Reacquaint

Oh, good, you’re here. Hi!



Uh...Hi. Can I help you?


We have a mutual friend. He talks about you all the time, but says you’ve lost touch. He said you lived around here, so I was stopping by to see if you’ve got a minute—he has so many good things to say about you, I just had to stop by. You and I actually met a long time ago. But had you moved away.


Um… I’m sorry, who are you again?


You don’t recognize me?! Has it been that long?

Some things Just Don't Work Quite Right

A pregnant brain.

A mommy brain.

Romantic birthday dinners... + infant.

Spell check when your grammar is no good.

2 am baby bottles full of coffee.

Strapless bras.

Communism.

Attempting to be energy-efficient in the desert.

Husband’s ability to stay awake after his favorite... ahem, activity.

Democracy.

Teaching your kid to say please and always giving the thing to him if he does.

Giving cat a bath.

Microwaving leftovers in the silverware drawer.

Not pinning/distracting curious baby hands while changing her poo poo diapy.

Getting angry at Oreos for being so delicious.

Running out of butter.

Using the lint roller on the cat because you can’t afford Clariton.

A Little About Love

I love that it takes a lifetime to get to know someone. That you can be transparent and enjoy sharing everything and still hear a brand new story, an old tidbit, or little secret even after sharing so much time together.

Love is the ultimate funny thing. It’s the most simple and the most complicated thing. And, of course, like anything worth anything, it is both desired and feared. It screws you up and settles you down and makes babies happen and makes pain hurt. It’s the root of everything—addicting, warm, odd, silly, understood, understanding, forgiving, fun, easy, overwhelming, fulfilling… It makes you crazy and protective and jealous and worried and hopeful and hopeless. It can make you hate loneliness or want to be alone. It makes you love new things, or mundane things, and daydreaming and listening. Great things can never be taken away—first kisses, the exhilaration of that person’s arms around you, their hands on your shoulders, their breath on your skin, the sound of their voice and look in their eye as you admire each other, what they look like laughing, that night you spent talking and flirting instead of sleeping.

You can always bring these things back. You can bring them front and center. And it feels like a hot tub. Without the water bill.

Giving your life to someone is far less binding than one would imagine. Love is no longer a blur, a search, a series of guilt, or like renting an apartment. Your investment goes into something that contains the story of you. You still get to be you. You still should be you. You are what makes you attractive. Finding a great love doesn’t change your memories. You still get those. Wherever you’re at, it’s so good to remember those memories that are only yours.

Peril On

I am in my car, eating a sandwich, middle of the day, baby in the backseat. I am rockin’ the Halo 2 soundtrack. For some reason I am really paying attention to this sandwich. Prairie sweet wheat. Roasted turkey with a paprika and pepper rub. Red greens, mayo, deli mustard, provolone, alfalfa sprouts. The kind of paying attention you do when you are really hungry and this thing surprises you with deliciousness. The kind of paying attention you do when epic music fills the small space of your car. It nourishes my hungry bones immediately.

Sandwich in hand, I am transported. It is just before dawn, light on the horizon, cool chill, foggy mist rising from the warm soil. My sandwich has a glowing sparkle, its brilliance catches my eye and I watch it. To my delight, and calm astonishment, it becomes a bow. So light in my hand, brilliant carvings in the rich, deep wood. I graze my thumb across the smoothness. I am distracted from the flawless craftsmanship by my nose—I am enveloped in a warm, earthy, vibrant aroma. Though I feel it before my eyes fall upon it, through the mist, I begin to focus on the towering pines surrounding me. I am in a forest. I have a mission. I gaze again at the bow in my left hand. I feel the slight weight across my shoulder, a leather strap binds my arrows to my back. I crouch down, looking to my left, to my right. I begin my journey to find what I am looking for. Moving slow, smoothly, at first, silent, prepared. I feel my heart elevate its rhythm and I move. I let my senses guide me, moving through the mist, crouched low, bare feet sinking slightly with each step into the moist soil. Forward. Forward. Silent. My right hand moves stealthily over my shoulder. I feel the thin, smooth, sturdy shaft of my arrow, pull it forward. Here I become the arrow, feeling purpose, feeling my path, prepared for battle. I am light, purposeful. I am aimed. I feel the tension, the pull, the preparation, the steady hand. I focus forward, forward. The air is crisp. The delivery will be intentional. The aim will be perfect. My archer is never distracted. My mind is clear. I breathe in.

I am released.

Forward.

Forward I cut through my path.

Psalm 127:5

[If you have the soundtrack, play it from “Peril” on. You’ll get what I mean by all this. If you don’t have it, you won’t be disappointed. It’ll do so much for the way you envision your battle.]

[That sandwich was really good… but perhaps you’re wondering, ‘What was in those alfalfa sprouts?!?!’ …Just my unhindered imagination.]