Friday, December 3, 2010

Talk of the Townes

If you haven't already seen our video, on Youtube (search Small Frye for future reference), then you can see it here. I had so much fun putting it together and hearing everyone's reactions to our big reveal.

As you know now, IT'S A BOY!!! And as you can see in the video, we are thrilled. Beside ourselves. Almost so much that we feel spoiled at this point. Not only did we always picture ourselves as parents to a first-born boy, we are able to use the name that we've dreamed of using for over eight years.

Our first date is where it started. He picked me up in his grandfather's 1986 Chevy Celebrity Eurosport. It felt like we were riding around in a big living room. After purchasing it from his aunt for $1000, he had a CD player installed and I heard a familiar voice on the radio when I got in the car. "Who is this?" I asked. He dismissed me, saying, "Oh, you've never heard of him." I said, "Yes I have- this is Townes Van Zandt." Floored, he replied, "You know who Townes Van Zandt is?" And I said, "I only grew up listening to him." Thus began the realization of our shared taste in obscure music. And thus was the conversation that sparked our favorite boy name: Townes.

We always swore that would be the one. But given our luck so far at conceiving, not to mention that we'd need to be pregnant with a boy, I never thought we'd see the day that we would get to use it. I also had such a positive reaction from people over the years that I thought someone would surely steal it before we got to this point. We are so happy to introduce him to you in a few months. Townes Frye, after the great late singer of "To Live is to Fly." As for a middle name, well, that's still up in the air. :)

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Friday, October 22, 2010

We're Having a Little..................

Watch this Video FIRST- The Explanation:

Watch this Video LAST- The Reveal:

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Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Good things come to those who wait...

I guess I have spoiled the surprise. But before you read this, I urge you to scroll about 5 posts down to "We plan. God Laughs." It truly is the beginning of this crazy journey. I am 11 1/2 weeks pregnant!

I had been journaling these moments from the beginning. Actually, I journaled about what I didn't even know existed. I was totally at peace with God's plan for us. And that's when it happened. To follow up to the previous blog posts (which I am just now posting tonight with this one), we went back for a subsequent ultrasound at almost 9 weeks. Praise God. This baby is healthy, happy and moving around! Already? This ride is going to be crazy. I hope you'll join us on it.

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Wednesday, August 11, 2010

One small Frye, please!

It has been one week since we saw the little heartbeat flicker on the screen. One week since the ultrasound tech turned up the sound and we heard the ever-so-longed-for sound of "duh dunk duh dunk duh dunk," beating in our ears. It has been one week since we figured out this really is it. We are finally, after 3 years, 4 months of trying, going to be parents.
Oh, what a feeling.

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Tuesday, August 3, 2010

For this child I have prayed

I am 6 weeks pregnant. It's so early, I know. My subsequent blood test showed my hcg increasing at 511% every two days (way above average), ruling out an ectopic pregnancy. Praise God. Tomorrow I will get to see the little english pea-sized being that is growing inside of me. Lord willing, we will see (and maybe hear) a heartbeat flickering on the screen. For this child I have prayed. Oh, have I prayed.

Life keeps interrupting my story. I guess that's a bit of an understatement. But what I mean is that I keep trying to hammer out the way things began and I can't seem to finish my thoughts. I'll attempt to now, before tomorrow changes everything. And I mean everything.

Read back to "Twinkles in Our Eyes" if you've forgotten how it reallly all began. In that post, I wrote something a little controversial to read... especially to family and those to whom we're close. In November of 2008 I had just found out I was pregnant, and desperately trying to make God understand that it was my wish to keep my dying grandfather alive. Two days later he miraculously made it through his risky operation, and I miscarried that baby. He stayed in the hospital for over 50 days and finally lost his battle in the middle of January. We buried him on January 20, 2009 and the next day I found out I was pregnant a second time. Unfortunately, that pregnancy turned out to be ectopic, and we lost the baby at 7 weeks. Oddly, you would think there couldn't possibly be another coincidence about life imitating life, and about the true, weird, undeniable circle of life. But this new baby, this little english pea, is due on my grandfather's birthday.

How funny life is. How funny God is, I guess. The week that I found out this time, I was struggling. I was struggling with my purpose. Justin and I- who rarely are at odds- were in a bit of a rut over decisions about career, life, etc. And we were both stressed. It didn't help that I had lost a bit of self worth since not being able to identify with a career path or passion, and I was truly searching- at the expense of my emotions, and sometimes his, I'm afraid. I had broken down with him on several occasions. He was leaving on business for the week, and on Sunday I said, "When you get home at the end of the week, I will have found my purpose." That Thursday, he walked in the door and I sat him down on the couch with the news. My purpose. What an honor. I can't imagine a better way to identify than taking on the greatest job of all: Mom. And best of all, I might finally be able to make him a Dad.

Flash back to three years ago. It was June and Justin was just returning from a flight school and we would finally be able to really start a family. I felt it was the perfect time for us. And in my positivity I just knew with all my heart that a March baby was meant for me. And so I prayed. "Lord, give me this March baby. I'll be big and pregnant in all the cold months and can cover up with layers. I won't have to feel swollen and bloated while it's hot outside. And the baby will be born just in time to take long walks in the spring and take in the fresh air. The child won't be too old for his grade, or too young. Yes, a March baby is meant for me."

For this child I have prayed. Way before I knew it. Due end of March, 2011, three years after I prayed for it. God really does have a sense of humor. How could He not? Did you hear what I was saying to Him?

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Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Yes, we WILL be having Fryes with that... at least one, anyway

Today is Wednesday, July 28, 2010. This is the journal I will publish on my blog about 6 weeks from now. I will be over 11 weeks pregnant when you read this.

On Thursday, July 15th, I had a positive pregnancy test. This isn't new for me. If you know much about us, it's not the getting pregnant we have trouble with. It's the staying pregnant. So naturally, I was cautiously excited. I called the doctor and being the high-risk patient that I am, she had me come in for immediate bloodwork. They say there's no such thing as "a little bit pregnant." O contraire. It was probably the first possible moment I could have known. I was barely on the chart. And my progesterone, of course, was lower than it should have been to sustain a pregnancy. So she put me back on the supplement I had been rebelling against in my "we're giving it up to God revelation." We spent the weekend praying. On Monday, I was tested again. They say your pregnancy hormone should double every 2 days. Mine had increased 500% every 2 days. My progesterone was now above average.

The next week was a blur. I noticed a few of the rumored pregnancy symptoms, and tried to take it easy. Having had an ectopic pregnancy, I was 10-25% more likely to have another. So we waited until this past Monday (one week later) to draw blood again. In the meantime, we prayed.

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God plans. Now I'm the one who's laughing...

This is the first time I have had a home office. I turned the sitting area in our master bedroom into one so that I could do a little work from home for a good friend who runs a website. It has been nice to be at the house each day, playing housewife and lunching with friends. I get bored and so often I have tried to sit down and update my blog, but it never seems to happen.

Even when I had my most heartfelt topic on the tip of my tongue, I couldn't finish. But today I will. Actually, today I will begin.

At the end of May we left Justin's training in South Alabama and arrived back to Lexington with a new lease on life. He was back at work and I was trying to get settled in to this new routine, hoping the right job would come along, but not knocking down doors to find it. I suppose I'll consider doing that here soon. As I had begun to write in the previous (just now being published) post, I was struggling. I had come to a very simple conclusion in May, after our fourth failed attempt at getting pregnant (naturally, except for a progesterone supplement the last half of my cycle) since he arrived home from Iraq. I drove home from my college girlfriend's house in Jackson, Mississippi and cried until I got to Montgomery. I was going to give it up. Not give up. Just give it up. To Him.

I don't know how to explain my revelation any other way than I had come to the conclusion that I was placing too much emphasis on the physical/worldly things that God provides, rather than God himself. For instance, my internet research, ovulation predictor kits, and newfangled ideas for fertility had altogether replaced the sense of peace we are all supposed to have in Him- struggle or not. I truly don't believe God thinks there's a difference between thanking him for what we love and thanking him for the things we hate. I think we feel entitled to so much in this world that we forget what blessings are actually out there. And so I began to thank Him for my struggle. I know that sounds odd, like I was all of a sudden praying to him for infertility. But I gave up my needs and thanked Him for his will. Pure and simple.

While this may sound like reverse psychology on God, I can assure you He's far too all-knowing for that. I just threw my hands upward, and let go.

I know there's supposed to be an end to this story. But I can tell you now- this post is the very beginning. I have a story to tell and I am (almost) ready for you to hear it.

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Monday, June 14, 2010

We Plan. God Laughs.

I know my title for this post might seem a little sacrilegious. But I half believe it. I have struggled with whether or not to put this information out on my blog. Today, I feel called to do so.

Since first opening up about our fertility struggles in this blog post (I choose to use the word fertility, because I like to think it's the fertility we're struggling with, not the infertility), I have received countless emails, comments, phone calls, notes, etc. I have been truly touched by the ability women feel to open up after long moments of silence. I have been inspired by so many of you and I just want you to know how hard I wish that we didn't have this thing in common, but that if we're fated to have it then I sure am glad you are here with me on this ride.

As you may know, our fertility struggle began three years and two months ago. That doesn't necessarily mean we've had every single month to give it a try- he was gone for almost a year so getting pregnant during that time would require some 'splainin- but it doesn't change the fact that we've been at this for a while. We've been at it longer than any of my close friends who are now on to their second babies now. So today I feel called to tell you my revelation.


..... That was me then. I never finished this post. I am "backposting," as today's date is actually July 28th, over a month after I started to tell you what happened. Read on to the next blog for the end of the story. Actually, it's more like the beginning.

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Tuesday, April 27, 2010


Talk about Writer's Block. Or maybe life just got in the way. It is April now and Justin has been home for over seven weeks. So much has happened in our little life together that I hesitate to try to cram it all in to one blog post. Life itself isn't quite back to normal, but our life never really was that predictable.

I will try to sum up the feelings we experienced in the very beginning of this reunion. But it's so hard. Sometimes I have to rely on what others have observed, rather than what I was experiencing. It was similar to my wedding day- the way everyone always warns you that you will be so overwhelmed you will remember nothing at all. I remember my girlfriend Jessica Ditto, who was so loyal and loving to be present for the welcome-home ceremony, saying that when he arrived, I had been too calm and collected for my otherwise neurotic personality. We were having this conversation after the family had gone home and after Justin and I had gotten back into our routine. We were standing in our kitchen when she said it. I explained to her that if I'm given the time to prepare my emotions then I know how to get them in check. Throw a wrench in a plan I had at the last minute and I can hardly function.

But I had the time to prepare for this one. 325 days to be exact. I was standing in the Armory, a cold and sterile building, far from the romantic airport setting in which I had imagined us reuniting for so long. But it was 40 degrees farenheit outside and no one, not even for the sake of romance, wanted to catch pneumonia. I was wearing a black dress that had replaced my original choice of a dress with vintage airplanes on it (Mom decided it wouldn't photograph well). My hair was rolled that morning, with a little bobby pin holding up one side. Red lipstick, red nails; I was going for the pinup look. I even found a pair of vintage-looking stockings with the black line down the back (Calypso, Lexington). If the setting were going to be this ugly, I wanted to do as much with it as I could.

The airplane landed on time and we anxiously awaited their arrival, on foot, through the cold doorway. Their commander entered first, followed by a few other guys and then Justin, who was toward the end. I stood out from the line of awaiting family and waited until I caught his eye. Then I walked calmly into his arms and we kissed, right there in front of everyone, and we cried. Then he said, "Want me to dip you?" And that was it. The crowd applauded. We had an audience. They were probably all thinking, "Rookies."

About six weeks before he got home I made the decision to leave my job as national sales manager for Henry Brown. It had been a long and thoughtfelt process to get to that point, but inevitably I felt an overwhelming need to be available, both emotionally and physically, to Justin when he returned. I had a little over a month to get ready for his arrival. I relished every second of it- the anxiousness, the drive, with the greatest goal in mind- to welcome him home safely and honorably without him having to worry about so much as a car wash.

One week after I had been home from work, Justin called and said we needed to make a decision... fast. The guard unit was offering him another "school." It was his choice whether or not to attend the six-week course, and it would be at Fort Rucker, where we had spent the first year of our marriage. I sat there wondering how he could even consider it, given that he was still weeks away from returning from an 11-month deployment. Then he said, "It starts mid-April. Wanna go with me?"

It just so happens that Fort Rucker is less than two hours from the beach and less than 3 hours from all of our family members. It didn't take me long to say yes. We've been here less than two weeks and I have already visited all our old haunts. I'm taking Pilates at the new gym on post, framing lessons from the Art Center, and going antiquing without buying anything since we are now a one-income family. Justin's class schedule is less than challenging. He gets home between 1 and 3 each day and we play frisbee, grill out and occasionally attend cookouts or "Wing Night." We spent our first weekend at Pop's in Auburn, having drinks on his little patio and attending the 280 Boogy in Waverly, AL. Last weekend we made the trek up to Mom and Dad's farm in Clay County where we were visited by friends, Damian Cuttie and Jessica Pate. Lance Miller put on a fine show at the Ashland Theater, despite the warnings of a Category 5 tornado. Sunday, we put the canoes in Crooked Creek and had a fine time with David Mitchell and his gang of hellraisers. In all honesty, we feel a little spoiled. Yes, spoiled. It just doesn't seem right for anyone to have this much fun.

I would like to think we are living our life like "rookies" now. I would like to think that as we celebrate our five-year anniversary next month, we are still a little "green." I hope that's the case anyway. Recently, Justin asked me, "When are we going to stop acting like newlyweds?" One morning last week, as he waited for his ride outside our little on-post efficiency apartment, he turned to me and said, "I love you so much. I'll always love you. You are my best friend." Then he kissed me and got in the car.

I know people feel sorry for us. I know they think we have to suffer so much angst over separation and distance as a military family. But when I sense a little pity from someone, I respond this way: We get to experience a reunion, a romance, a feeling that so few others get to feel. Those emotions make me more thankful for what we have than any year together could ever accomplish. It doesn't mean I love him more because he's been gone. It just means I love him a little harder when he's here.

P.S. A special thanks to my cousin Eva Vaughan, our photographer at the welcome-home ceremony. Please visit her website at

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Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Open my arms and heart... Check.

A picture worth a thousand words, right? Nothing more to say about that now. Nothing needed.

Paint the front bedrom a neutral color, unlike the rest of the house... Check.
Childhood iron bed needs to be chartreuse to match Anthropologie bedding... Check.
Kitchen desk is too cluttered. Move to front bedroom where there is already a lot going on... Check.

Clean the baseboards. Check.
Mop the floors. Check.
Touch up wall paint. Check.
Wax eyebrows. Check.
Color hair. Check.
Tan. Check.
Sync Patty Griffin (all 7 albums) to Ipod. Check. (and listening now)
Invite the girls over for one last hoo-rah. Check.

Buy more expensive wine than normal, because of the name... Check.

Find and decorate a "Christmas in March" Tree... Check.
Wrap gifts... Check.

That's right. The burlap sacks that originally said "Speedy Cook'n"... now say "Peed Cook'n." Go ahead. Laugh.

Post the project without any shame or humiliation in my 32-hour project of recovering six kitchen chairs (in my mother's words, "It adds character.")... Check.

More to come later about the moment for which I've waited 45 1/2 weeks. Stay tuned...

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Monday, January 11, 2010


If I had it to do all over again, I think I would have quit my job when Justin left and devoted myself completely to a blog about domestic duties while a husband is away at war.

I suppose this could be my theme for entries over the next 7 weeks. I can write about the trials and tribulations of a love-scorned housewife whose husband has gone to war and left her with the never-ending responsibilities of a house in need of maintenance.... Not really. We live in a house that was brand new when we bought it and we live in a neighborhood with a fantastic HOA, so we're not in dire need of really anything (and by the way, Justin would never do that to me). But a girl has to have her projects.

I love Lowe's. I LOVE Lowe's. I mean I really do. I could walk around there for hours thinking of things I could do to improve the function, and even aesthetics, of my house. So last Friday (New Year's Day) that's what I did.

I did go there on a mission. To purchase the touch-up paint colors with which my house is already adorned: All from the Eddie Bauer Craftsman Bungalow collection, because that's the style of the house in which we live. Well, actually, the secret is out that it was built in 2006, so it's not TECHNICALLY from that era, but it's made to look that way. I guess you could call it a "Fungalow" since according to my friend Jessica and me, putting an "F" on the front of anything thereby desribes it as it faux. But I digress.

I also digressed at Lowe's. Finding a perfectly good use for things that I otherwise never knew I needed... And then there was the tile aisle. And there was Michael, the tile guy. I never meant for the conversation, complete with tile-laying instructions, to last that long. I simply asked him, "Hey, about how quickly and easily could you describe the tile installation process for a backsplash? About a foot tall and seven feet wide. Kitchen. Behind a sink. Natural material." And thus, see picture below.

One 15-minute conversation, one buggy-full (in the south we call it a buggy- up here they call it a shopping cart) of supplies, and one mid-afternoon later I had a fully-tiled backsplash (sans grout, of course as it needs to set overnight). My aforementioned friend Jessica, who is a new resident of our fantastic little neighborhood, came by and said, "I go to New Year's lunch at my aunt's house and in that amount of time you tile your backsplash!?!" While this would be a compliment either which way (provided the job was done well), I have to mention this comes from the same friend who actually asked, "Why can't we just spray paint the iron bed in the bedroom?" (instead of garage)

Friday night, I was home alone and actually excited about it. I picked up the house which was a disaster and was going to remain a disaster until I was able to finish grouting the week-old backsplash and flip the breaker back on. Up to that point, dirty dishes had sat unwashed and stacked on my kitchen table. UGH! If you are thinking to yourself that I could have hand washed them, no such luck. My disposal was also turned off so the sink was a little clogged. Anyway, I grouted the tile and felt victorious. Only problem? I had gone back later in the week to replace "Marble Beige Unsanded Grout" with a lighter creamier color of "Sanded Grout." My kitchen was a complete mess and every time I moved the carton of powder grout, it burped a big cloud of dust all over the countertops and sink. Finally, hours later, I had cleaned up the mess and sat down to have a beer. I purchased it at Whole Foods for a friend who came to town and it ended up... She's pregnant! Surprise! So I was left with a really fancy version of a "tall boy" with 7 % alcohol content, in such a pretty bottle I might add.

An hour later, Justin was calling and I was waxing on.. and on... about my night, even throwing in a few dates in the conversation which we, under no circumstances, ever mention over the phone lines. Finally, he asked, "Are you drunk?" I wasn't really, but I had gotten a little tipsy. The next day I wrote an apologetic email for any American security that might have been compromised. He told me later, "I will only worry if you are drinking alone and crying. If you are drinking alone and acting that funny again, I don't care." Apparently he and the guys had a good laugh over my poor judgment.

Saturday I spent the day with Brigitte She's headed to the Vancouver Winter Olympics in February to compete in Bobsledding. Just kidding. She'll be cooking for the athletes. She's a chef who has been on FoodTV and will be competing again in the Food Network Recipe Showdown, airing in March. I love her. Top five favorite people- she's one of them. Anyway, we went to An Antique Affair, the show that opens once a month on Manchester Avenue. I found nothing of any value to me, but stumbled upon a 48-ft. square oak table from 1910, in pristine condition, and boasting SIX leaves! I sent Jessica (yet again, part of this blog) a photo of this kitchen table she so desperately needed and she wrote back "SOLD!" It's riding around in my SUV currently. She gets back tomorrow from Seattle and I'll get her to help me unload it into her kitchen.

Saturday night I spent the evening with two friends who just so happen to be two more of my top five favorite people, a couple named LaVoyed and Cheryl Hudgins (featured in this article of the Wall Street Journal: In case you haven't noticed, I only put my famous friends in my top five. Just kidding. But their "fame" just goes to show you how dynamic they all really are. Anyway, I counted my blessings that day because I got invitations from two people I love and admire. I spent the evening drinking LaVoyed's mudslides with them and eating homemade chili.

Sunday, it was project time again. I had been late to Cheryl and LaVoyed's the night before because I got too caught up in staining my "shoe shelves" a dark ebony, only to realize I was out of mineral spirits to clean the stain off the brush and had no choice but to do all the staining at once. Since the shelves had dried overnight, it was time to hang them. I had naturally, already purchased the necessities for this project earlier that day at Lowe's.

Now what I'm about to tell you might be offensive to some. But I have the right to talk about women, since I am one and I think I know a thing or two about being one. While I was at Lowe's buying the "shoe shelf" equipment (only a woman would go to Lowe's to build something to hold her shoes), I stumbled upon both a man and a woman standing side by side, who worked there. Now, I'm no sexist but I do have a few theories. First of all, I'm not a big fan of women sportscasters. I think it is possible that they know about as much as a man when it comes to the current state of a team's statistics, its batting average, or its past 10 seasons. But what I also know is that she didn't grow up playing tackle football in the front yard with her dad. And second of all, if she did.. that's weird.

Anyway, I have this same theory about home improvement. I mean, when given the choice of asking for help from a man or a woman, I'm sorry ladies, but I'm going to choose the man. So I did. But this certain lady really, really wanted to help me. So I followed her to the screw aisle (please, no comments- there's no other way to say it). I needed two kinds of screws for my L-brackets. One pack held the 1/2-inch long ones to go into the shelf itself. The others would go into the wall. I repeatedly told her that I was screwing them into drywall. So she handed me a pack of TWO-INCH long screws (no anchors) made for wood, stating that my dry wall was probably two inches thick. I don't know any dry wall that is two inches thick, so that should have been clue number one to stick to my theory, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

The next day, after polishing off a morning coffee I was positioned with my newly-stained shelving on the floor of my closet. I was ecstatic about the idea of displaying my new Frye boots and leopard-print platforms where I could actually see what I was choosing to wear (I'm a big believer in seeing what you own, or you will forget to wear it... is this a problem?).

First, I went to drill the unrealistically long screw into the drywall only to find that it was so far in that it wiggled and threatened to come out the other side and land in my bathroom. So I moved on to the shorter nails that I had used to screw into the wood, all the while cussing the lady at the home improvement store for her lack of knowledge. Thirty minutes in, I had all of the shelving on the wall and was just drilling the last shelving into the very bottom of the wall. Beaming with pride from my success, I must have knocked the wall with my drill and out of nowhere the six other shelves came crashing down and landed on my head. I don't really know why, but this too must have been the Lowe's lady's fault as well and so I cussed her into the first of next week.

One Starbucks-bold-with-two-raw-sugars-and-cream and yet another Lowe's run later, I was back in the closet (ah hem), hammering DRY WALL ANCHORS in, followed by a 3/4 inch screw.

Alas, the project was complete and very industrially fashion-forward, I might add. So, the moral of the story is... Think twice about a woman telling you how to stain wood, build and hang shelving and curtain rods, rework an old lamp, or tile a backsplash. As a matter of fact, disregard this entire blog entry and exit this computer screen.

I am quite the hypocrite, aren't I?

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Friday, January 8, 2010

The Dreamer and the Realist

I'm not really as aloof as I sometimes might sound. I do have this uncanny ability to put up my best defense mechanism- getting over it. But while that might be the end, there is usually a long journey of a means to getting there.

I got there quickly last Friday night when Justin told me his news. I feel selfish about the way I wrote the last entry because I didn't really address the most important people in the equation- my husband, and namely his comrades. It wasn't until I got a comment on my blog from one of the guys in the unit who Justin has come to like and admire that I realized my mistake (he calls him "good people"). John wrote that they were disappointed too. And then I thought for a good long while about how two more weeks makes them feel. I realized there are a lot more things that they have to look forward to in a homecoming, than the waiting families and friends can ever really imagine. I mean, after all, we have stood here on American soil, in our day-to-day lives (albeit a bit empty without their presence), but we got to get on with it. Their hopes, dreams and realities were essentially put on hold. And now, two more weeks will go by with them experiencing "Groundhog Day." I bet two weeks is a lot longer to them than it is to you or me. That's why I feel selfish today.

I am also selfishly devoted to finding a way to cope. I say it's selfish because in the last three years (really four, if you count his second stint at flight school) I have had to do a lot of that and I've become a master at this whole self-soothing thing, you know, at making myself feel better. Infertility woes- ups downs and in betweens, the loss of two grandfathers within eight months of one another, time for training spent away from the love of my life, a (now eleven-month) deployment to Iraq. I would say the list goes on and on, but really it stops there. At least at this moment. You see, I am not a pessimist. And while I like to call my husband one on occasion, he always replies, "I'm not a pessimist. I'm a REALIST." But I am neither. I am the eternal optimist. The somewhat UN-realistic optimist. A dreamer. In a favorite song from my childhood, Nanci Griffith sang:

Where are all the dreamers that I used to know
We used to linger beneath street lamps in the halos and the smoke
The wing and the wheel, came to carry them away
Now they all live out in the suburbs
Where their dreams are in their children at play

At seven years old, listening to the Texas folk artist from the backseat of my parents' minivan, I knew not what she sang. I simply didn't have control over the cassette player that was frequently filled with the music choices of my godparents and their heritage- rubbing off on my mother and creating in her a deep, deep love affair with the Lonestar State.

Nowadays, I understand. I get a little caught up in the future, and am not so concerned with the past. In the middle of doing so I often forget about the others who are on this journey with me. Too busy dreaming, I guess. I am selfish in my dreams. But less so in my actions I hope. I would follow Justin wherever he wants to take me. And I will do it without complaining (for the most part). I am caught up in my own love affair. And it makes me do things I otherwise probably didn't dream about.

There is one thing I know from listening to that song: I want tokeep my dreams. As a matter of fact, I want them to come true. And as a sidenote: I don't want to move out to the suburbs and live vicariously through my children's imaginations. I want our future family to be a product of mine and Justin's love affair with one another, first and foremost (those of you who have children will say, "Right. Let's see how that works out for you."). But it's good to have dreams.

So right now I am dreaming. I can't tell you everything I am dreaming about, but I will tell you one of them: I am dreaming of a Monday in March, where Justin flies back into my life (remember, it's the "WING and the wheel" that carry things away). After he gets home, maybe I'll fill you in on some of the dreams we dream together, and those that we dreamt apart. One thing is for sure- I did a lot of it while he was gone. We'll sit around and I'll fill his ear with many of them, and inevitably, he will bring me back down to earth once more.

In the words of Nanci, and as a shout-out to my mother (because she's busy dreaming with me), "Here's to all the dreamers... may our open hearts find rest."

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Friday, January 1, 2010

God and Uncle Sam Have Senses of Humor

Why do I even bother? Number one, I am a child of God- how can you really ever predict, plan or prepare for His intentions? But even if I thought I had some means of control over this crazy life of mine, why don't I consider for a moment that I am also owned by the Army?

I have to smile about it. I can't be too sad or upset, disappointed or let down. After all, it's just two weeks. TWO WEEKS! But I was foaming at the mouth to tear off week 7 on my paper chain this Sunday and round the corner to a mere 6 weeks left in this long-awaited journey of ours. But alas, there is red tape. Forget a Valentine's Day arrival- it was just too good to be true, and far too romantic I guess. End of February, Lord willing. Sam willing too.

I know it's only two weeks and Justin says to be thankful for his tour not having been extended for six months or something crazy, and all-too realistic these days. I am thankful. It's all relative. I was just so wrapped up in what little time was left. I mean, you can read- you saw how I had already planned out the day of the ceremony, the menu for dinner, the week following. But God probably laughed as I wrote it- he IS all-knowing, after all. And I went on and pretended that I knew what He had in store. That's okay. A sense of humor has always been important to me.

I bet He almost busted a gut today watching me at Lowe's, buying paint, rollers, brushes, and spur-of-the-moment supplies to lay tile along my kitchen backsplash (which I DID today, and did WELL, I might add!). All that and 8 weeks left.

Oh well. More time to feather my nest.

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