Dinner plans

There is this house in my neighborhood that I'm obsessed with. I met the woman who lives in it while we were waiting for our kids at the school one afternoon. She had a B.O.B and I was thinking about getting one, so I asked her if she liked hers. I asked where she lived and she named the street, specifying, "next to the blue house".

The blue house is like the pretty blond cheerleader that everyone loves: cute in an obvious sort of way. But the house next to the blue house is like the girl who doesn't immediately stand out, but once you get to know her a little, you think she's pretty. (I use this analogy for a lot of things: towns, schools, teachers, houses...it's very versatile.) Anyway, personally, I always go for the less obvious- the diamond in the rough- and that's what this house is. It's long and low, with a faded brick exterior. The yard is a plain, flat expanse of grass with little in the way of bushes or flowers. There are no curtains in the windows, no pumpkins on the porch. I imagine the interior being equally plain and unadorned: white carpet, very little furniture, mostly blank walls. It's peaceful and uncluttered in a zen sort of way. I love it.

I spent the day putting the house in order and cleaning the bathroom, which included the sinkful of broken glass I found when I woke up this morning. It took me ten minutes to figure out that a light bulb above the mirror had somehow shattered and landed in the sink. For a moment I imagined Eric deciding to change it in the early morning darkness, but that just didn't seem likely. Later I asked him and he said he'd heard it explode spontaneously in the night.

Brigham went home with a friend after school and Eric and little Eric are heading to the airport soon to meet our dear friend Paul for dinner during his layover in Atlanta. Which leaves me and the girl for dinner and just try to guess where we're going?

The brick house.

They're Indian and they're hosting a dinner for the International Friends club at the school. And I'm half-Egyptian and I'm dying to see inside the house. We're taking pumpkin bread because I never have the time to learn how to make stuffed grape leaves. I'll probably walk, with Marley riding in the B.O.B. of course:).

Cleaning day(s)

I'm cleaning house today and tomorrow and thinking of a book I read a few years ago about a community of Orthodox Jews living in Tennessee. My favorite parts were just before the holidays (and it seemed like there was one around every corner), when the women busied themselves cleaning and cooking. You could feel the anticipation and excitement rising from the pages.

My heart was light as I pushed the vacuum cleaner under the crib to suck up dust bunnies and the odd silly band. I imagined my clean, peaceful house on Friday afternoon, ready for the words of prophets and apostles to echo through its halls. I thought about how messy and cluttered my life and my heart sometimes get, and how nice it is to get to cleaning day and know that everything will be put back in its place, and the floors will smell good and the bathtub will shine.

That's a nice feeling.

Evening on East

Before we left Durham we took a few minutes to right a ten-year-old wrong. Let me just sum it up by telling you that at one point on my wedding day I overheard the well-intentioned, but socially awkward photographer we had hired asking my Dad to "Please step away from the tripod, sir." The pictures were- how do I put this- devoid of any speck of artistry, interest or personality.



One day I was reflecting on this as one of the great regrets of my life (in all seriousness) and Lindsay said, in all seriousness, "Why don't you just redo them?" I had recently unearthed my wedding dress for my friend Cindy Lynn to wear at her wedding and my hair was even close to the same length it was when we got married. Why not indeed?




Melissa agreed to take the pictures, so on a sweltering night a week before we moved we reenacted our wedding day on East Campus under the magnolia trees. Even though it's not where we got married, Duke is the place where our marriage was born. We met there, made our first home there, and it felt right to be there barefoot and weighed down by white satin.

By the time I saw the pictures we were long gone to Atlanta, and the sunlight shining through the giant trees with all the memories they hold made me cry.


Then I remembered that I got to take that handsome guy in the pictures with me and I felt better.

I would follow him anywhere.

Old at last!

(Me on my twentieth, with friends Kelly and Carrie)

Today is my thirtieth birthday. I've watched a lot of friends turn thirty over the past few years, and it never looked like very much fun. Here I am though, welcoming thirty like a new friend I already know I'm going to love. Maybe it's because I so frequently (less frequently now, come to think of it) get told I look like I'm nineteen, which would be a compliment, if it didn't imply that I'd had my first baby at age eleven, but I'm relieved to finally be able to answer: "I'm actually thirty years old thank you very much!"

I've been thinking a lot about the past decade of my life and its twists and turns...I began married life, learned to cook, became a mother, finished college, moved across the country and back again, bought a house, got a dog, raised chickens and made friends I hope I'll have forever. My twenties were full and productive, marked by constant change. Although I know there will be flux in my thirties, I'm looking forward to less of it. I want to find a place where we can put down roots, work more on becoming the mother and wife I want to be, add to our family if we feel right about it, and eventually go back to school to prepare for a career I will love and that has meaning for me. I'm sure there will be plenty of surprises along the way, but I feel like I can face them confidently, knowing I can rely on the Lord for help.

The past decade was focused on building foundations- of our family and of my own testimony of the Savior. As we sang the second verse of By Still My Soul in church today, I decided to make it my "motto" for my thirties:

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake

To guide the future, as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

My experiences during my twenties have helped me develop the kind of faith that allows me to act on what I think is God's will for me. But beyond that is the kind of faith that brings peace and confidence when everything seems to be falling to pieces all around you and you forget for a moment that there is a plan and you're doing your best to follow it so everything will be okay in the end. When I look back on my thirties, I want to be able say I've got a little of that kind of faith too.

San Fran vs. Hotlanta

While the rest of my family is doing this:


...out in San Fransisco while visiting my brother and my only cousin, I just got my long run out of the way and stocked my house with bananas. We're getting ready for a visit from our very favorite people:
(minus Russ...unfortunately, because we would love to see Russ too- especially if he would make us breakfast!) The Alders are making the drive down 85, because a whole month is way too long for us to not see them! We're planning a trip to the Georgia Aquarium, dinner at our new favorite restaraunt: Farm Burger, and for Lindsay and me, a visit to Ikea. I can't tell you how much I need to just sit with my best friend, who knows me inside out, and not have to explain anything- just sit and talk, like old times. And even though I'm missing being with my family in California this weekend while they wander the Sonoma valley, I'll be with family here in Atlanta. And I won't even have to be a designated driver:).

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go clean the one bathroom that all 10 of us will be using for three days, put sheets on the guest bed, and take a nice long shower.

Happy Labor Day weekend!

P.S.- The bananas are for Carson, who is four, and loves bananas. And me- he tells me all the time. Probably because I give him bananas.

Monday, 7:51 A.M.

Waking up to the alarm this morning felt like coming out of a coma. Or what I imagine that feels like anyway. I lured Brigham from sleep with the promise of mustard toast- don't ask- and started sorting go-gurts and pretzels into lunchboxes. Eric was already at his usual perch on the living room sofa, staring out the front window as kids with parents who are morning people walked past on their way to school.

I forget what they fought about over breakfast, but I know they did, just like I know they put their shoes on and brushed their teeth and combed their hair. The hatred and the rage that they regularly feel for one another is a part of life now, so common I only notice it when a plaintive maamaaaa rises above the raucous. Some days I wonder if they'll ever speak to each other again when they leave home. Truly.

Then the moment- me in my pj's in front of the open door, one eye on the dog doing his morning business, one eye on the two of them as they mosey toward the crosswalk. I open my mouth to shout at them to look both ways and that's when I see it: Brigham starts to cross and, almost imperceptibly, Eric lifts his arm, stopping him. The car passes and they're walking with the crowd, leaving me in my pj's in the front yard, holding the dog's leash, wondering just how much I know about those two and their little boy hearts.


This gives me hope.

Live from Atlanta:

One last peck around the yard before moving to their new home at Don and Emily's

Holy Cow. That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Worse than wedding-planning and birthing children. Emotional and physical exhaustion like I have never known. But the worst of it (I think, I hope) is behind us.

I think I can now call myself an expert in stealth packing. Two days before we moved our house was in showing condition. That made for about two hours of sleep the night before we left, but it payed off when we signed a contract for sale literally 10 minutes before we hit the road.

It's all a blur now, but a few things stand out: Kathleen scrubbing cabinets like her life depended on it and ducking into the bathroom to cry. Eric bringing Marley home from Kim's, bathed, fed and wearing Aubrey's PJ's. Eric S. drenched in sweat and swearing up and down that he loves helping people move. Russ's breakfast fit for a king. Ann showing up out of nowhere and cleaning the oven. Becky calling "I love you" over her shoulder. Clint taking our picture on the front porch. Pam folding the load of laundry I didn't have time to dry. Crying into Lindsay's voicemail while driving down 85. My wedding dress on the seat next to me. Watching Mustang lay his head in Marley's lap in the rear-view mirror.

I kept my eye's locked on that yellow moving truck carrying my three boys and everything I own for 7 1/2 hours. We finally arrived to an eager crowd of young men from church ready to move us in. Our new neighbors took the kids to their house for pizza and cartoons. Jeff, Eric's old hall-mate from Duke, brought pastries and stayed until midnight putting together our beds. We slept the sleep of the dead.

The next day the landlady needed to come in the house for something while we were out returning the truck. I thought our house on Shady Lane was small, but this house is smaller. She called later to ask, in all seriousness, if we could really fit everything in, and to assure me that if not, she would not mind us breaking our lease. I tried to convey, in as non-hysterical a voice as I could muster, that I was not budging from this house for at least two years, I don't care if I have to take everything I own, including my Grandmother's fine china, to Goodwill. Just kidding- I don't have my Grandmother's fine china- luckily she's still using it- but you get the picture.

Two weeks later I'm amazed at how our things have taken to this little, old, quirky house. With a lot of purging, a little maneuvering and liberal use of the attic, we fit perfectly. I'm learning how to manage without a garbage disposal and getting used to the 8:00 school start-time. I can get myself to Publix, the train station and Ikea. Oh, Ikea, how I've missed you!

The neighborhood is unreal. The only way I can describe it is to say is that at 5:30, moms start knocking on doors looking for their kids. My little house alternates between sleepy silence and a cacophony of popsicle-wielding children, overexcited golden retriever and no-longer-napping baby. One day last week the four-year-old from next door came over while no one was here and watched Finding Nemo for an hour while I cleaned floors.

Mustang survived his initiation to city life: a close brush with a tractor trailer while running along busy Ponce de Leon. Marley and I stay busy during the day organizing (and un-organizing) the house, while Eric thinks deep mathematical thoughts and goes for barefoot runs on his lunch break at the Fed.

My heart is still aching for everything we left behind, but I think that maybe we can make this work...