family tree

I love to start projects, or plan projects. I have Pinterest boards that would make you cry they are so beautiful, and so many saved magazines it makes Karl a little crazy. I can SEE it all in my  head, but somehow I often seem to lose momentum before I get to the finished part. Maybe it's the whole little-guys-not-giving-me-much-time-to-sit thing. But this week I did finish a fun little embroidery project I started a year or so ago. I'm giving myself a little grace with this one since we have been living in four different homes since I started it, and the majority of the time it was in a box in transit somewhere between here and Jordan.

I saw this on Etsy (which is an entirely too dangerous site for me!) designed by Liz of the lovely shop cozyblue and loved it, especially being able to add on new "leaves" as our family hopefully expands over the years. There's something about family trees that I just love, and this one was so unique and creative. It's a fun addition to the artwork in our bedroom.

 

defining normal

A few weeks ago, we took Cashel to the Eastern Market area in DC.  It's such a great place with an indoors, more permanent farmers' market feel to it, and one of our favorite spots is a lunch counter in one corner called, appropriately, "Market Lunch."  You wait in line (usually pretty long) until you get to the counter, give the guy your order and he shouts it to the cooks diner-style.  Then you have to wait until you actually get the food in-hand to claim a seat at the long counter.  We happened to be there at lunchtime, and had been walking around a bit with C in his front carrier.  He loves shopping that way - I think it makes him feel safe and secure, like I'm holding him, but at the same time lets him look out at everything and take it all in.  He did great the whole time standing in line, but when we gave our order and the guy turned and yelled it back loudly, Cashel jumped, looked up at Karl, and burst into tears.  I realized that I don't think he's ever heard yelling like that before - neither Karl nor I are yellers, and he's just not been around that.  It scared him!  In his world, grown-ups might talk, or sing, or make funny animal noises, or laugh - but no one yells.  (At least, no one over the age of one.) 

It hit me that I have the enormous responsibility of defining what "normal" is for Cashel and any other children we may have.  As he grows, it will be the rhythms and routines and traditions and actions and words he encounters regularly in our home that shape his world, and that impact who he is and what kind of man he becomes.  Will "dinner" mean sitting down together as a family, eating something I've cooked and talking about our day?  Or will it more often mean grabbing something quickly, with the TV on?  Will the words he hears around him and to him every day be kind, hopeful and loving, or critical, negative and hurtful?  Will he have more memories of us reading together, or running around outside, or of playing video games?  Some friends of ours recently adopted a little girl from eastern Europe.  She has had no boundaries at all in her young life, and had periods of time where no one really cared about her at all.  Our friends are faced with the challenge now of redefining all those previous memories and habits and behaviors, and giving her a new "normal."  God is good, and is already working great things in her life, but how much better would it have been if she had started with such loving structure from the beginning?      

I'm trying to be very deliberate now about what the "normal" I define for Cashel looks like on a daily basis.  I know he's only seven months old, and he won't remember any of this later, but I watch him taking it all in every day, and I know he's starting to build those ideas and thoughts about this world of ours.  Someday he'll come smack up against the harshness, the dirtiness and sinfulness and meanness that's out there, but for now, I want to make sure that his "normal" is full of lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles and giggles, safety and warmth, prayer time and Bible stories every night, singing silly songs in the car, coming with me to take a meal to friends with a new child or helping him learn how to be gentle and kind to other kids.  I want his "normal" to look nothing like the "normal" that the world accepts.  I want him to live a life that's extraordinary in its compassion, kindness, and integrity - and I want him to see it as being absolutely, unremarkably normal.  

breathe

I've been meaning to start posting again for... oh, about a year now, but it seemed every time I'd think about it the list of things to update and write about had grown longer. But since most readers would probably be the same people who keep updated on Facebook, there's probably not a need to do a huge explanation. Here's the whirlwind rundown of what's happened in my life since Nov 2008 (has it really been THAT long?? Wow - I'm embarrassed.):

*Jan 2009 - Karl and I started the process to become foster parents, looking at eventual adoption as a possible way to expand our family. We joined a new church with a heart for adoption and immediately felt at home, and started making some great friends. Then... I'd been feeling especially tired and a little, well, strange. Just to rule it out, took a pregnancy test - surprise!! We were thrilled beyond words to have those years of prayers answered. We decided adoption would wait, but that it was definitely in our plans for the future.

*Summer 2009 - I LOVED being pregnant. I felt great, better than I had in years. It all felt so right, somehow, like everything physically was exactly as it should be. Sharing my days with this little person, feeling kicks and movement and reading every week about how big the baby was and what was happening developmentally... it was a magical time.

 *Late summer - My mom's cancer gets worse. She doesn't ever give up hope or lose heart, and continues to try all the treatment options out there. I decided to head to Colorado to visit before it's too late in the pregnancy to fly. It's such a sweet time with her, and she loves feeling the baby kicking. Two days after I got home from the visit, I got a call - they're putting my mom on hospice at home, and she's not expected to last too long. My sweet husband suggested that we have the baby in Colorado so that I can be with my mom, so with three weeks to go to our due date I pack up, kiss Karl goodbye and fly across the country. My dear friend Gayleen helped me find and get an appointment with a great midwife, we got everything worked out with insurance and the new hospital, and I was able to spend my time with my mother, praying, singing songs, telling stories, laughing, crying, making her comfortable, telling her we love her.

*2 Sept 2009 - My sweet, wonderful mother is finally freed from the pain of her cancer and got to go home to be with Jesus. She was at home, surrounded by family and those who love her.

*22 Sept 2009 - I go into labor, a week past my due date.

*24 Sept 2009 - After 30 hours of labor, Cashel Joseph is born - he has a head full of dark brown hair and blue eyes, and weighs 8 lbs 14 oz. We fall immediately head over heels in love with him. He gives us a little scare when he isn't breathing well at first, so after a few seconds on my chest they rushed him off to the NICU with Karl close behind. Twelve hours, several chest x-rays, an IV and many prayers later, he's released back to us, a perfectly healthy baby.  (You can see the little splint on his right hand for the IV tubes in the first picture - it makes me so sad!  He was such a trooper about everything.)

The past few months have been a mixture of grief and joy, tears and laughter, happiness and pain. The wonder of a new life, following so soon on the heels of a dear life ending. Cashel keeps me firmly planted in the present, and makes sure that I give thanks for each new day. He is a joy and a gift. I feel like I've been changed in some elemental, indefinable ways this past year, and I'm still learning who this new Kristin is. I'm learning to be a mother without my mom, best friend and confidante, but with this precious, sweet little boy who loves to grab my neck for a hug and giggle when I tickle him or make a funny face. I have so many memories of exactly the kind of mother I want to be.

I'm hoping to post more often, both as a way of keeping family and friends updated on what's going on with Cashel and as a way for me to process things - I always think better on paper. So. Here we are... it's a wild ride.

word art

This is very cool...

compulsive behavior

Several months ago Karl was introduced to Craigslist.org, the gigantic online yard sale searchable by item or category or even words like "conversation piece" or "vintage." He immediately began checking for computer games, and we spent multiple evenings after work finding an address where he would trade $20 for a box or bag full of treasures. He thoroughly enjoys the whole process, from finding a good set of games and negotiating a price to exploring different neighborhoods to actually pulling out the games and playing with them. I teased him a lot about his Craigslist addiction... until, with this whole house thing, I got hooked too.

At least once I day I seem to find myself searching for sofas and armchairs, desks, tables, a guest room bed, dining room set, patio chairs, rugs... it's so fun to plan out the different ways I could arrange the new rooms, to think about our life there and the feeling it will have. I usually keep the tabs open for all the pieces I particularly like, leaving them in a row across the top of the screen so I can take them all in at one glance. I like to see what I could buy for $500, or $1,000 - budgeting whether this chair is worth the price, or if it would be better to get that cheaper one and pay more for a bedroom set. I think what's really so great about the whole thing is the sense of possibility, of creativity and treasures waiting to be found. It has been mostly imaginary so far (there is very little room for additional furniture in this apartment) but there is a new coffee table in our living room, and a rug and bench on the porch, and a plant in the dining room.

Karl watches all this and laughs, teasing me when he sees my neat row of finds sitting there on the laptop; but then we both look at each other and smile, understanding.

a marriage of heart and mind

Falling in love with a house is, I think, a lot like falling in love with a person - there's something there that immediately catches your attention, makes you come in for a closer look. Maybe the appearance, or the character, or just how open and friendly they seem... imperfections or flaws can be endearing, or a welcome challenge. As you get to know them a little better, it's really all the possibilities you see that pull you in. With Karl, it was the way I could imagine him spending time with my family, and interacting with people at a party, and playing with our kids, and working with me on a project... my imagined life with him just fit, and the reality has proved even better.

We're now in the negotiations phase of our house hunting process - a phase made slightly more difficult by the fact that I've fallen in love with this house (more info when - if! - we actually have a contract). Karl loves it too, but in a more rational, thought-out way; mine is an instinct-driven, impression-based, emotional, visceral, powerful love. At this point, not only is it hard for me to imagine us in any other house (certainly not any of the others we've seen), it's also painful for me to imagine anyone else in this one. And that doesn't exactly make for a hard-nosed negotiating position. Karl keeps whispering "poker face, poker face!" to me under his breath whenever we're interacting with our realtor, or having anything to do with the sellers, and I do try... not for nothing was I an actress! We've both been praying over this decision, and the house that we do eventually get, quite a bit - and I really do believe that God has His hand on this process for us. I also know, though, that He needs me to be willing to give up this house if it's not the one for us... and most of the time, I know I can.

My parents used to get very worried whenever I'd get my heart firmly and unshakeably set on something as inevitably there would be disappointment, and tears. One Christmas when I was about three, my answer to the "what do you want for Christmas?" question was invariably "A candy cane!" My parents, knowing already the force of my stubborn will, went out and found the biggest candy cane they could - it was a solid stick probably as big around as my little arm. I was absolutely delighted Christmas morning, until I got the wrapping off and took a lick - somehow I'd had an idea in my head of what a candy cane would taste like, and this was NOT it! I have gotten better with this, and do try to check myself, but my first tendency is always to let my emotions run away with me, to immediately start imagining whatever situation playing out perfectly, perhaps with a delightful surprise or two, and maybe a little underlying music swelling up at key moments, as if I lived in a movie (which happened to be another dream of mine. A musical, of course). Mom and Dad used to dread birthdays and Christmases, since the picture in my head would rarely be matched by the actual day. Karl's learned this lesson too, and his calm, collected rational logic goes a long way in balancing my soaring, hopeful dreams.

For now, I'm just hoping that this is OUR house, and that some of those dreams of mine can become reality there. If not, well... Karl may need to deal with the tears, that's all.

house-hunting

Karl and I are currently in the middle of the whole "house-hunting/becoming-home-owners/achieving-the-American-Dream" process. It's been alternatively exciting and discouraging, stressful and fun, and a new perspective on the many differences between the two of us and how we do things. Karl likes to have all the facts laid out first: price, exact location, miles to work, number of bedrooms/bathrooms, parking, etc. Then and ONLY then does he look at aesthetics, and he never, ever considers how the house "makes him feel." My technique tends to start with the feeling a place gives me, moving immediately on to mentally arranging all my furniture, painting walls and hanging pictures. Then I re-evaluate how my menally decorated house makes me feel, and imagine daily life there. Karl just shakes his head when he sees me doing this, and worries that my mental furniture arranging means I've fallen in love with a particular house and will be heartbroken if we don't end up buying it. In reality, though, it's just my way of measuring the livability of a place, and getting the most fun possible out of this process.

I've always loved open houses, home tours, visiting someone's house for the first time, or just looking in lighted windows at night to catch a glimpse of a room. I have stacks of pictures and ideas clipped from home decorating magazines starting from when I was ten or so, and somewhere a pile of graph paper with painstakingly drawn house plans (usually with at least five bedrooms, a "theater room," a library, and a guest house). Growing up, I'd rearrange the furniture in my room about every six months or so; usually starting, for some unknown reason, late at night. For me, all these possibilities are almost as exciting as the idea of actually finding our first home. I've been spending some time on craigslist seeing how much furniture I could buy for $500 or less, and trying out various arrangments in my head. There's a lot of no-nonsense practicality in it, too - from the lists of "must-haves" and "would likes" I wrote out for our realtor to my need to know that a house is livable.

We've been looking in DC itself (around the Capitol Hill area), and in a few little communities just outside the District. Karl grew up in the middle of the city in Philadelphia, so he's very comfortable with the row homes, tiny (or non-existent) yards, walking and urban feel. I've never really lived in a city, so there's a lot for me to wrap my brain around when we consider those options. Houses outside the city give Karl more to think about, especially the idea of lawn care and what that entails. We're not sure where we'll end up yet, but we're both really excited about all the possibilities... and the idea that we'll be in our own house in another two months or so. Owning a house - it feels like such a big, grown-up step to take! And it's just a short mental step from there for me to imagine babies, and family visiting, and parties with our friends, and a garden, and a dog... I think I see exactly why home-ownership has always been such a big part of the "American Dream."

confusion

A conversation Karl had recently with a co-worker:

K: So, Rob, at what point in a marriage do you completely understand your wife, knowing what she means and why she does things? Year two? It's year two, isn't it?

R: Yeah, Karl. Year two.

K: That's what I thought.

lovebirds

Although Karl and I were married in April of 2006, it was August before we were actually living in the same city (I still had a few months to serve in the Air Force before I could move out to Alabama, where he was living, so we continued our long-distance marathon for a while). So, although we officially celebrated our one year anniversary in April, this month marks one year of actually sharing a house together.

I have to admit, this has been an adjustment for me. I'd lived the last four years completely on my own, the sole decision maker when it came to where things go, what to buy, whether to make the bed or not, and how to order my life. In many ways, I still am - Karl doesn't seem to really notice clutter or mess unless it somehow disrupts his life ("Where are all the coffee mugs? Aren't there any clean coffee mugs?") - but it's gotten much more complicated now that there's this OTHER PERSON in my home messing things up and leaving clothes and papers everywhere. I've had to adjust some standards, and learn to give him space to let things pile - the reason our spare bedroom is commonly known as "Karl's Cave". One of his quirkier tendencies is to leave almost all the kitchen cabinets open after he's been in there. I'm not sure what the reasoning is for this, but I can always tell if he's been in there before me. It bothered me a little until I heard a great word of advice: whenever I see those open cabinets (or the socks on the bedroom floor, or papers laid out over every flat surface) I just use it to remind myself how glad I am to have this man in my world, and to be building a home with him. All those annoying things are really just signs marking his presence in my life, and reminding me to say a little prayer thanking God for my cabinet-opening man.

In the last year we've had six different mailing addresses between the two of us, made it through an extremely tough move without the help of any friendly government-contracted moving men (a first for me), started new jobs, began putting down tiny roots in our new state, helped each other with frustrations and disappointments and successes, and learned a lot about communication and cooperation. Now I can't imagine my life without him, and I'm so excited to see what the next years bring! Happy one year TOGETHER, Karl.