Friday, March 23, 2012

Dreams and Things.


So I am pretty sure I just made up that word.  It's what I'm about to be.  

Wishing.  Hoping.  Praying.  We just bought our dream house.  An acreage in the country.

We have been waiting.  Waiting for the next step.  Waiting for the right thing.  Waiting for dreams to come true.

I'm still pinching myself to make sure I am still alive.  When I wrote this post (Going to Town) back in October, I had no earthly idea that such a thing could really be on the horizon for my family.  

I'm not from the country.  I have never lived in the country.  I have read a lot about living in the country, but have zero experience.  If you are a townie like me, the mere thought is entirely exhilarating and a trifle frightening at the same time.

We don't even own necessary "country" things like a shovel.  Or a ladder.   Or overalls.  Yet

Ten years ago, I was living in a bustling city and I would have told anyone who asked me that it was the life I forever wanted.  My, how things have changed.  My stellar hubby and I have long dreamed of country quiet and the pursuit of a modern-day homestead.  We are not yet old, but most certainly not getting any younger.  So naturally, the time to pursue such things is now.  We'll probably make some mistakes.  But isn't that half the fun?

It's a project house.  There are paint colors to be picked, wood floors to be waxed, and gardens to grow.  And I couldn't be more thrilled.

My sweet husband has ordered our yet-to-be bred dog whom he has already affectionately named, Kujo.  I am notoriously black-thumbed, yet he has mapped out a gargantuan garden plot for our family.  He has so much faith in me.  There is also talk of chickens, goats, and a horse... all in good time, of course. 

This is my last night as a townie.  And I am okay with that.  So the adventure begins...

Stick around.  Check in.  I'll be back in full force soon.  So much good is coming this way.  

Love and coffee.

 "I'm sure now I'll see God's goodness
      in the exuberant earth.
   Stay with God!
      Take heart. Don't quit.
   I'll say it again:
      Stay with God."

Psalm 27.13-14

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Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Soggy & Magical.

It was a perfect mid-morning coffee break.  New organic blend.  Steamy and fresh.  PBS on the tube and my girlies chillin' on the sofa.  

I really needed that five minutes.

Then I left the room for like a minute.  I swear.  I only went to return a stray hairbrush to the bathroom drawer.  I sat down to catch up on email and sipped my lovely coffee when something the consistency of pasty, wet cotton ball was introduced to my mouth.

(Cough.  Gag.  Regurgitate.)

Hmmm.  I studied the debris field splorfed out before me in a methodical, CSI-ish manner.  Of course.  This could be none other than a soggy tortilla chip strategically placed in my coffee. 

Let me reiterate the fact that I was gone for "like a minute."  Mere seconds.  This was definitely the handiwork of my little Lovey.  Yes.  The 2-year-old. 

And I have to say that this scenario is rather indicative of my life at the moment.  It seems that every time I turn around.  Soggy.  In mere seconds.  Mush.  

This is merely a season.  A tough frustrating exciting, faith-building season.  I believe the best things in life happen when you are pushed beyond what you believe to be your own limits.  However, I find it increasingly difficult to wait.  And wait.  And wait some more.  I have never been accused of being patient.  But I'm trying.  Really.  And the not-so-distant future is shaping up to be pretty darn promising.

(Remember the Fridge Flap from February?  Yeah.  Still living out of cooler... for reasons I hope to divulge soon.)

Fast forward to the afternoon.  We stopped to visit my hubby at work.  I left for like a minute.  Mere seconds.  And there it was.  The office floor displaying a crayon mural.  Snap!  Lovey looked up at me and said, "Isn't it magical?" 

And she was mostly right.  

Beautiful messes can be downright magical. 

" Your beauty and love chase after me
      every day of my life.
   I'm back home in the house of God
      for the rest of my life." 

Psalm 23.6 (The Message)

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Tuesday, March 13, 2012


We are three.

Two.  Plus.  One.

Sisters.  Friends.  Treasures.

I count it blessing that God saw fit to grant me two beautiful sisters.  There are but 2 1/2 years that separate us, but I remember the day well.  I spent the day at Grammy & Grandpie's house while we anxiously awaited a phone call from the hospital.  (Remember those days?  Before play-by-play facebook status updates.  Before routine ultrasounds.  Before...)

Grammy graciously let me take the call.  There was elation.  And disappointment.  My mother shared the news as Grammy excitedly asked, "So... what are they???"  With a long face, I answered,  "They're white ones."  I had desperately wanted "chocolate" babies and no matter how many times it was explained to me that this wouldn't be possible for our family... I wished for a miracle.  

In the end, it worked out.  I had two sisters to love and laugh with, tickle and torture, and we would share the wonder of life together.  

And as a consolation prize, I was awarded a "chocolate" baby doll.  The consolation prizes would continue for years.  I looked forward to March 13.  Being the odd one out during the twins' birthday apparently earned me the privilege of presents.  (Boy, did I have them fooled.  I would have been happy with cake...)

Today we may be separated by distance (albeit less distance than other times of our lives), yet we are bound in heart and in spirit.  My greatest wish is for my three little lovelies to embrace the strength, sincerity, and support of sisterhood.

I love you, Sweet Sisters.  
Happy Twentytenth Birthday! 

"Lord, help the mister, who comes between me and my sister..."

Monday, March 5, 2012

Half Right.

Last week, I had myself pretty convinced that my household appliances were plotting against me.

It began when my vacuum sweeper decided to get temperamental with me back in December.  (She's still plugging along, but I am not sure how much more I am willing to put up with.)

Then, as you may recall, it was my refrigerator (Oh, blessed timing.)

Last week, it was my washing machine.  I went to the basement to switch the laundry into the dryer, when I realized everything was still sopping wet.  Drenched.  Deluged.  (Hmmm.  Spin cycle, much?)  The normally plastered-to-the-sides pile of clothes was soaking in a heap at the bottom of the washer.  I set the washer to spin again, thinking it a minor fluke.  Ten seconds in and the hot aroma of something terribly wrong arrested my senses.  Stop the machine.

My eyes shifted to the neatly sorted piles of laundry awaiting my attention.  I blinked back tears.  This couldn't be happening.  I looked back at my machine with severe disdain.  Don't you know we are in the midst of some pretty intense potty training here???  How could you?

Dear hubby arrived home for lunch.  The conversation went much like the refrigerator variety only a couple of weeks prior.  He wanted to try to repair it.  This time I didn't fight.  I just needed it done.  

DH claimed operator error.  (Very funny.)  I had a hunch.  A theory.  What if one of those tiny little girl socks had creeped over the edge of the basin and lodged just so that it jammed the spin cycle?  He balked and still cried operator error.  *sigh*  

Three days later, (and laundry accumulating all the while...) my sweetheart finally made an attempt to fix the washing machine.  Thanks to the manual, YouTube videos, and the company of a friend, he managed to disassemble my nemesis.  

And lo and behold... a tiny sock wedged.  Just so.  

I was half-right.  But to be fair, so was he.  This "operator," in a zealous quest to conquer the laundry overfilled the machine.  Again.  

Guilty.  As.  Charged.

If anyone needs me, I will be up to my eyeballs in a week's worth of laundry.  

But not until after I've had a coffee... or two.

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Blue Jeans & Coffee Beans.
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