A few pictures from the big day...

This is the only one I have of them together, and I'm thinking of calling it: Duke won! Where's the bathroom?!

This next one provides the explanation for why I spent almost thirty dollars tonight...

There was the haircut (his first in over a year) and the short-term bribe of a pack of gum and a bag of skittles (and then of course, a pack of gum and bag of skittles for his brother), plus the promise of three bakugans upon my return from Target tomorrow afternoon.

Worth every penny- because temporary tattoos, a basketball jersey and a sideways hat when you're eight years old? Mmmm....okay. But all that plus long, sweaty, shaggy hair? Too much. Just, too much.

Many thanks to Ashley- our friend from church who was the only person Eric would agree to let perform the momentous task. She's got tattoos- I think that's what did it for her. So now Eric has his own personal-stylist-named-Ashley, a la Cjane.

He's fast asleep in bed, dreaming of his big field-trip to the zoo tomorrow, but I'll post an "after" picture sometime soon. They're leaving at 7:15 sharp. He asked me three times today to remember to wake him up early so he won't be late. They're going to ride on a coach bus. He asked me twice how big a coach bus is. I really hope it lives up to his expectations. And I hope that alarm goes off.

Goodbye day

Today was a Goodbye day. I remembered it as soon as the alarm went off at 7:30. Even though my grandmother was only here for two days, I knew the house would feel empty when I got home from passing her off to my cousins for the second part of her trip this afternoon, especially with Eric out of town. I shuffled around in a sleepy daze, putting yogurts into lunch boxes, issuing orders to put on socks and glasses. Goodbye followed me around like a shadow.

Grandmom came in my room while I made the bed and tried to decide what to do for the morning. She said she didn't care- we could go the quilting morning at the church, to the library, take the tour of historic Stagville, whatever I wanted. I said I would call Lindsay to see what she was doing and she said, "Lindsay is just the dearest person in the world." My throat closed up and I thought, yes- that's exactly what she is.

In the end we stayed home and Grandmom drew me a family tree and told me stories of my ancestors while Marley emptied my bathroom drawers. Then we took Marley to Lindsay's and went to the museum for lunch. I saw an old professor and stopped to talk. He said he remembered me, which I doubt. While we waited for our food we called Eric in Atlanta but he didn't answer. Then we called my brother in California and left him a message telling him he ought to be awake by now. I thought I saw Goodbye out of the corner of my eye, but I looked away and took another bite of my sandwich.

After lunch we wandered through an exhibit of contemporary Chinese art. Grandmom obsessed about a giant painting of men in what looked like baggy speedos and I contemplated how fuzzy the Art History corner of my brain has gotten. I checked my phone and found it was time to get Marley and pick the boys up from school.

We drove to Chapel Hill and met my cousin at Trader Joe's. I wandered around and let the boys put cartons of chocolate soy milk and Gorilla crunch in the cart. I bought two hiacynths. We hugged goodbye at the car and I drove home thinking about the purple hyacinths my mom planted when we lived in our old house in Durham. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Goodbye in the way back. Eric called back to say his job interview went well. It seemed like a formality. They might make him an offer next week. I took a breath and tried to be excited for him, because he sounded excited- and happy. But it was hard, and I was glad when I had to tell Brigham to stop trying to kill his brother with his homework folder.

At home we ate frozen pizza from Trader Joe's. I fed Marley her bottle and did Mad Libs with the boys. When asked for a body part, I said "nipple" and they laughed so hard I thought they would pass out. I almost forgot about Goodbye, until I was standing at the sink scrubbing a cookie sheet. I thought of climbing the magnolia tree in my front yard when I was eight. Carrying boxes into my dorm on East campus. Kissing Eric on the quad with books spread out around us in the grass. Bringing my first baby home to our apartment on Central campus. Birthday parties for Brigham at the gazebo. Driving out I-40 to the beach. Friends that will be a part of me forever.

How do I say goodbye to all of that?

What dreams are made of

Picture it:

You're eight years old. You love Duke basketball more than anything. And you happen to have the coolest Dad in the world. He wakes you up early, tells you to eat breakfast, grab your toothbrush and get in the car. When you're on the road he asks you if you could go anywhere, do anything tonight, what would it be? The game, you answer. He tells you that the game is in Indiana, ten hours away. You accept this. Of course that's too far to drive, too much time for your Dad to take off school. And you would need to take food with you, he says. And a toothbrush. You think for a moment and then your eyes widen and you smile incredulously. You drive all day and make it to Indianapolis with an hour to spare. They win by two points.

Does it get any better?

Incognito

For a youth activity on Wednesday night we dressed in disguise and headed to the local mall, where kids from church had to spot people they knew amongst the evening shoppers. They had to get our signatures for points, and the group with the highest point total won a prize.

Briggie and I had fun wandering around while people whispered and stared. At one point two guys came out of a store and silently pushed a pen and paper at me. They definitely did not go to our church, but I think they thought I was famous since groups of teenagers kept asking for my autograph. I gave it to them, of course:).

Later on a lady took a picture of Brigham with her cell phone, which tickled him to no end. As we were leaving, Eric pointed to a woman sitting in the food court and asked if she went to church with us. I told him no- I didn't recognize her at all. Apparently one of the groups of kids thought they did and asked her to sign their paper, which she very nicely did!

Here we are in our get-ups:

Gamecocks Girl...

Marimekko Man...

Smooth criminal...

Disco Mama....

Little E had scouts so he missed out on the fun. We got a mouthful on that all the way to the church, but he had fun playing ultimate frisbee and gorging on cookies all night, so I think he got over it.

Our Young Women's president told me later that when the girls saw me they said, "Wow! Brother Aldrich must be lovin' life!", which, I'll be honest, made my week. Maybe my month.

Wardrobe check: Eric's shirt was made by my Aunt (from a curtain- is that true AR?) and used to belong to my grandfather, who wore it proudly- he was cool that way. The pink pants. Yes, well....okay I'll tell you, but you have to promise to believe me. I bought them on the Ave. in Seattle on a date with my husband. I needed something fun to wear to a Relief Society activity where we were all supposed to dress crazy. I got wind of some women who were planning to wear their wedding dresses, so I knew I had to go all out. It's how things are done in Seattle. I found a pair of pink leather pants at a second-hand store and have now worn them exactly two times in my life.

Now I'm craving icecream from The Mix.

Blackberry jam

A few weeks ago I was at the doctor with Brigham. While we waited in the exam room I had a chance to peruse the walls, which were hung from floor to ceiling with degrees and awards earned by the doctor we were about to meet. Harvard. Duke. More Harvard. Associations. Leagues. Boards. Honored service. One was in Latin- I couldn't read it even though I took two years of Latin in High School. I felt small.

In my mind I saw the walls rise up on either side of me. I stood in the middle, shrinking, until I was only two inches tall. Un-showered, baby on my hip, defensively wearing one of Eric's Duke Econ shirts in an attempt to get a little respect. Having three kids, looking younger than you are and flashing a medicaid card doesn't always make for the most pleasant treatment at doctors offices.

Then the doctor came in. She was lovely and nice. She answered my questions and calmed my worries about Brigham's eyes and those stupid patches that I was beginning to think would always be a part of his life. I felt a little better when I left, but I kept thinking about the feelings I had in that room. Feelings of inadequacy. Of worry that maybe I'm not doing enough with the life I've been given to live. That's one of my demons. It haunts me all the time, even though I do have a testimony of the sacred importance of motherhood and family.

Then the other morning I was eating breakfast at the kitchen table. I looked over at Marley in her highchair. She had blackberry jam all over her face and she looked so beautiful that my eyes teared up. A word floated into my head:

Offering.

I've never seen my children as offerings- only as gifts, burdens, little tornadoes that tear up my house and teach me about life, forcing me to dive deep into myself and see what I'm really made of. But in that moment I saw an offering, and I knew in a quiet, calm way that my offering is acceptable to God.

I have no doubt the demons will return- we all have them and it's never that easy to get them to go away. Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this post- to have a tangible reminder of the whisperings of the spirit in a quiet moment at the kitchen table.

P.S.- Cjane says today:

I will never feel sorry for a woman who seeks the best of what this life is offering, even if what she finds doesn't look like what I have found.

Amen.

A letter to the Jet City

Dear Seattle,

I'm missing you somethin' fierce today. The pear trees are blooming here- nothing, I know, compared to your spring splendor. Have the cherry trees exploded on the UW campus? Is everyone trekking up north to see the tulips? Are the sailboats out on Lake Washington?

I'm sorry I've stayed away. I just don't want to come back unless it's for good- I'm weird that way. Remember how fiercely determined I was to hate your guts? How I used to call Eric at school in the middle of the day for no reason other than to say "I'm not living here. I hate this rain. We're moving as soon as you graduate." But you won my heart. With your ferry boats and your sea planes and your Cascade mountains. Your Burke-Gillman trail and your John Kerry yard-signs and your Kidd Valley burgers. Your naked cyclists and your Fremont troll and your non-depressing zoo. Your wild blackberries and your Starbucks' on every corner and your beautiful, amazing summers.

How is my old apartment that used to take me an afternoon (ONE afternoon!) to clean? Does Bill the maintenance guy still turn the sprinklers on at 7 A.M. everyday? I'm doing fine here in North Carolina. When I go to the beach I can sunbathe and swim. It's only March and I have my windows open. And I do prefer loblolly pines to your towering trees. But part of my heart will always be with you. And who knows, maybe someday the rest of me too? Save me some blackberries...

Love always,
Katie

You

Are a mystery to me.

The way you can push your body past the point at which most people would give up. How your brain knows it's way around complex mathematical equations that look like another language to me. The patience you have to film our daughter for 7 straight minutes while she trots around the church during Sunday school. The love you have for building things with your own two hands. The pure joy you feel at being able to see for miles atop a high vantage point. Your dreams of traveling the world to see the people and places you pore over in your National Geographic.

Wherever you came from, I'm glad you're here and that you're mine. Happy birthday sweetheart.