Different

You know, for a married couple Brian and I actually don’t share that much in common. That sure makes for interesting observations from people.

I’m short, he’s tall.

He’s skinny, I’m…. well, not.

I’m dramatic, he’s practical.

I’m loud, he’s reserved.

I like to buy pretty things, he likes to save each extra penny.

I’m quick to anger, and he’s rational down to his very core.

I’m a dreamer, he’s a realist.

He doesn’t bat an eye when I talk about moving to a farm in the country, or get a hare-brained idea to paint the bathroom at 11 p.m.

But for two people so drastically different, we share one thing and that’s our love.

Sure, our marriage has taken a beating. When times are tough and it feels like the whole world is against us, we know that no matter what we’ll be okay as long as we have each other.

We’ve stood through job loss, death, sickness, financial hardship, and so much that was designed to destroy us, but we’re closer and stronger than ever before.

Being married to someone who battles depression can’t be easy. There are man times that I felt like I was floating out in deeper darker waters by myself only to be rescued by Brian. He’s my rock. He’s pulled me up when it felt like I was being swallowed by the deep darkness.

As the year closes, I’m thankful for my marriage. I’m thankful that I get to spend every single day with my very best friend. I’m thankful that my marriage gives me something to fight for and a reason to push back the suffocating darkness of depression. I’m thankful that we are so different.

I am thankful for this life.

Meeting Young House Love

The alternate title of this post could also be "Only Crazy People Take Children to a Book Signing," but I don't want to exaggerate the story. We had a great time meeting our favorite bloggers and fellow DIY enthusiasts, John and Sherry, at the Dallas West Elm for their book signing event.

We woke up early for a Saturday and hurried to get ourselves over to the store. My plan had been to leave by 8:30 to make the "30 minute" drive, because it always takes about 30 minutes to get to Dallas. Every time we go to Dallas it takes 30 MINUTES. Well, of course, that did not happen. We sat for 2.5 hours in traffic on a shut-down highway 635. Two kids don't do well sitting in a stopped car. There was lots of crying and screaming and that's just what was coming from the driver's seat. :)

Finally we made to West Elm to find a line wrapped around the building and lining the service road. The weather was nice though, and we took our spot at around 11:00 which was right when the signing was supposed to begin. Since we were standing right next to the road it was LOTS of fun wrangling kids away from the street. I pulled out every distraction possible. We sang, we danced... we cried a little bit more. Ha ha.

 In-line after about 45 minutes. Cookies being delivered! 

We had a good time though. The kids kept other people in line entertained. We talked to the people around us and met some people who just live down the street from us. Nice to get to know our neighbors! We exchanged information and agreed that we'd have to house crash each other for inspiration. 

Leah playing her role of "drunk baby."

  Don't they look sweet here? Another distraction. 

  Excuse the blurry photo. You can see someone's tiny hand grabbing for the adorable and absolutely delicious cookies that they handed out to everyone. 

Playing with new friends through the West Elm windows and only mildly annoying others. Win!

Finally, around 1:30 we got to the front of the line and it was our turn. I had this insane adorable idea to dress the kids in their Lowes and Home Depot kids aprons since we do everything as a family, including DIY and decorating projects. Our kids are always with us. I hope that they have many fond memories of growing up, including all of the awesome crazy adventures we have together like meeting John and Sherry, and painting furniture, or building shelves. We pride ourselves on raising future DIY junkies. 

John and Sherry were so sweet and nice, even to the cranky children and crazy parents who brought them. I brought along a little sign that I made to show our love and representation of Richmond since we share our hometown in common. I made a 3"x5" copy of it for them to sign so we could hang it on our gallery wall. It makes me smile every time to walk by it. 

It was a long but SUPER fun morning. Needless to say, the car ride home was a lot more enjoyable. 

Worth it.

TIMBER

 They greet me at the door every single day with bright smiles and sticky fingers. One right after the other, tiny arms grab my legs and I sweep each of them up in my arms to kiss them gently on the cheek. Leah squeezes her legs tighter around my waist as Nolan slides down my side.

I blow a kiss to Brian who’s standing in the kitchen working on dinner and then race off to the bedroom with the children right behind me. They explode with giggles as we crash on top of my unmade bed. Nolan pulls himself on top of the yellow comforter and I grab Leah who’s anxious to join us.

I tickle each bare belly and they laugh and laugh and laugh. I watch the crinkle of their noses and the beautiful way the lamp light shines through their blonde hair. We take turns crashing into the covers and yelling “TIMBER!!!!” It’s so silly, yet so fun, well, for the four and under crowd.

I laid down for a second and sank deeper into the mattress with every bounce when a little hand grabbed me shirt and yanks it higher. Not long after I was met with a cold wet raspberry on my exposed stomach. I couldn’t help but laugh. A finger traced the now faint silver lines on my abdomen, forever imperfect marks left from pregnancy. Then again, a second wet raspberry higher other side from the other child. In an overdramatic show I wiggled around in the messy sheets and hugged my children tightly. And again the room filled with laughter.

My body isn’t perfect, but it made these two amazing people.

I am not perfect. I am not home enough, I lose my temper, I don’t cook or clean enough, and I can’t always be there to protect them. I am not always the mom I want to be. But to them, I am perfect. 

 

Homemade Holiday Week 1: Magic Custard Pie

Not too long ago I was flipping through my copy of Real Simple magazine when I came across an article about holiday pies. I studied the pages and read over each recipe. There is something wonderful about holiday desserts, especially pie. Pie just isn’t something that you make just because. No sir, leave that to cookies and cakes. Pie is special.

I’m not a great baker, though. I can make a decent “homemade” apple pie, complete with store-bought crust. I’ve made a total of maybe three pies, in my whole life. But as our family gets bigger and older, I wanted to start certain traditions to enjoy each year. Both Brian and I had lots of traditions growing up and we both treasure those memories. And I do love to eat, so the idea to make one pie a week during the holiday season (November – December) was born! That’s EIGHT different pies.

I dog-eared the article and tucked away my Real Simple magazine and went off to find a nice pie recipe to start with. I figured I should start with something easy that I couldn’t foul up too terribly. I have a Pinterest board that’s dedicated to food, like, legit food I want to get in my belly, so I started there. I found this easy recipe for Custard Pie, and it looked easy enough and definitely delicious. I love custard-based desserts, they are not too sweet, but just perfect.

Sunday was a busy day, but I gathered up my supplies and mixed them according to the directions (*my “blender” was really a magic bullet, which worked fine!). It smelled yummy, and I only briefly panicked that it would end up a runny mess before I popped it in the oven.

About 70 minutes later I pulled her out steaming with the most glorious sweet milky scent waiffing off to golden crust. I set her on the kitchen counter to cool and then moved her to the fridge for about an hour longer.

After a quick dinner I couldn’t wait to dig in. My knife sliced through the light filling and cut right through to the glass dish. I wedged a piece out of the pie plate and served myself with a cup of hot chai tea.

The first bite absolutely melted in my mouth. The top was slightly firm, and the crust was just right. It reminded me of a Sunday afternoon. Like a dessert you’d have after a big southern comfort feast with family. In fact, if I could rename this recipe, it would be called Sunday Afternoon Custard Pie, or maybe Absofreakinglutelyamazing Custard Pie. It’s a toss up.

I called Brian over for him to try my first creation and he gobbled up a giant slice of his own. I’d definitely call it a win! I read that you can add a few more ingredients and the recipe makes a great bread pudding, my favorite dessert! I’ll try that soon too.

A day later, I find myself craving that pie as I sit at my work desk. I’m pretty proud of myself for trying something new and it boosted my confidence to attempt a more complex recipe next week. I’ve narrowed it down to a few choices. I only wish that we had more people to share the pie with. I guess now is a great time to start getting to know the neighbors.

Ending

I dropped the kids off for their last day of preschool at Twin Oaks. The excitement in their voices as we walked inside was the same as it always was. We said hello to their teachers and I signed my initials next to each of their names on the roster. I didn’t look them in the eye for fear that the tears would come. I dropped their bags in their classrooms and glanced around at the tiny gray tables, multi-colored miniature chairs, and the folders with their names each carefully marked. We have really great memories here.

It’s hard being a working mom. It’s hard to leave every day for an office when someone else is caring for your children. You learn to trust them though, like family, with your most precious possessions. My kids thrived at their preschool. Leah learned to talk in sentences, Nolan writes his name and quotes bible verses. They LOVE their school. They love their teachers.

My heart breaks for my kids, but it also hurts for the staff at the school. It’s not their fault that the school is closing, and they have so much love for the children that I can’t imagine this being any easier on them. Pictures come in daily recounting the adventures of the kid’s day with the staff. The kids will miss them. I will miss them, too.

Through so much uncertainty, I’ve been confident that our family would weather the storm and come out in the end just fine. Most recently we rejoiced in Brian’s new job, and celebrated what we thought was a change in the tide that would be, for lack of a better word, easier. But this chapter of change and uneasiness wasn’t quite over and I would be lying if I said that my mind is totally at ease that we can shelve that chapter for good. I don’t know. I know our dear friends at preschool will be missed. We wish them well, and will always look back fondly on the memories we made here.

 Our past brought us to here, so we must be thankful for the hardship, the pain, the struggles we had. But I know that we’ll be just fine.

We’re all going to be just fine.