Post 47 | Their Relationship

"Dad was happiest in a crowd, especially a crowd of kids. He had a way with children and knew how to keep them on their toes.  He had a respect for them, too, and didn't mind showing it. He believed that most adults stopped thinking the day they left school-and some even before that. 'A child, on the other hand, stays impressionable and eager to learn. Catch one young enough,' Dad insisted, 'and there's no limit to what you can teach.' Really, it was love of children more than anything else that made him want a pack of his own. Even with a dozen, he wasn’t fully satisfied. Sometimes he'd look us over and say to Mother: 'Never you mind, Lillie. You did the best you could.'" Cheaper By The Dozen 

"My relationship with you is more important than anything I've got to say to you.” 
randy alcorn

Post 46 | Pink Air + Maya

“anything that works against you can also work for you 
once you understand the 'principle of reverse.'” 
maya angelou

In the news of her death, a well-deserved online observance is occurring for Maya Angelou.  Quotes, praise, and gratitude -- I hope her family and closest friends feels the support and honor.  She deserves every letter of it.  But it also makes me smile, a bit.  People who could barely answer basic questions about her life, people who have never read one of her books, people who have no idea what she did with her 86 years, or where she came from are all of a sudden so interested.   Most of us posting about her can recall popular tumblr .jpegs or pinned designs with words of hers, and perhaps didn't even know she said them.  Hailing her as their hero! Inspiration! What an incredible legacy! (which, she IS all those things)  implies that we, collectively, as a generation, know her life.   I immediately felt foolish snagging a line from her, and vaguely inferring that I had been deeply impacted by her.  I don't know Maya Angelou, or much about her.  And maybe I'm one of the few.  Maybe most people know that following her rape she went through five years of silence, until her teacher made the effort to go on a Marguerite Treasure Hunt and open the jewels in side her.  Maybe most people know her real name is Marguerite Ann Johnson, and that she was the first San Francisco African-American cable car conductor.  And that she was a professional dancer, had her one and only child while in highschool, worked in Cairo, Egypt as an editor, that before her the last poet to share at a presidential inauguration was Robert Frost.  Maybe most people know that she composed, sang and recorded her own album which turned into an off-broadway review (she performed there, too).  Did you know that she worked at the University of Ghana, in Ghana, and was a professor at Wakeforest?  That she defied social norms and her mother to marry a greek man as a black woman? Did you know she has two cookbooks? (NewsOne) I didn't. 

In the two or three days I've had the pleasure of reading more about this woman, I've been moved.  She's far more than an aw-moment at midnight, and her thoughtful words come from decades of torment, risk, exploration and pursuing her happiest things.  She, quite simply, can't be labeled by a job description -- she did a little bit of everything, and I would imagine that took some big girl panties.  It took steel skin despite hate and shame.  It took grace, poise and stubbornness.  She writes with experience, and it's just plain lame to pretend like we know what she was talking about, or what she means.  The beauty of life is that even without knowing her well, or understanding the depths of life she endured and rose above, we can commiserate with even a single sentence from her mouth. 

Since mom and Ryan have passed away, a familiar refrain in my head and amongst loved ones is "I can't wait for heaven."  And when I say it, I mean it.  I can't imagine looking forward to the promises of "pain erased, joy full, faces unveiled" any more than I do right now. Yet, interestingly enough, as the days tread by and by I find myself with more hope for being alive on earth than I ever did before.  Not just hope that someday earth will be gone, but hope here, now!  Hope that is dumbfounded at the joy that comes through overcoming a challenge -- there will be no challenges in heaven (praise God!)  I appreciate,  "the period of silence [and pain] that actually allowed [us] to absorb [our] surroundings more intensely" (Maya Angelou) in a way I simply couldn't have before mom died, before I delivered a dead baby in a bathtub.  My nerve endings are raw and to be frank, it feels "good" to learn.  It feels good to progress as a soul and mind, and to know that in two years I'll look back and say "Oh, I was so different then.  I'm so glad I changed."  It's empowering to look at death in the face and make eye-contact.  It's horrible.  But I can only dream of how much more vibrant heaven will be thanks to staring at those wicked black eyes.  Earth is more vibrant! And some nights, perhaps in the middle of May, at an acquaintance's lake house with my boys, I look around I am convinced the world has never been more beautiful.  I silently absorb the weight of a baby signing "more" with his hands -- completely out of context, which makes me wonder if he has any idea what it means.  Is it another "trick"? Like a high-five? "Sure, I'll do this... they seem to get excited and sometimes I get more food? Why not..." --, the weight of white against blue, air (air!) that is slightly pink, barbecue smoke, the clunk of water meeting a dock, my snow-man shaped shadow (I have the healthy body of a part-Italian-woman-mother), curious beetle-tap feet from a small boy and delighted laughs from a young dad.  Can you feel it?  Isn't it heavy on your back, warm over you in bed, whipping around you on a walk?  

The concluding moral of this post: know people and life well.  Don't fear the struggle, feel it instead.  Take five minutes or five years of silence to learn, do soul-push-ups and come back stronger, whole-er, happier.  The very things this life uses against you have the potential to be the strongest goodnesses. And perhaps when you die someone, somewhere will quote you.

"I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you...
The very first tear he made was so deep
that I thought it had gone right into my heart.
And when he began pulling the skin off,
it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
The only thing that made me able to bear it was
just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. 

 And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch
and smaller than I had been.
Then he caught hold of me –
I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath
now that I’d no skin on —
and threw me into the water.
It smarted like anything but only for a moment.
After that it became perfectly delicious.
As soon as I started swimming and splashing
... I’d turned into a human again...”

cs lewis // voyage of the dawn treader -- a book i have read ;)

[ps. If you really did know Maya Angelou and her works well before her passing, high-five.  You're the man.  No judgement ;) ha!]

Post 45 | Tips for Travel with A Child

Rowdy was born 11-months ago and he has traveled well over 11,000 miles by plane, train and car for "trips."  We're no experts -- having one child for less than a year and taking him a few places doesn't qualify for anything.  But.  These things helped us along our way during a dozen flights and 24-hour drives with an active baby, so I wanted to share in case they may help someone else, too!  There are many great posts on traveling -- a many more specific than mine ("Traveling internationally," "Traveling with multiple toddlers," "Flying with kids," etc) -- but I'm tossing my vague two-cents into the piggy bank.

-- Packing + Planning --

[Booking Tickets]

I recommend three hour chunks at a time on an airplane.  If your destination is more than three hours away, I recommend choosing a route that gives you a spacious layover.   Once you get to hour four, five, six on an airplane with an active small person… you're asking for trouble (in my opinion).  If you're driving long distances the same thing applies: three hours max before a little break.  
{Reccomendation: if you're flying stateside, Southwest has proven to be nothing but wonderful.  Especially when bags fly free... babies equals stuff and stuff equals bags!  We also like choosing our own seats and potentially not having a seat-mate.  Most people try not to sit with kids, so most of the time we had three seats to ourselves!  Not to mention their rewards points are the best.  We basically travel exclusively by using points.)

[Stash Diapers]

Instead of packing one or two packages of diapers for the whole trip, I put about 10 in the main bag and then stashed one or two more in ever nook and cranny I could think of: in the pocket of the ergo, in the stroller pouch, in all carry-ons (even Caleb's violin case), the front zippers of the suitcases and inside the suitcases.  It's just nice to have back-ups everywhere.  When we arrived to our destination we made a quick grocery store stop to buy a package to leave at our hotel and stock-up as needed.  There were more than a few times where our emergency-stashes came in big (don't babies do their messiest blow-outs or wettest, fullest waterfalls at the worst logistical times? haha) 

[Air-Tight Plastic Bags]

This past trip we were gone for six weeks, and we took three suitcases.  That's not necessarily "light-packing" but considering I had bridesmaids-duties in cool Vancouver spring (including dress, heels, Caleb's dress shoes, jackets, etc) and then sunny, warm vacation in southern California with beach towels, and I had all of my camera gear since I had work there were a few different climates to take into consideration.  It amounted to each of us having our own suitcase.  And the air-tight plastic bags (you know the ones on infomercials?) were really a life saver.  I bought Sharper Image bags two from TJ Maxx for $9 to test the waters and see if they worked.  To our delight, they really do save quite a bit of room.  

Gear

[Backpack as Diaper Bag/Purse]

When traveling it's so nice to have both hands 100% free.  I love my diaper bag and when I'm putting around town it works great.  But when traveling, we've found, it's super convenient to leave the bag at home and use a back-pack.  Caleb and I each had our own.  So whether trudging through sand with beach gear, wandering and elbowing through Disneyland, riding trains, touring cities, going through airports, and more.  The backpacks were our carry-ons, purses, diaper bags, grocery carts, laptop cases and lifesavers.

(Recommendations:  We have this Hex backpack, which is also a laptop bag and iPad case.  We are sold and will be buying Hex again.  But Herschel, Fjallraven, JanSport, etc are also great bags.  I brought a cheap $5 one at FiveBelow and it's in the trash -- both straps ripped off and the zipper broke.  Not worth it.)

[Ergo]

Honestly, I don't know what I would do without a "baby-wearing device" for airports.  Rowdy likes an Ergo "fine" but for the most part he wants to roam around.  He likes seeing things, putting his hand out to touch plants/animals/legs, and having a little space to "play" so strollers are great for us.  BUT. There are just times when he HAS to be restrained.  We do take our stroller through security, but we basically just us it as a luggage dolly ;)  Rowdy gets in the Ergo the moment we get out of the car at the airport, and stays in during check-in, through all of security, gate-finding, boarding and sometimes flying (especially if he's fallen asleep).  He can throw whatever fit he wants -- he can't get out, and I have my two hands to re-pack the laptop, put on my shoes, dig through a bag to find our boarding passes, etc.  I'm telling you: two hands.  Travel with two hands.  It makes a world of difference. 
{Reccomendations: Caleb prefers the Ergo, I prefer the Snugli (it just fits/hits me better) but anything you can wear on front.  We needed our backs "free" for backpacks -- though, I suppose you could wear that on front! Like the cool boys in highschool!)

[Small, Sturdy "Travel Stroller"]

With luggage, other people's car (or rental cars), airports, crowds, buses/shuttles, small hotel rooms, and the like it made our life far easier to have a small stroller that could fit in an overhead bin on a plane (we never put a stroller there, but I'm meaning size: small enough to fit in that sized space.)  Sometimes there wasn't room in the trunk for a stroller, but with a small one it can fit in the back-seat or across the back floor board.  It's helpful to know you can squeeze into small spaces, have some storage space, and can toss some crap onto it's handle or seat without the stroller falling apart ;)  We have a Cybex (it's our only stroller, and one of the few travel system "umbrella"/lightweight strollers.  I have been very very pleased -- someday when there is more than one child we'll probably get a CitySelect).  If we had a more "all-terrain"/large regular stroller I would probably have bought a smaller second stroller like Maclaren (hands-down the best lightweight strollers.) for these travels.

{Reccomendations: Maclaren, Cybex, UppaBaby -- I would recommend finding one of those, or other, nice brands used at a yard-sale/consignment store/friend/etc than spending the same amount to get a "cheaper" version.  Quality counts.)

Emotions (yours, not the baby's!)

[Go. Slow.]

You know that feeling when you've been shopping for a little while?  The stuffy, tired, swirling-head feeling?  It's kind of laughable how quick that experience is remedied by taking off a layer and getting something cold to drink.  It's easy to overheat and then become ooooverwhelmed on accident.  I think the same goes for traveling with kids.  Stay cool.  Stay calm.  Go slow.  Don't try to set any super-mom records about getting through security the quickest.  For the most part people are helpful or neutral when it comes to children traveling.  Most try to stay out of the way and carry on with their agenda (like when a Student Driver is on the road?)  I think our kids can sense when mom and dad seem especially rushed, snappy, overwhelmed and it can sometimes rub off on them.  (Ps: kids will lose their bleep-bleep minds when you're calm, too.  It happens.  But, handling a Hulk-baby-horror while calm is easier than handling one while overheated with a boiling blood pressure.)  We've tried to give ourselves plenty of time -- I'd rather let Rowdy run around for an hour at Gate 12 than be gritting my teeth in a long line because we're going to miss our flight.  We try to talk with him and to him like "normal," and tell him about what we're doing, give him kisses, let him know we're aware of him even in the chaos of an airport.  It's not a magic trick, but being emotionally stable and going physically slow do help. A lot.  So do cookies.

[Let Travel Days Be Travel Days]

We recommend planning your trip in such a way that your only "agenda" on the schedule for travel days is: traveling.  If I'm flying solo or with Caleb we can fit an entire day into a few hours when we arrive at a new destination!  But with a baby, my vote is to just arrive.  It's more of an expectation thing: if you fly/drive, check into a hotel/someone's home and you find everyone is feeling pretty nice and the baby is handling himself well, sure! Let's go get dessert somewhere!  Or go for a walk on the beach!  Or try this restaurant I'd been eyeing! Or whatever.  It's like a nice little surprise that worked out.  To me that feels better than having a thick plan for the day, and then feeling bummed when the rental car shuttle took 45 minutes, and then the rental car place took an hour, and then it was rush-hour and NOW WE HAVE TO CANCEL OUR PLANS.  It just doesn't start the trip on the loveliest note -- and something always happens. 

[Pictures]

Take the time to take pictures.  (I have never regretted having a pictures of my guys enjoying new places and things, especially with a real camera! It is so worth it).  And yet, don't even think about stressing over pictures -- it's not worth getting into a funk or ruining a memory to have a photo of a "fake memory."  When you can, do.  When it doesn't happen, laugh and let it be a private memory in the soul.  And lastly: do your best to be included in pictures.  Ask your husband to snap a few on his iPhone.  Ask someone to take a quick family picture.  Heck, rock some selfies.  Just document your life with your kids, even if you don't feel, or feel like you look, up to it.  (As someone who lost a mother, a mother who left behind children in elementary school, I can vouch for this: I don't care what the heck she looked like in vacation -- or any! -- pictures.  I care that I can see her there with us.)

I hope somewhere, sometime this helps someone!  And at the very least it'll keep a record for me.  Enjoy your business trips, fun vacations, family visits and adventures!

Post 44 | Grief Is a Swear Word

"but I got a girl in the war, paul, the only thing i know to do 
s turn up the music, and pray that she makes it through"
josh ritter -- girl in the war

Grieving a significant loss is a platypus of a creature: a weird, nasty, vicious little animal who "delivers a venom capable of causing severe pain."  The confusion is exhausting and the indefinite lack of normal is haunting.  Or, wait.  Realizing this is the new normal is haunting.  For example, I am the sort of person who bcomes extremely distant when I feel pressured.  I'm not a people-pleaser, and I am not organized.  I'm not naturally administrative or great at following-up with people.  So when I get e-mails or texts that require me to respond -- especially if the same person texts a few times because I didn't answer -- I feel pressure, and like I'm a failure, and like I want to ignore everything.  Now, I'm literally talking about normal texts from my best friends.  Or incredibly sweet e-mails from dear people who are voicing their support and care.  That's what is confusing about grief.  I don't know why I feel stress, but I do.  It makes me nervous and I'm not (in my old-normal world, at least) like that.  

But on the flip, if I don't hear from people?  If I go a few days without any communication, "I'm thinking about you!," "Praying for you!," "You are loved!" messages, I feel depressingly alone.  People are forgetting already.  It's only been three months.  It hasn't even been three months!  Their lives have moved on.  That is the exhausting part.  Two complete opposite reactions.  It's a lose-lose.  Anxiety or loneliness?  Pick your poison, Kristen.  Life is a constant state of feeling green.  Not eco-friendly but ill.  

It's the small things that snap you in the butt.  Rowdy laughing so hard at his toes.  Wiggling them, 'chasing' them down, grabbing them like he just caught a jack-rabbit: hysterical laughter.  Immediate thought: I have to show mom.  Pulls out phone to take a video. Can't show mom. This sucks. Crying. Don't even take video since I can't show mom.  Continue on.  Regret not getting a video of my son.  Guilty for being a dumb mom.  Frustrated with myself.  Really just want to call mom.

One day as I happily packing up the bikes for a day in the sun my phone rings once, twice, a text "Kristen, I really need to talk to you," a third time.  I answer my weeping brother on the other line.  Through moans he cries, nearly screams, "I can't do this anymore! I hate this!"  "I'm so sorry.  Where are you?"  "At baseball! We're warming up.  I have to play in a game.  I can't do this!"  "I'm so sorry.  I hate this too."  "I can't stand to hit one more ball and not hear her up there." [In the last year when she was too tired or sick to get all the way down the hill to the field mom would park up top and watch.  When he would make a great play or score she'd honk-honk-honk the horn.  It was pretty awesome.]  "It's the worst.  I wish she was there."  "WHY did this have to happen?  WHY is SHE gone?  I'm SO angry.  I just want to… I'm… I'm SO angry.  I miss her, Kristen.  It's only getting worse.  WHY isn't she here?  WHY would God do this?"  "I honestly don't know.  I can't answer 'why' questions."  "Well what can you answer!" Apparently not much.  I understand the belief that God takes the ashes and turns them into gems.  I understand that we all have to die.  No one escapes it.  It's the curse of our land: frightened citizens scramble when the oppressive army rages the streets, guns in hand, out to kill.  They'll find you.  No one gets to hide.  Death knows the trap doors, the secret bookcase rooms, the sewage pipes, the ditches.  A bullet is coming for you and you're going to die and that's that.  I understand that pain is hot on our tails, and will be for the rest of this life.  And I understand that there will be a day when pain loses and happiness wins; when pain gets imprisoned and happiness prances through the streets like a firework-fairy dousing us in wonderful golden joy.  I understand God moves in mysterious ways, that the answers to "why" will come, that there is a bird with feathers named "Hope."  

But why did God take a mother from her seven children?  Because it's good for us?  Or because it will be good for us someday?  Or because He is a plan?  I don't know.  I, again, understand those things are true but I sometimes wish we could be more real about the audacity of pain.  And how much God hates it, too.  Let's be clear: God hates death.  He hates the separation of a child and a parent.  That's why He came to trample it.  That's why He is on the move and soon, very soon, death will be no more.  God will never let anyone die ever again because death is horrible.  It's hell.  It's wicked.  It's not of God.  God is not death, He is life.  

So while my little sister texts me the scores to her soccer games, I hate death all the more.  I hate that mother's fuss to each other and to their internet crowd about the kid's schedules, and being a taxi cab, and being sick-and-tired of never getting a break.  "My god, you're with them, though.  You pull up and they jump in your minivan or SUV or car and you drive with them.  And while you sit in humid Saturday sun, you watch, with your own eyes, as they burn calories on a lime green field.  You get to see it!  You're there!  And when they look up, they see you.  Even if they are snappy on the way home or don't thank-you for all your effort, it matters to their soul.  Your physical presence matters.  And my sister is on that same field, and she looks up to see a hole… a hole connected to her heart.  And in the 19th minute of a middle school soccer match she's grieving death.  No one is there snapping tiny iPhone pictures of her.  She won't run off the field to a cold water bottle from mom.  Tomorrow her mom won't do her laundry and clean her grass stains.  No, she'll play her heart out today, and text her sister after the game, and fall asleep scrolling through all her favorite pictures from her last vacation with her whole family.  You get to be there so, damnit, stop complaining."   It comes out of nowhere, and it's 100% everywhere.  Grief is a secret ninja and also a cloak of skin.  It's always with me and it's jumping out from the shadows yelling "Boo!"

It's there when I want so badly to write but my brain just seems broken.  It's there when I look in the mirror and see my mom's chin.  It's there while a look at the marvelous face of a 20-week-old-baby-boy and cry with my friends who say "hello" and "goodbye" at the same time.   It's there when I call and talk to my dad -- and we laugh and it's casual.  It's there as Rowdy out-grows the last size of clothes she ever bought for him.  It's there when I eat tacos. It's there when I lay in bed for hours, and it's there when I go out and watch kites in the sun.  It's there when I watch Parenthood (Kristine's crazy cancer buddy is dying), it's there when I watch Shark Tank (it was a random show I last watched with her), it's there when I see previews for The Good Wife and I don't even watch that series (it was mom and dad's show to watch together), it's there when I see tabloid covers about Juan Pablo the Bachelor (she was alive when his season started and we've never watched a season without her).  It's there when my husband tells me "your mom would love this cinnamon roll place!" and I don't even want to go inside because I know he's right.  It's there like a heartbeat, like a hunger, like a nerve.   

"You shall not lack a Rescuer when most you need Him.  The Pilot, who has conducted you across the stormy main, will not resign the government just as the vessel enters the deepest haven. The Captain, who has conquered for and conquered in you, will not leave you when on the eve of the final conflict and the certain victory. Oh no! Jesus will be with you to the last."  Octavius Winslow

Please don't be afraid to text me.  Or don't be afraid to be still and say nothing.  It's not you, it's me.  God uses the piles of messages -- even ones I never answer -- and God uses the quiet days.  I just miss my mom and am figuring out how to handle this new friend: ache.  I'm trying to write and smell eucalyptus plants on Los Olivos Street and make eye-contact more often.  I'm not pathetic but I'm also not very muscular.  I think Jesus is baby-wearing me these days.  I do most need Him and I know I'm strapped in.  I know He's there more than grief is, even if it's only a head-knowledge.  I know He's there when the phone rings, when my son laughs, when the platypus bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad.  He's there when I beg Him to help me take some of my mama's sweet nectar love and give it her babies for her.  He's there when I just need to stay up at 1 am and write a slew of crazy things down.  I know He's here because I'm writing.  It feels good.  Maybe mom asked a particular special favor of Him on my behalf.  Maybe she saw Rowdy laughing at his toes.

(Please pray, if you don't mind, that I'll be able to write.  I try hard and want to so badly.  I have so much to say, but it's a fight.  Every day.  It isn't "flowing," if you will.  I want to do this -- I will do this.  And I need help <3  Hashtag: vulnerable)

Part 43 | A Rare Achievement

"when you're up, you'll be up
you'll have love, you'll have luck,
and when it goes,
you won't see it coming."
josh ritter -- wild goose

There are events I witnessed in the final days of mom's life that were so intense, shocking and sacred that I don't know if I'll ever share them publicly -- perhaps not even privately aside from my husband (for we are one).  Among the multiple life-changing lessons learned of this time was this one:  death does not wait until you are ready.  It doesn't ask your permission.  It doesn't make sure you got to do and say everything you wanted to.  It says "Come. Now.  Let's go." with no questions asked, compassion, patience or final wishes.  I feel blessed to have had as much time to prepare for good-bye as we did.  Dozens and dozens of memories made and conversations had that so many others don't get.  We are grateful.  And yet… we thought we had a few weeks, not a few days.  When you're losing someone for the rest of this life the difference between 'weeks' and 'days' is much.  We had a few more plans.  We had a few more ideas.  We had a few more memories we wanted to make.  And were told "No.  It's the end."

It's a sincerely good lesson.  I don't want to learn it twice.  I don't want to presume upon finances "in five years," or "more time together after the next raise," or "once the kids are older."  Once we own a house, after we have X-much saved, when we're done having kids, after we finish this or that, once I'm done nursing, someday.  I don't want to bank my being-alive on presumptions I, quite frankly, don't have.  I'm fully (fully) aware that there is an important role for Responsibility, Money To Pay The Bills, A Nest Egg, Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, and Long Term Goals + Vision.  In fact, I think those things and "living in the moment" go hand in hand.  They aren't as contradictory as we might believe sometimes.

This isn't a call to stop having dreams and plans, it's a call to start acting on them. It's writing for the heart of a woman who wanted to meet more grandbabies, attend more graduations, visit Hawaii at least one more time, heck, make just another meal for her kids.  There are some things we simply can't speed up (an eleven-year-old just can't graduate from college, you can't order a baby to be delivered overnight) but there are decisions we can stop waiting on.  Life we can act on now.  Drastic lifestyle changes we can make that we would not regret on our death beds.  

I want an old, gray, toothless, saggy lifetime with my husband, but if I don't get that -- like my dad -- I want to know we lived as full a life together we possibly could have.  That there was more doing - even against odds, logic and resources - than "someday-ing."  

So.  We've rented a home in Southern California for a month.  All of April will be spent doing something we've dreamed of for a few years now; together -- husband, wife + son.  We're going to walk and ride bicycles to-and-fro.  He's going to play music on the street.  We're going to live off the cash he makes.   We're going to buy local farmer's market produce, cook together, make breakfast together, eat meals together.  And not rush out the door to work.  While Caleb and Roo explore the beach or the park or the backyard, I'm going to write.  I'm attempting to return to Maryland with a full rough-draft manuscript.  I'd like to publish a real, touchable book.  I'll share more about said book in the future, but it's inspired by mom.  We'd like to get tan -- we're so happy and alive in the sun.

There are a few reasons this trip isn't "best" right now:  winter is the slow season for both of our businesses, we're trying to save to finish our Oklahoma home, we've had unexpected expenses recently, we don't like taking Rowdy away from family, and more.  But, then again, there is no better time because it's time that is real and time we do have now, which is the best time of all. 

"Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement.  In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as 'the good life,' a person happy doing his own work is considered an eccentric if not subversive.  Ambition is only understood if it's to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success.  

Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake.  A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential.  As if a job title and salary are the measure of human worth.  You'll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you're doing.  There are a million ways to sell yourself out and I guarantee you'll hear about them.  To invent your own life's meaning is not east, but it's still allowed and I think you'll be happier for your trouble."  Bill Watterson, author and creator of Calvin & Hobbes

To end, I want to dramatically and emotionally thank you.  A large part of the motivation, clarity and eagerness for this trip and the next steps in our life are a result of you.  You who acted on buying plane tickets, with money out of your own wallets,  to stand with us at the memorial.  Well over a dozen of you did so -- that's thousands of spontaneously spent dollars.  You who drove hours from out-of-state; who made the trip when it would have been so easy not to.  You who gave to the Mama Bear Fund -- we'll be able to give the kids a few more memories Mama wanted to give them herself because of your kindness.  You who sent flowers, care packages, snack boxes, handwritten notes, texts, e-mails, full meals and other gifts.  You who specifically took time to encourage me "You should write."  Each of those was a thought in your mind that required action, and you took it.  We must have received thousands of 'tokens' of love in a weeks' time.  You moved us.  You were poured out upon a dry and weary land.  You held us up when our legs were broken.

This trip is in honor of the life, legacy and lesson learned from my mother, but also in honor of the local and worldwide crowd that has carried us.  You have gone out of your way to bring us to the house, cut a hole in the roof, and lower us straight to Jesus.  We were crippled, and of course the pain remains, but you did not leave us alone to die.  Thank you.  I want to write in order to, perhaps, bless one family someday in the way you've blessed mine.  Thank you.  We'll think of you fondly while we listen to the waves.

(Ps. This is for you, mama.)