It is the last day of July.
The LAST day of JULY!!!
That means tomorrow is the first day of August. I know, I know. I’m on fire here!
But the first day of August means that the next time the month turns, Gabe will be starting school. My BABY is starting SCHOOL!
For the most part, he and I have felt like this about the beginning of school:
Lately, he’s been feeling a little more like this:
I, however? Still feel like this:
We dislike the district in which we live. We knew this when we bought our house, but the plan was to live in this house for a few years and move to another more permament location once we had built up some equity. Oh, how things change! lol The condition of the market coupled by our infertility and the condition of our finances have meant we’re staying put. This delights my heart to no end. This home is quickly becoming a contender for “places I’ve lived the longest.” I like that trend.
The trend, however, has made for some headaches when considering Gabe’s schooling options. Because of my experiences as a teacher, I do not find myself aligned with the general philosophy and trends in public education. There are many, many wonderful people working in the public school system, pouring their lives out to educate children. My issue is not with the people. It is truly with the culture – all the No Child Left Behind stuff and other related factors that (in my very humble opinion) cause public school employees to have to be equally or more concerned about dotting i’s and crossing t’s as they have to be concerned about educating children. Since my experience as a teacher, we’ve always wanted to send our children to private school. Recall the issue of finances mentioned above, however, and you’ll know that private school tuition would be no small burden.
Our state has a program called “Open Enrollment.” Basically, you can apply to enroll your child in up to 3 nonresident districts. If your home district and the new district agree, your child can attend school in the nonresident district. The catch, however, is that it’s contingent upon space issues, and since many people apply, not everyone gets to switch. This was our situation – we applied to three different districts we felt were less objectionable than the district in which we lived, but we didn’t get accepted to any of them due to space constraints. This disappointed us for financial reasons, but it also disappointed me because I had begun to warm up to several of the schools to which we applied. They weren’t my first choices, but they did seem to be reasonably solid schools I could trust.
Along the way, we had also found a small, private Montessori school. All of us loved it – even Gabe, which impressed and comforted me to no end. This was our first choice due to philosophy but definitely our second choice due to finances. When the open enrollment option was denied, it became our first choice since we were not considering our resident district as an option at all. It seemed settled – Gabe would attend the Montessori school this year and we would continue pursuing open enrollment options in subsequent years.
Because Gabe has typically screamed and cried when anyone mentioned him going to school, I’ve been working overtime to help him acclimate mentally to the idea of going to school. Some would say that perhaps he was so hesitant about going to school because I was hesitant about sending him. It could be, but I really don’t think so. I’ve spent a lot of time “talking up” the school experience, and both my sisters are school teachers and have talked with him about it. He has even visited their classrooms and had a great time while there, but it has never made a difference. For years – since he was 3, I believe – he has consistently protested and sobbed about school.
This summer I finally got him to a point where he was moderately tolerant of the idea of going. Enthusiastic, no. But tolerant. It doesn’t embarrass me to say this was because I issued a straight-up bribe. I asked him if he’d be more excited about going to school if he knew he’d have a present waiting for him when he came home from his first day. At this, his eyes twinkled – just a little – and he hasn’t cried since then.
Phew.
We also talked about how he’d only be gone for half the day, how he’d still have plenty of time to play at home, and how he’d be able to get up in time to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse before we left for school – all winners to him. I thought we were on the right path.
Imagine my horror this week -when I received notification that one of the open enrollment schools had availability. After all the intensity of our “preparing-for-school” experience, I felt ill at the thought of undoing what we seemed to have accomplished. However, given the financial issues – and the fact that he can stay in this school until 8th grade – I knew there was no alternative. He needed to attend this school. While he might not find our experiences in early September to be very fun, the security he’ll have over the long-term will serve him well.
I started retracting my former statements about the Montessori school and replacing them with information about his new school… Yes, he’ll be gone longer, but he’ll get to take a LUNCHBOX!!! Lunch at school – WHEE!!! And he’ll go outside to play on a BIG playground for RECESS!!! Oh, the joy! I still haven’t expressly told him that he’ll be gone most of the day, and I haven’t told him this school doesn’t have the same map puzzles the Montessori school had. But I’ve covered the basics. And shockingly, he seems okay!
I don’t know what changed, why he’s resisting less. I’m certainly not complaining, but I am curious. It may have had something to do with the fact that he got to shop for his backpack and lunchbox. Maybe it had to do with the fact that one of my sisters told him she’d be starting at a new school this year, also, so they’d be just the same. Maybe it was the trip to the school we took today to look around and drop off our official acceptance letter. I don’t know why, but I’m holding my breath all the way to September 1st that this trend will continue and he’ll start school with a positive, hopeful attitude.
Goodness only know if I exhale before his first day, I’m going to dissolve in a big heap of motherly, “my-baby’s-growing-up” tears!
WE ARE HOME!
After nearly two weeks in hotel room, it feels really good!
Oof… this hurts! I’m trying to write some things down – bring some summary and cohesion to our experiences as of late. It is like pulling teeth. Probably doesn’t help that I’m in a hotel room feeling entirely cramped and uninspired while my 5-year-old tortures us with lack of sleep. Lucky for me I remembered my Xanax this week – not for him, although I did find myself wondering if they have a children’s version because he could totally use it!
I feel like reality is closing in. He starts school in a month! I’m really nervous about this fall – getting through his start of school, getting through Mara’s due date, getting through a Thanksgiving and Christmas to which I thought I’d be bringing a new baby. If she were still with us I’d be 24 weeks pregnant today. We’d probably know we were having a girl. I’d be “pinking up” the nursery. She’d be viable now. When I was first pregnant, I got a special day-by-day pregnancy journal and went through it recording the dates until I landed on the 24-week date. I wanted to be sure I knew the exact day when doctors would consider her viable. This weekend will mark 12.5 weeks since I lost her – the same amount of time she was with us to begin with. It feels so long ago, and yet her life feels so short to me. How can the same amount of time seem both short and long? I don’t know, but it does.
I want to curl up and throw up and give up all at once. But I won’t. I’m determined to create something better out of all this. I guess “create” is the wrong word. I’m determined to start experiencing something better. Because I think the good is out there – it’s just hard to see. It’s a fine line, I know. I don’t want to stunt the grief process, but I do need to harness some sort of positive momentum.
A request for those who pray… I very much long to be pregnant again before her due date. This would be an absolute miracle, but when it’s quiet and I’m all alone, this is what I wish for and dream about. It won’t change reality and nothing will replace the baby we lost, but it would be nice to greet that day with the special hope that a growing babe can bring. If this resonates with you, I would covet your prayers in this regard on our behalf.
We’ve been traveling lately so our lives have felt very random. When all is said and done, I think Gabe and I will have spent 25 nights away from home over a 6-week timespan. For Tahd it will be even more. As such, this is a random post reflecting the craziness and randomness of our life right now – the craziness and randomness that I’m trying really hard to enjoy and seize!
1. Gabe is not a great eater. This poses issues when we go away. If left to his own devices, he would eat chicken fingers and french fries at every meal – lunch and dinner at least. For breakfast it would be waffles. Delish, no? Since we’re going to be gone so much, I decided I could not tolerate weeks on end of fried foods, so we’d need to find a way to eat some fresh foods periodically. Enter Ruby Tuesday, the restaurant that has my most favorite salad bar. It is chock full of delicious, colorful produce, fruits, and other assorted goodies. I connived and pleaded and insisted, and by Friday I had Gabe convinced to order the salad bar as his lunch. Best part? He thought it was his idea. Here’s Gabe with his first restaurant salad. He made it himself, with a fair amount of “please-hold-the-plate-with-both-hands!!!” pleading on my part.
2. To prevent our week from being a total dud, Gabe and I decided to go to a movie. We saw Toy Story 3. I’ve heard lots of good things about it, and although I enjoyed it, what I enjoyed most was the fact that my baby sat on my lap for the entire movie! I tried to take a few pictures of him before the movie began, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it all work properly in the dark. I did think this picture was strange, though…
3. We were so desperate to go home that we braved torrential skies to get there. The clouds were amazing, and the rain they brought was pretty impressive, too! We made it through Chicagoland before they got hit with their flooding and made it back to the Milwaukee area, which had flooded while we were gone. Yay for missing flooding!
Check out the lightning on the far left side of the picture. It was like that all over but I only succeeded in capturing it on camera once. Here’s a different perspective. Very dark and very ominous!
4. We spent a quick weekend at home so we’d have a chance to regroup. And by regroup, I mean run around like chickens with our heads cut off for 36 hours doing things like going to appointments and shoveling old concrete. Fun, right? I was on my way to an acupuncture appointment when Tahd called me. Before I left, he had told me to check behind the car because while he was shoveling concrete he had set some things there. I found a few bags, kicked them aside, and left. This is how our phone conversation went:
Him: Hey, before you left did you happen to take my glasses off the trunk of the car?
Me: (deep breath) Um, no. You told me to look behind the car, not on it!
Him: Well, I thought you’d see them there.
Me: Why would I see them there? Why would I think something was on the car by looking behind the car?
Him: I dunno. I took them off when I was shoveling concrete and they kept slipping.
I felt so badly for him! I could see why he put them where he put them and I could see why he thought I’d see them. It also made perfect sense to me that I missed them. I was looking at the floor, not the car. I told him which route I had taken and he set out to see if he could find them along the way. I had already made a fast lane change due to the fact that I didn’t see a driver beside me (I swear she was in my blind spot and I looked and just missed her and it totally had nothing to do with the fact that I was on my cell phone…), gone over railroad tracks, and merged onto the freeway and was currently driving 70 miles per hour. I couldn’t imagine they had stayed on the trunk. And I was right. They hadn’t. They did survive about 5 miles on my trunk, but Tahd found them on a open, nonbumpy stretch of road looking like this:
Pretty, right? Unfortunately for him, this isn’t the year we elected vision insurance, so he’s back in old glasses for now. Fortunately for him (and unlike me), his eyes aren’t bad enough to require glasses all the time so a few months with old glasses shouldn’t be a problem.
5. I couldn’t stop laughing when, on our second leg of our trip which began yesterday, I turned around and saw Gabe traveling like this:
He wasn’t asleep, no. He was playing on my iTouch, which can be a little tricky to view in sunny conditions if you don’t adjust the brightness. I suggested to him that I could fix it for him, but he said it was better to do road trips with blankets over your head. Whatever floats your boat, dude!
6. For dinner tonight, we met up with Tahd’s parents at Cracker Barrel halfway between us. I love Cracker Barrel’s down-home feel. Gabe loves their tchotchkes.
He and Grandma played a game of checkers.
Gabe won. His joy at that realization was enormous! He certainly wouldn’t have done this if he lost – but I suspect Grandma knew that and that his win wasn’t an accident. Who wouldn’t want a chance to see this joyful dance?
His joy a few minutes later – while he was sitting in time out for throwing the checkers on the ground after being asked not to – wasn’t quite so enormous! lol
We’ll have to see what the rest of this crazy travel brings. I’m hoping for less rain and more adventures outside the four walls of our hotel room!
I was going through my archives trying to clean them up and delete unfinished drafts when I came across this post. It’s incomplete, which is – I’m assuming – why I never published it in the first place. But it’s very interesting for me to look back on it in light of everything that has transpired. I wrote it when I was around 8 weeks pregnant, 4-5 weeks before I miscarried Mara. I had been reading through the book of Job, which made a substantial impression on me. I’m a different person than I was then. I was writing about dealing with what I thought was my worst fear. Then it happened. I think I should maybe print this out and forward it to my counselor. It would give us plenty of discussion material!
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I try very hard to feel the way other people think I should feel.
I do not state this truth with any pride. In an early session, my counselor implied this was not good. That is quite possibly caused me some distress.
You see? That’s why I pay her the big bucks.
I don’t fault the other people for this. I know it’s not their fault because when they’re not around for consultation on how I should feel, I imagine what others might think I should feel and work hard to feel that way.
If I could bottle up some of this crazy and sell it, I’d be rich for sure! ;)
This has created dilemmas for me during this pregnancy. I’m scared. That’s a well-established fact for me at this point. However, when I tell people about my pregnancy, they usually meet me with one of three responses:
- They tell me my fear is understandable or they express fear themselves.
- They’re shocked.
- They tell me to trust God.
Each of these generates a touchy response in me, one that seems pretty automatic but I’m sure could be controlled if I challenged my underlying thoughts and beliefs. I haven’t mastered that part of me yet, but I’m working on it.
When people respond in the first manner, it reinforces my fear. I think, They “get” my fear on this issue? That means my fear is real! As in I’m likely to miscarry! Oh my gosh! I’m likely to miscarry! I’m going to miscarry this baby! I thereby work myself into an impressive frenzy, and every time I feel my own feel welling up I reinforce it with these ideas.
Group two elicits a similar reaction. They’re shocked? Wow! I guess this is really shocking! And unlikely! And if it’s unlikely to have happened in the first place, what are the chances I could actually carry this pregnancy to delivery? I would guess “unlikely.” Oh my gosh! It is unlikely I’m going to carry this baby to term. I’m going to miscarry! I’m going to miscarry this baby!
Group three would seem to be the most affirming, and the fact that it’s not belies my own psychological issues. Theoretically, trusting God is the way to go, on this and most every other thing. Yet I’m just not there. I suppose it doesn’t help that I’m reading in Job right now and God is just… so… random. Really, Job said it best, my feelings on this issue of trust:
You made me like a handcrafted piece of pottery—
and now are you going to smash me to pieces?
Don’t you remember how beautifully you worked my clay?
Will you reduce me now to a mud pie?
Oh, that marvel of conception as you stirred together
semen and ovum—
What a miracle of skin and bone,
muscle and brain!
You gave me life itself, and incredible love.
You watched and guarded every breath I took.But you never told me about this part.
I should have known that there was more to it—
That if I so much as missed a step, you’d notice and pounce,
wouldn’t let me get by with a thing.
If I’m truly guilty, I’m doomed.
But if I’m innocent, it’s no better—I’m still doomed. (Job 10:8-15)
I know this isn’t the end of the story and I know there’s a greater point to Job. But it doesn’t change the fundamental fact that God permitted Job to be wrecked. Beyond belief. For no apparent reason. God never told Job that He wasn’t the one doing the destroying. In fact, God answered Job with a challenge: “Where were you when I formed the world?”
Oof.
So, yeah. The whole “trust God” thing elicits a poor emotional response in me, too. For reasons I should probably investigate a little further.
It does not help matters that:
- I am in the middle of what is turning into a 36-hour panic attack
- My nausea is basically non-existent today, a sudden change from the norm
- I rented a doppler and can’t find the heartbeat (it would actually be unusual for an inexperienced person to find it via doppler this early; still, I panic)
- I learned of a really lovely woman’s unexplained 15-week pregnancy loss
- I’m just over 8 weeks and it seems like a lot of people learn at this point in pregnancy that they have unknowingly miscarried
I had a tearful conversation with Tahd tonight about how I feel like a colossal failure when he tells me I shouldn’t be afraid. Actually, he walked into our room tonight and I told him I was really afraid and he chuckled at me.
Lead balloon? Meet Tahd.
I try not to be afraid, but I am. I just am. Exacerbated by the fact that I apparently seek out confirmation that I should be afraid and use it to pump up my fear when it starts to wane. Again, this isn’t anyone else’s problem. When I force myself the think rationally I appreciate the affirmation and support given to me in each of these responses. I just don’t think rationally that often.
This. I want to remember this. I want to remember walking into Disney World with Gabe for his first time and feeling the excitement in his being, experiencing the wonderment all around. I want to remember the fairy tale of that week. I want to remember walking in and feeling the sense of bittersweet nostalgia that I was actually taking my son to Disney World, something I inexplicably decided was a rite of passage in the parenting world. I want to remember watching him see the castle for the first time. I want to remember seeing the hoards of mouse ears and knowing that the moment he asked for his own pair I was going to cave like every other fickle tourist. I want to remember being in the “happiest place on earth.”
I’m so glad we took that trip! It was perfect!
I want to remember how hungry we were when we got there, and how every other tourist arrived at the crack of dawn but we slept in and got there around lunch time. I want to remember Gabe eating his million-dollar Mickey Mouse-shaped waffle sprinkled with powdered sugar and feeling like I was going to cave in from hunger. I don’t remember what I ended up eating, but by the time I got it, it was long overdue!
I want to remember our first rides. I wanted Gabe to experience something tame and overstimulating for his first ride – something like “It’s A Small World.” I thought we took the right turn, but we didn’t, and instead we ended up at Big Thunder Mountain and Splash Mountain. Gabe was super excited for Big Thunder Mountain, but by the time we got off he decided he wanted nothing to do with anymore roller coasters. We already had Fast Pass tickets for Splash Mountain, though, and we dragged him on against his wishes. It wasn’t his favorite ride, but I’m glad we forced the issue because he saw that the rides were safe even if he didn’t love them.
I also want to remember the random lady who stopped Tahd and asked him to help her figure out her video camera. Out of all the people in Disney, that she stopped my techie husband made me giggle. He got things figured out and sent her on her way, but not before a man in a motorized scooter had run over my left foot. Dude!! Those things are heavy! My foot hurt for the rest of the week!
We did eventually make it to It’s a Small World and Gabe really liked it. Tahd took lots of pictures of the different displays, but we ran out of camera card space before we expected to so I deleted all but this shot.
I want to remember Gabe’s favorite rides. We rode Astro Orbiter at least five times. Actually, I rode it less than that because it started making me nauseous. He also loved Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin, Tomorrowland Speedway, Mission Space, and Pirates of the Caribbean. Tahd and I were fans of Soarin’, Living With The Land, Buzz Lightyear, and Tower of Terror.
There were mixed feelings in our group about Big Thunder Mountain and Splash Mountain (Gabe disliked, Tahd and I liked), as well as Mission: Space (Gabe and Tahd liked it, I had a panic attack and felt sick to my stomach for a good 30 minutes). Tahd and I loved Tower of Terror, but it was the only ride Gabe cried on. As we went up and down and up and down, he started panicking and eventually started crying and hollering that he just wanted it to STOP so he could GET OFF! Poor guy!
I want to remember sun hats. And sunscreen, the kind that leaves a greasy film all over you as well as the kind you spray on, creating a cloud of what I’m sure must be toxic to your insides. And the lack of sunburns because so many of the Disney attractions are actually inside.
I want to remember Epcot – ALL of Epcot! I want to remember that it stands for Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow. I want to remember that during our 5 day trip we went to Epcot 5 times. I want to remember that we tried and tried to convince Gabe to go to Animal Kingdom but he wouldn’t because he loved Epcot so much and wanted to keep going back. I want to remember that on the day we were at Epcot most, Tahd walked 32,000 steps. I want to remember that we all went deaf during the fireworks because of our proximity to the speaker. I want to remember how Tahd went to the Chinese and Japanese pavillions and asked authentic Chinese and Japanese people how to write Mara’s name in their native languages. I want to remember how much fun Gabe had doing the Epcot KidCot stations, and how the $10.00 passport we purchased was one of the best $10.00 we spent on our trip. I want to remember my joy at buying tea in the Great Britain pavillion, and a special teacup for my souvenir. I want to remember how the Great Britain pavillion also had my favorite chocolate bars – the kind we used to get in Canada. Gotta love that British chocolate! I want to remember how Epcot was our favorite, all of us!
I want to remember how Tahd thought it would be fun to volunteer for one of the demonstrations in Hollywood Studios and then proceeded to get absolutely, positively drenched!
I want to remember how we rode every possible mode of transportation on this trip – planes, cars, trains, and boats. It was a 5-year-old boy’s fantasy!
I want to remember how Gabe believed. We had the chance to wait in a 45-minute line to meet Mickey and friends at a Character Greeting Spot. At first I thought it was a waste of time. But once we got there, I realized he really believes! And I love that. I want to bottle that up and keep it as long as I can. He was so proud of all the autographs he got. He even tries to forge them sometimes! lol
It was a good trip. I replay it over and over in my mind. Gabe keeps talking about “the next time we go to Disney World” and although it’s probably a long way off since it’s a pricey investment, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I’m not a Disney fanatic, but the trip was so lovely and so special that it would be priceless to have the chance to do it again.
Is it even possible that in just a few short weeks I’m going to have a child who does things like this because he has to, not because he’s just doing it for fun? Kindergarten? Really??
Be still my heart!
I leaned over to Tahd during church on Sunday and asked him if I could buy more necklaces. By “more,” I was alluding to the fact that I selected two Lisa Leonard necklaces and had them engraved with various names and sayings and combined all the charms onto one necklace. It all came several weeks ago and I have worn it everyday since, it’s weight around my neck ever-present. It is a necklace that reminds me to celebrate motherhood and to keep my two children close to my heart, Gabe and Mara. I was beginning to feel a little bit disconnected, like my memory of my time with Mara is slipping away, and in the moment thought more necklaces would be nice.
Later, Tahd asked me about my necklace and about my desire for more. I had to admit it. He knew it anyway, but I needed to say it out loud and have it be heard. I don’t really want more necklaces. I want my baby. There’s a void, a painful void, and my urge is to fill it with something. In my heart, I know I could buy a hundred necklaces and the void would still exist, looming just as largely. But it still feels good to think about putting something in there.
Probably, the best thing to do is to sit with the pain – let it exist, acknowledge it, and not try to “solve” it like it can be wiped away or forgotten. But I’ve noticed that’s not what I’m programmed to do. Pain equals a need for solution. It means something needs to change. But in this story, nothing can be changed and nothing should be solved. So I’m trying – trying to sit with the pain while life goes on around me; trying to let it exist while I go about laundry and cleaning and chasing after a 5-year-old who is mostly oblivious to these emotions.
It’s not all bad. I know I am strong. I know pain and joy can successfully coexist. I didn’t know these things before, at least not in my bones. I spoke them with my mouth, but now I’m acquainted with them in my viscera. These truths are mine.
I still might buy more necklaces, though. Old habits die hard. And the necklaces are just so pretty!
I hear it whispering from within me. I don’t understand why it’s there. I don’t like it. I fight against it.
Lord, you are good! 1
Good? Really? Could He not have saved my baby? Or if we weren’t to have a baby at all, couldn’t He have prevented me from getting pregnant at all to spare us this heartache? But I can’t help it.
I will praise You in this storm. 2
But why? Why praise? For what? This storm that encompasses the darkest days of my life? I have been cut apart, physically and emotionally. I grieve. It feels hopeless. I do not feel like God has protected, loved, or freed me.
I will go through this valley if You want me to. 3
Surrender. I do not feel like my surrender has been voluntary. I feel like it has been stolen. Can that really be surrender? If you take everything someone has and torment them with it, are they really credible when they “give it up?”
These are the things I will trust in my heart – You can see something else. 4
But what? What do you see? I tried trusting that before and the only thing I experienced was pain, pain that grew in depth and breadth with each passing day.
But still, it wells up within me.
When my world is shaking Heaven stands. 5
And when it wells up, a small sense of peace returns to my soul.
You are the strength that keeps me walking.
You are the hope that keeps me trusting. 6
Why do I think these things? Are they force of habit? Am I comforted by the routines of my childhood? Was losing Mara a loss so big that losing my faith seemed unfathomable? Do these thoughts come because I was too traumatized to consider abandoning my spiritual schema?
Maybe.
But I don’t think so.
God! You took my baby! My baby! I feel like I can’t go on, can’t breathe, can’t wake up.
The response I hear in return? ”Heidi, sweet one! I lost my baby, too. Losing a child is excruciating.”
He lets that sit for a while.
God lost His baby, too.
But it’s not the same, I moan! You knew! You knew it was going to happen and you knew what was going to happen afterward. You knew you didn’t lose Him forever! It’s so different!
“Really, Heidi? Really? It’s only different if you don’t trust me.
“Do you trust me? Do you trust me?“
I don’t know. Intellectually speaking, no. I don’t. Trust in someone who seems to merely observe this breaking of hearts without intervening? No. That would be absurd. But during the past two years, I’ve been working intensely and toiling, brick upon brick and row upon row, building a shield of faith around my heart, a shield borne out of experience, study, and community. I deny it with my mind’s eye, but when I reach my arms out blindly in front of me, I can’t help but run my fingers into those bricks, my shield. My faith is there. It’s battered, but it’s there. Even when I try to deny it, it stands. It stands because to crumble, I would have to deny what I’ve experienced with my own body and heart. I would have to deny my own truth.
So it stands.
And the dialogue continues.
Lord I’m tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I’m so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I’ll stop
Rest here a while.
This is all that I can say right now
I know it’s not much
And this is all that I can give
Yeah that’s my everything. 7
Lyrics taken from:
1 Lord You Are Good, Israel Houghton
2 Praise You In This Storm, Casting Crowns
3 If You Want Me To, Ginny Owens
4 From This One Place, Sara Groves
5 Your Hands, JJ Heller
6 Everything, Lifehouse
7 All I Can Say, David Crowder Band
We don’t do it often, our trips to The Farm. Although we collectively agree that we love to be there, a few things stand in our way. First, Tahd’s travel schedule. It seems he’s gone just often enough to make weekend trips annoying. Next, we had hoped to go in May, but May turned out far differently from what we had imagined. And finally? When I’m not at The Farm I think The Farm doesn’t like me. I’m a girl – a girly girl. I wear makeup and fuss over clothes and love to go shopping and value high-speed internet and city water. Why would The Farm like me? The Farm is none of those things! But then I get there and fall in love again and realize The Farm doesn’t hold those things against me. It just loves to have visitors.
The Farm is a small family homestead in the midwest, land that nurtured my husband and made him who he is now (that being the man who does not love makeup and clothes and shopping and city water; he does, however, love high-speed internet). I can’t tell you how unusual it is to this migrant child (me) to visit the house my husband came home to only days after his arrival here on earth and called home everyday until he married me. Even more fascinating to me is the fact that as a child, his own father lived in this house briefly, before moving a quarter mile away to the home he considered “his” childhood home. Me? I’m a citizen of the world, or of North America, at least. Tahd is a citizen of this land, land that he has worked and his father has worked and his father’s father has worked. They are in that land, my husband and his family. The soil speaks his family name.
Weekends at The Farm never disappoint. There is sleep – loads of glorious sleep! Thanks to inlaws who are early risers and relish the solo time they get to spend with their lone grandchild, Tahd and I both get a chance to rest our eyes a little longer and with a little less guilt than usual.
There are delicious afternoon naps while the sun streams all around and warms you to your bones, healing all that is wrong with the world.
(Check on the terror on his face! My child? Not a risk taker!)
There are swings and water fights and dogs that bark long into the night.
There is fresh, homemade ice cream, its crystals begging to melt in the sticky heat.
There is corn that is higher than the hand can reach even though it’s not scheduled to be harvested for three more months.
There are moonlit walks in light that is perfect (but air so humid you could practically go swimming in it).
There are fireflies – billions of fireflies! – that come out at night and beg to be captured on camera while they twinkle and shine. I’ve promised myself that someday I’ll figure out how to do it; that day, however, was apparently not included in this weekend.
Gabe loves The Farm, and it warms my heart to watch him soak up his heritage while he digs in the dirt outside and the closets inside. There are toys from Tahd’s childhood and toys from Tahd’s father’s childhood. There are hiding spots and countless treasures waiting to be found. There are secrets in the walls and buildings and trees and ground that can only be discovered by experiencing them first-hand. And Gabe does – he experiences them enthusiastically, with every fiber of his being. He can’t help but experience them. The Farm calls his name; its language is in his genes. The Farm is part of him.
The power went out while we were there, for no apparent reason. Although it had stormed torrentially earlier in the day and the electricity flirted with us with its flickers and blinks, it wasn’t until early evening – with clear skies and a setting sun – that the power decided to make its exit. As such, Gabe’s bedtime routine had to be completed sans lights. Also sans toilet flushing, but that’s another issue for another day. Seriously – is there anything more enchanting than being on a farm and reading old children’s book by the light of your lantern? Is there? I can’t imagine what could be better, the old-fashioned scent of kerosene mixed with the twinkle of a flame and the stuff of fairy tales.
I’d bet Tahd loves the farm more than I do. He’d have to. It’s his. But I love it, too, in my own way, and when it’s time to go I’m sad to leave. It’s a good place, a connected place, a happy place. I’ll probably always be a beach-and-shopping-and-lipgloss-and-glamor girl, but there will always be a place in my heart reserved for the loveliness of The Farm.
