No, actually, I'm not that busy.

With few things demanding our presence during the week and not much extra money to spend on things anyway, the pace of life is decidedly slow. Every commitment, at this point, is really a choice. The boys and I can spend an hour getting a $6 car wash, or make a whole morning out of making chalk soup and listening to free audiobooks. A trip to the donut store could equal an entire day's events. I actually do have time to make homemade pizza dough on any given night, or have a long talk on the phone, or just go to bed early. 

As much as it embarrasses me to say it, I'm really not that busy. 

And see, I almost added "most of the time" to the end of that sentence, instinctually. It's just what we say now. Life is busy. Crazy. We are in demand, and our schedules are always full of interesting, meaningful or important tasks. 

Why do I feel like a weirdo by admitting that I'm really not that busy?! 

Am I the only one who finds herself slightly exaggerating her busy-ness in order to fit in?

I'm learning that it's okay to admit we have space in the margins of life. As my wise friend Penny once said, you learn to sit with yourself, which is surprisingly hard to do. 

Here is my resolution to stop hiding behind busy-ness, and to admit that I do have plenty of time for things that are valuable. I'm resolving to honor people by letting them know I don't have to pencil them in, and that I genuinely look forward to spending time together with no rush and no agenda. 

Ode to what once was

Summer here is a tyrant. I've never much cared for it, so it surprises my how much intense nostalgia the heat and sun have created in my heart lately. 

I drive past the house I grew up in, but I can never go inside because another family lives there now. I'm in my hometown but feel like a nomad, because that world doesn't exist any more. 

You see, It's been four years since my parents sold that house, and two years since they have been divorced. 

I've debated writing about it so many times, but never wanted to sound maudlin, or to make my family's pain and guilt worse than it already is. When two people split up after nearly thirty years of a great marriage, only they can say what went wrong. 

All I know is that it has created a very bizarre, suspended reality for me. One where my childhood is completely disassociated with the present time, almost as if it still exists somewhere. It wasn't till after I left for college that things changed, so I barely witnessed anything to contradict what I perceived to be my family life. They've tried to make the best of it, and what else can you do?

Lately, though, I have been having these dreams where I am back in the old house. In my mind's eye I can still walk through each room and see things exactly as they were. The extent to which the details are seared in my memory is quite shocking to me. Do the new kids sit on the stone wall in the backyard and crack pecans with their teeth? Do they stare out the window and watch the lizards bask on the flowers my mom planted? 

If I had all the money in the world, I would buy that house just so I could turn that key one more time. 

Perhaps this is a useless exercise. All I know is that these emotions surrounding my childhood home are some of the most intense I am capable of feeling. These things never leave you. 

Is it vain to make a promise that I will never do this to my children? It is so easy to get disillusioned. We the young, with years and years of life ahead of us, brazenly making vows that are being broken by so many we love and look up to, even as we utter them. People so far ahead of you giving up, just as you're starting the race. Clay feet, everywhere. 

This is about a house, and about more than a house. As I mourn the loss of that world, I know in my heart that this is the way of it, one way or another. How lucky are those few whose ancestral homes remain an open harbor to them all of their life? For the many, what can we do to keep home in our hearts always? 

Five weeks in

The newest nugget has survived five whole weeks of being in the world, and I forget he's STILL supposed to have one more week to cook. Any baby that can withstand Ellis' smothering kisses and his repeated efforts to forcefully "share" crackers has got to be a fighter.

Seeing Cal has made something click that began clicking a long time ago but maybe never fully made it. I'm seeing swirls of the truths of what makes life go and what people really long to get out of it. I'm afraid I'm going to get addicted to new babies because of it! (Just kidding, not really kidding, what?)

I'm trying to approach this new life phase in a cerebral way. If its going to be my job, I want to have a plan of attack. From everything you hear, there are things that seem to need keeping in order to prevent brain atrophy, boredom, loss of personality etc. The things that make us scared. Any suggestions for conquering these beasts are welcome.

One of my strategies, among others, is self-improvement.

Here's a nerdy PSA to any other lovers of the classics who happen to be living on a very tight budget-- I recently discovered the app called Audiobooks, which is basically a free way to listen to tons of old books. It's become a major tool in my self-improvement/SAHM toolbox, and I'm so excited I just have to share!

This week I have been listening to Howard's End by E.M Forster, and it may have finally taken the elusive spot as my favorite book, which is a big deal to me. This is probably the third time I've read (or listened) to it, and it still speaks to me in many ways. I love that. Not to mention there is a movie adaptation with Emma Thompson and directed by James Ivory. Lovers of period pieces rejoice! Nuff said.

With that I'll leave it for today and resume my snuggles. Small victories.

Madison

(Gratuitous snuggle photo, who can resist?)

An announcement

This is a little late, but my head has just now stopped reeling.

Within the last week, Logan took a job, we packed, and we moved our family (yes, and the two week old baby) from Waco to Coppell.

There are so many things in that statement that make me say, what?

But the long and short of it is that Logan got a great job that he loves in Dallas, so we decided to take the plunge and move. We are renting a house, and I am going to stay home with the babies for a while.

If hard is good, I know that this will be a good thing for us. Because if I'm honest, lots of this is going to be hard. Leaving our community, going from working at a job I love to just being a mom to my babies, fully saying goodbye to the life of school, and moving back to my hometown (which, P.S., is somethingI never dreamed of). It's a lot to ponder. Enough for multiple blog posts probably, but that's for another day.

It's hard to end this little message. It actually physically pains me to think that the door is closing on this part of my life, but I'm so grateful that I got to experience this little wonderful pocket of the world for the last seven years. To all the people who have been our community, to UBC, to my admissions family, thanks. I never dreamed when I got to Waco as an 18 year old that I would leave it bringing with me so much more than I came with. (Although, the old Corolla that brought me there is still up and kicking).

Here's to some new adventures.

From the past

Listening to music from the past conjures up the weirdest sensations, doesn't it? Makes my heart race. I think because it transports me so thoroughly that it's startling. Sometimes I can't listen to it. Maybe that's weird? But this morning I've been enjoying it.

 

like this.

It also makes me happy that the subtitles in this video are, for some reason, in Spanish.






How is it that so much time has passed, but it feels exactly the same?

Temporarily alone

So...I didn't want to complain to the internet about being home alone all summer because that seemed unwise and creepy, but now I can safely say that I have survived two months of Logan interning in Dallas. (Leaving me working in Waco with baby in tow).

Buddies

Somehow it went by in a blur of bottle washing, going to bed early, and pizza. So much pizza.

It dawned on me towards the end that I was feeling this nostalgic sort of independence that I haven't felt since college. Ellis was there, of course, but apart from him and Logan via phone, no one had claims on my time or attention. Even our dog was out of town.

It was interesting and strange to (almost) revert back to that independence. Even if my actions didn't differ that much, it felt different. I felt different.

This is no humble-brag; it's a confession. It's often easier to be alone.
I guess what it comes down to is that having people in your life requires something from you. Friends, family, children, anyone. Even if it's worth it, even if it is totally voluntary, even if it is barely perceptible, it takes something to not live solely for yourself.

That being said, it is wonderful not being alone. I'm so glad that Logan is back, and I hope we never have to repeat this summer's set-up again. Houses should be full of noise and movement and love. We need people to validate our existence.

I like to imagine that Logan and I will have a big, rollicking family someday. The truth is that if that's going to happen, I'm going to have to be okay with being pouring a lot of myself into people. Not in a sad, self-denying-martry-type way, but in an abundant, teeming-with-life-that-can't-be-conatined way. Something to grow into.



On Sleep

As I was going through pictures the other day, I noticed that a surprisingly large number of them were of people sleeping. Why am I creepily taking pictures during these rare and quiet moments instead of sleeping myself? I'm not entirely sure. 

Funny that something as intrinsically solitary as sleep is something most creatures don't like to do alone.

I still remember so clearly the way that listening to my parents' measured breathing in the night could banish all fear of dreams when I was a child. Just being physically near them was enough.

It brings to mind the main character in George MacDonald's Lilith, when he hears the voice of his love from across the divide of sleep, of death.

"Are you coming, king?" it said. "I cannot rest until you are with me, gliding down the river to the great sea, and the beautiful dream-land. The sleepiness is full of lovely things: come and see them."

Sleep is still a precious commodity around here, but sometimes it's worth it to stay awake just a little longer than everyone else to witness that moment of unconscious communion.

Living in a College Town when you're not in College

The people of college towns are pretty fascinating to me, especially in mid-sized towns where you can really get to know things. Some people are there for the obvious, utilitarian reasons...some aren't. Physicists and Milton scholars go grocery shopping with random locals and sorority girls. Each person's stay in this place is unique and can be visibly charted, like rings on a tree.

There are the college students and there are the "lifers", and then there are the mid-grade hangers-on like me who just sort of stay around. The ones who got a job, started grad school, or simply didn't have any better plans.

In the back of our minds we know we might leave eventually, but that decision still lies pretty far off, and it makes life comfortable here in our college town. Ghosts of old friends mix with new circles of  more serious friends with mortgages. We start getting passionate about the quirks of our town and make blogs like The Waco Suck (at first it sucks, and then it sucks you in --which, by the way, is hilarious to me.) We are taken aback and are sort of offended if newcomers don't like it here.

The problem with being a mid-grade hanger-on is that it sort of spoils you for any other way of living. Logan and I might move on in a few years, but in the meantime I have grown attached. Just any town won't do. I've gotten picky.

Getting around Dallas is extremely irritating now, since even an ounce of traffic seems like an outrage. Cities with no houses over 50 years old seem to have zero personality. I can actually feel my soul being crushed by the prospect of commuting. Waco isn't a metropolitan tourist destination, but at least when you're here, you can't mistake it for anywhere else.

You could say it's just about the people, or the fact that going on six years in a place gives you time to find out all the secret nooks and crannies that make it endearing, or that it's because Logan and I began our life here, and it's hard to imagine it against any other backdrop. But I think a big part of why I like it here is simply because it is a "college town." The life of the mind is important here, at least to some people. It is special to be among people who feel intimately connected to the place where they live.

While your college town will always be the same in your memory, the truth is that it changes without you. You change without it. Lately, Logan and I have had to start entertaining plans for the future, and the fact that they might not include this place makes me sad. If/when we ever have to leave Waco, you can bet I'll be looking for another college town to call home.

What the Mormons are getting right

Mom and Dad, if you're reading this, I am not converting. Mormons just have been on my mind a lot lately, particularly the way they do family.

I say "do" not to be trendy, but because it literally seems like being a part of a family is something active for them. Something you put a lot of effort into. Of course they aren't the only ones who value family, but when I look around at the way people are actually living,  the Mormons are putting the rest of the world to shame.

Even in the shadow of Baylor where the marriageable age is pretty low compared to the national average, family in the sense of having your own family still doesn't get a lot of air-time, Maybe it's because it seems like a lot of responsibility. Or financially impractical. Or (more likely) something reserved for older people.

I wish there was a cooler word for "parent." One that made it seem hip and exciting. To be honest, I don't identify with that word yet. It brings up images of bad magazines you'd only read in a doctor's office and petrified french fries under the seat of your minivan.

Even amongst friends, I feel sort of hesitant to admit that yes, we actually wanted to have a baby. On one income. While Logan is in law school. I'm afraid it makes us weird. I still get the impression that the day-care woman thinks I don't know what I'm doing, and the only friends I can turn to for baby advice are in their thirties. 

Logan looking like a highschooler with his backpack at the hospital. 

We're all on a different timeline, and I totally get that. I love my single friends and friends without kids. Ellis is getting quite good at napping through happy hour. Still, I'm sure that everyone can see straight through my innocent "You look great holding a baby!" - the classically shameless ploy that really means I feel kind of lonely in my motherhood. 

This isn't a soapbox; more like another subconscious effort to try and convince people my age that being a parent is fun. And a way of formulating the idea that I want to take being part of a family seriously, both my new one and my old one. 

So in conclusion, I'm not sure what my conclusion is. Other than that I appreicate the Mormons for unabashedly diving into these waters with me!

Why the Halcyon (Can this be my grown-up Xanga?)

OK-- I freely admit that I liked the days of Xanga, and I wish it was still cool. It is so fascinating to peek inside your friends' heads to see what is rattling around in there. I feel honored when people have the guts to put something real out there and trust me enough to let me read it. Lately, though, I haven't been brave enough to do any of that myself.

Writing is freaking hard, but words have to be seen, or at least have the chance of being seen, to be alive. I think the threat of someone else's eyes has a magic effect on the words we end up choosing. They suddenly mean more. They're our fingerprints.

So, in short, I'm starting this thing. It's more for my own use than anything else, so please don't think I'm vain. It's been years (lord!) since I've actually been required to write anything, so I'm way out of practice. But I'm tired of pretending I don't care about words. I want to know more about this life I'm living, and this seems like a decent way to go about discovering it. That sounds like a selfish reason to start a blog, but I'm going to give it a go anyways.

I love the ancient halcyon legend-- a bird rumored to build its nest on the open sea, with the power to calm wind and waves. Time holds its breath while the halcyon guards its home. Happy times, bright and golden, defiant of threatening storms. 

Not from successful love alone,
Nor wealth, nor honor'd middle age, nor victories of politics or war;
But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passions calm,
As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the evening sky,
As softness, fulness, rest, suffuse the frame, like freshier, balmier air,
As the days take on a mellower light, and the apple at last hangs
really finish'd and indolent-ripe on the tree,
Then for the teeming quietest, happiest days of all!
The brooding and blissful halcyon days!

-Walt Whitman