will be flying solo.  

(Appropriately, Newbie is shouting "DOC-TOR!" at the top of his lungs over my shoulder as I write this.  Has he picked up on his mother's pre-flight condition?! )

Despite having clammy hands over navigating the airport tomorrow, I'm looking forward to a weekend retreat across the country to talk about my sweet Jubi girl and hear from other women who have been there.  Or maybe just hug them.  I'm not kidding, if all we did all weekend was hug, I'd be cool with it.   Because there's just something about women who have been there.  They are kinda my heroes, and I'm looking forward to spending the weekend with them....even if I don't know who they are yet. =)  

Leaving this little bug and his daddy isn't easy, and traveling alone isn't my best game, but I've got a stack of books, a pack of gum, and a box of granola bars that are telling me you're gonna make it, kid.  And I think they might be onto something.

I'm so thankful for this opportunity to visit the west coast and spend the weekend with a wonderful woman (can't wait, Aunt Janet!!!) and a group of ladies who know. whats. up.

Washington, here I come!

(Hey, Champ.  I'm going to miss you!)

Happy weekending, friends!

The Pumpkin Bomb

Newbie and I visited the "punt-kin patch" today and brought home two wagon loads of pumpkins, several bags of gourds, and a bundle of cornstalks.  The Pumpkin Lady knows how to work a bargain, and she done hooked us up again this year.  

High on the fumes of cornstalks and acorn squash, we may have squeezed in a trip to our favorite orchard/donut/cider spot on the way home.  Because there's no such thing as too much autumn fun in one day. 

We also may have splurged the extra 99 cents on the plastic apple sippy cup.  (FYI: cider tastes better coming from a plastic apple.)  

And we may have snagged a dozen pumpkin donuts with cream cheese icing.  

Newbie may have challenged my loyalty to the pumpkin donut with cream cheese icing when he ordered a caramel apple crisp donut.  What. was. happening?! 

Its entirely possible that, after recovering from my son's obscure choice in fall donut-age, we left the orchard and used the donut plunder to Pumpkin Bomb my sister's house on our way home.  We probably ding-dong ditched her with a coupla donuts and a cornstalk.   Then we probably did the whole thing over again at my mom's.

Pumpkin Bombing was fall-tastic, baby.

Got laundry to do?  Go Pumpkin Bomb someone. Its way more fun. ;)

(Grandma and G-Pa, you're next.  When we get more donuts.  Because we ran out. They don't last long under my watch.... have you had those things?!?)

Happy Tuesday!

Of another run and gypsies

I went for another run today, and I have never been more excited to be interrupted.  Someone hollered at me from a driveway halfway through my run.  She caught me on the front end of my run which is the only reason I can fathom why she shouted, "You're inspiring me!" The front end of the run always looks better than the back end because you're not yet being pulled by the jogger stroller- at the beginning it still looks like you are in control.  When I heard her I yelled back "don't be too inspired- its only my third run in four months! [huff, puff, huff, puff]" and then upon further scrutiny, I realized she looked familiar, and I stopped to tell her so.

Which was awesome because we spent ten minutes figuring out how we knew each other (from a long term sub job three years ago) and that was ten minutes off my run that I couldn't get back because I had to make lunch and get Newbie down for a nap.

So like I said, don't be too inspired. =)

But a twenty minute run is longer than a zero minute run, so I'm counting it as progress.  At one point during the run, when I was feeling particularly gumpy and sluggish, I remembered that quote from Pinterest that says, "no matter how slow you're running, you're still going faster than everyone on the couch" and I was all "HECK YES I AM!" and that got me through the last leg of the endeavor and also justified the numerous hours I've spent on Pinterest.  So overall, even cut 10 minutes short, it was a complete win.

***
We had a turn-normal-upside-down weekend: the Hubs spent the weekend on a trip with his dad and uncle up north while Newbie and I spent the weekend as gypsy children.  We spent Friday night with my MIL, Saturday at the mall, and Saturday night at my parents'.  We had a lot of fun family time, but we were happy to be under our own roof with the man of the house again last night.  We had a snuggly evening together, and the little man was the Hubs' constant shadow.  I think he missed his daddy more than just a little bit.

(After dinner I caught them flipping through Cabela's catalogs together- ha!)

Today I find myself on some kind of nesting bender.  I leave for the Love and Loss conference soon (hooray!) and I'm working like mad to get meals planned and laundry done and projects finished before I leave. Going out of town sure makes me productive... maybe I should try it more often. =)

Here's wishing you a snuggly fall Monday!

I went for a run/walk/walk/walk/run?/walk/trip/walk/run

I hit an all-time personal low today in the jean department at the mall.  So naturally, after a fabulously orchestrated pity party and several phone calls to my girlfriends, I went running this afternoon.

When I say "I went running" please read: "I went walking/jogging/stumbling/walking/walking/dying?/walking/jogging/walking". Its never pretty, folks.  And I don't know why I feel like going for a run is some kind of monumental occasion worthy of blogging about, but I guess it just speaks to the lack of excitement over here today.  It was my run or the ten dollar corduroy pants I found for Newbie at Old Navy, and writing about the pants only served to emphasize Newbie's 2T waistline which I'm not really willing to wallow in.  Oh, to be 29 pounds again.  

This afternoon I strapped Newbie into the jogger stroller because there was no way homeboy was going to keep up with me I was going to keep up with him.  Boy has wheels. 

Here we are pre-run.  Clearly, all ambition and no pain.

The jogger stroller has a fabulous speaker feature that I can plug my mp3 player into and it plays my music out loud for Newbie and I (and the neighborhood) to enjoy.  I set it to my Jubilee playlist and we took off.

The warm-up and the first 30 seconds of running to follow weren't bad.  Then things kinda went downhill.

It was brutal.  At one point, I tasted steel and was all "oh my gosh, my lungs are bleeding!" then reasoned, "or maybe the cut in my forehead is bleeding backwards".  Because that can happen.  Running messes with me, man. Seriously.

Turns out it was just a good case of a not-runner lady running. No blood, don't worry.

When we reached the playground, I set Newbie loose to show off what endless energy and endurance looks like, and I enviously slumped onto the bench and drank an ocean of water.  Then I got up and got my squats on.  Because the Hubs works out in the park all the time, and I thought maybe it wasn't as crazy as it sounded.

It was totally as crazy as it sounded.

After three cars drove by, I was 15 squats in and decided to finish up back at the house.  Because quite frankly, I was a little gun shy after the Hubs critiqued my form (at my request) yesterday, and nothing was worth the humiliation.  I told Newbie we had to hit the road or he would have to carry his momma home.

Another interesting feature on the jogger stroller is the wrist strap.  You stick your hand through a looped belt, and the belt is attached to the handles of the stroller- all in case you get into a runaway train situation and need to stop the stroller.  On the way home, my legs were giving out, and I was convinced if I let go of the stroller handles, I would literally flap in the breeze, tethered to Newbie's stroller, banging the concrete like a tin can on the back of a Just Married Volkswagen.  I powered through, but I'm telling you, it was a close one.

When we got back to the house, surprisingly in one piece, we hit the backyard for some down time and five burpees (these horrendous things that require you to lie on the ground then do a push-upish move, then squat, then jump up in the air and then do it all over again and again and again).  I only pounded out five because that's all homegirl had left in her after the near tin-can experience with the jogger.

(The boys fought over twigs while my face melted off.  I was powerless to intervene on account of the post-workout jelly effect- you know, when all extremities turn to jelly and you wonder if you'll ever be able to get yourself up off the ground.) 

And it was all in the name of September and my pull-it-together-Francine.  Because you can only sit inside so long and wish the baby-weight away and the baby back before you realize you're going to have to up and do something about it.  And chocolate doesn't help.  I've already tried that.  ;) 

Another item on my September get-it-together list is meal-planning and dinner serving.  Which means I have to get crackin' because its broccoli cheddar soup tonight, and I'm intensely committed to chopping the broccoli impeccably well because nobody likes a massive chunk of green in their soup.  So its off to the cutting board.

Here's wishing you a happy September Wednesday!