26 August 2015

such a little change, so much work

I'm trying to be brave enough to go to bed at 9pm.

Brave enough to let go of that time that is mostly all mine, to use how I want.  Usually not very productively.

Brave enough to remember that getting to exercise in the morning makes my heart sing more than looking at Instagram pictures or reading a book or just talking about absolutely nothing important.

Brave enough to carve out other time to nurture my relationship with Tyler, instead of letting it be a casualty of my schedule.

Brave enough to admit that I must have my sleep AND exercise too.  And that I do, in fact, become the Wicked Witch of the West when sleep deprived.

"We must have the courage to be imperfect while striving for perfection."
-Patricia T Holland-

20 August 2015

Rusty but writing

I stumbled across this picture the other day.  Honestly, I had forgotten I had ever taken it.  This picture holds so many feelings, so many memories.  Some slightly sentimental shot I took of our front door in England means more to me now than all the pictures of the architecture or the sights or other pretty things.

Suddenly, I'm back in my first ever wool coat, giddy with excitement about the beginnings of a new international adventure and starry eyed over living in a flat by the beach.

A few months later I'm overwhelmed by school and cursing the British style of written exams that are causing me undue amounts of anxiety, but grateful to be learning and stretching and becoming a better scholar in so many ways.

Somewhere in there is a positive pregnancy test, announcing the news to the family and then the world, and finding out a girl was on her way to us.

There are late nights with Tyler and I full of research and dissertation writing and reading Harry Potter out loud.  Making up silly games together, walking on the beach together, cooking together in the smallest kitchen I've still ever been in.

Our first independent Thanksgiving happened, where we paid an exorbitant amount for a turkey that we had to keep outside in the cold because our dorm-sized fridge couldn't hold it.  Endless meals with missionaries, with pancakes and American cookies and Mexican food to keep their homesickness at bay.

My motherhood began here.  Motherhood with all of its joys, love, cluelessness, sleeplessness, and occasional bouts of despair.

Loneliness, real, hard, and deep hit here.  Loneliness exacerbated by the cold, the damp, and the lack of sunlight in a little backroom flat where a new mama tried to navigate raising a baby.

A first Christmas as a family of 3 happened.  Where the fattest tree took up half the front room and brought me immeasurable amounts of joy and Christmas peace.  When I realized the magic that a child really brings to that beautiful morning.

We didn't finish up our stay in England here.  There's a small little house in Holystone that also holds a piece of my heart.  And not to mention a few places in Arizona and a studio in Washington that I'll never forget.  Part of the problem of moving so often is you always leave a piece of you behind.  But if those little drops of myself can find their way back to me through pictures like these, then I think I'll be okay.