Things That Make Me Joyful!

I've been focusing on a verse from 1 Thessalonians a lot lately: "Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will." (Our pastor's wife mentioned it can be sung to the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell," which has really had sticking power for me!) That's a big task, isn't it--to be joyful always? Joy is more than just happiness--it's more genuine, more deep-seated, more pervasive. In order to let it seep into my life, I've been finding joy in the small things around me every day. Here are a few of them!

1) Our Beautiful, Vibrant Lantana

I know I shared a gardening update earlier this week, but I just couldn't help but include it again. It's remarkable how our lantana has taken off with its second bloom! This particular flower is extra special to me as it's one I picked out when I was a little girl at the nursery with my mum. I loved the bright colors then as much I do now!

2) Combos--My Guilty Pleasure

I wasn't really allowed to have junk food growing up, which I actually really appreciate (thanks, Mum and Dad!). However, somewhere in my college years, I discovered the wonder that is a Combo, and I've never looked back. They're one of my favorite little treats, and I devour them without hesitation (yes, it's likely this bag will be gone before the end of the night).

3) Sibling Rivalry Love?

Our little boy (Ozzy, on the right) is a huge fan of his sisters, but they're reservedly tolerant of him at best. Rosie is more likely to pay him a visit on the sofa or bed, but Guillie (on the left above) pretty much feels like the intermingling of her fur and his might as well signal the end of the world. So I loved the shock of what happened early today when I found them snuggled together!

4) Summer Footwear

I'm a bit of a shoe lover, so much so that Jeff dreads traveling with me--particularly in the wintertime when I favor boots that tend to tip our luggage past the 50 lb maximum for flying. But, come mid-June, the only pairs of shoes by the door are the two above, and I live in them all summer long. I can proudly say that, even though it's only July 1, my flip-flop tan lines are well on their way!

5) New Recipes

For Jeff's birthday last week, his mom sent this delicious sweet honey mustard from Stonewall Kitchen along with a recipe for pretzel-crusted chicken tenders. Guess what's on the menu tonight?!

6) The Model of Summer Relaxation

It's impossible not to feel joyful when this is what's looking back at you--from the bed, the sofa, or the floor--at any time of the day or night, isn't it?

7) A New Summer Dress (with pockets!)

When I discovered this adorable summer dress in Old Town Alexandria this weekend, Jeff kindly said that I could get it! I can't wait to have make the opportunity to wear it (without the lamb and penguin stuffed animals, of course--I just wanted you to be able to see those wonderful big pockets!).

8) That Amazing Man

I love Jeff for a million reasons, and this is just reason one million and one. Here he is, earnestly focused on a game of Jenga on our front walk with a couple of the neighborhood kids. Every time I don't think I can love him more...

Jeff's Birthday (Part 2)

The birthday boy on his perfect, beautiful June day!

The surprise was a success! We woke up to beautiful blue skies and no humidity. In spite of some unexpected traffic getting there, we had plenty of time for an amazing day with good friends (and good food!). But the pictures really tell the story...

Jeff immediately took the pilot's seat--he couldn't wait to get out on the lake! Before our friends arrived, we spent some time prepping the the boat (and I might have enjoyed showing off the delicious treats I'd brought along!). Were you wondering how the deviled eggs traveled?

They did great! The ziploc bag trick even allowed for some pretty piping, and I added just a dash of paprika at the end for color. I think I'll be volunteering to bring deviled eggs to all the summer picnics now!

Once we got out on the water, Jeff was only too happy to abandon the wheel in favor sipping a birthday beer and checking out the beautiful lake surrounding us. It didn't take him long to decide it was time to hop in for a swim--and it took even less time for the rest of us to join him!

Yes, for those of you who know me, that's actually me in the lake, swimming! The water was incredibly warm (our "Fish Finder" was logging it at 78 degrees), and the bottom was sandy (not the murky slime typical of so many lakes). We spent most of the rest of the day hopping in and out of the water, grazing on fried chicken, cheese, crackers, and salami, and even fishing. (Well, not me, that was just Jeff.)

By the end of the day, Jeff just couldn't stop grinning, and I knew I'd accomplished a successful birthday mission. And you know what the best part was? I enjoyed it just as much! I can't wait for our next visit to the lake!

Jeff's Birthday (Part 1)

My 33rd birthday on Block Island

Jeff and I have a somewhat unique idea about birthdays and anniversaries: we think they're far better spent having experiences than getting things. Though some of our friends think that's crazy, as adventures seem fleeting and intangible, we find that we continually unwrap the places we've been, meals we've eaten, and bed and breakfasts where we've stayed, even months and years later.

So, since Jeff's birthday is next week, it's my turn to get creative! The idea started as a little seedling, thanks to one of our favorite summer country songs: Little Big Town's "Pontoon." Notorious for his constant desire to spend weekend days on a boat, Jeff has over and over asked me why we can't just own a pontoon for the (tiny) lakes in Reston. While I can't afford a boat, I was able to find a large lake about two hours to our south that had a 6-person pontoon boat available for tomorrow. Add a couple of good friends who were all too happy to clear their schedules, and we were good to go!

Well, except for the food, that is.

So, I've spent most of today preparing lots of goodies for tomorrow. The back of the car (which Jeff won't be allowed to look into in the morning) looks like this:

All the right snacks: beef jerky, really good salami, chips, and popcorn.

Since chips would be no good without something to dip them in, I whipped up a batch of homemade guacamole:

The picture above doesn't do it justice, but this summery combination of avocados, tomatoes, a tiny bit of chopped onion, cilantro, salt, and lime juice always hits the spot! Of course, I needed something a little more substantial than just chips & dips and cheese & crackers, so I put together our favorite summer tortellini salad:

Nothing more than tortellini, fresh basil, fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, and pepper, this is always a massive hit at parties (if it makes it there at all... usually it gets finished at home before I can get it out the door!). Our friends will be contributing some fresh fried chicken in the morning as the main protein, but I thought I should probably make a little something else with some sustenance:

Deviled eggs! I followed Paula Deen's traditional recipe, and I'm pretty pleased with the results. The odd presentation above is the result of my research on how to travel with deviled eggs--particularly ones made in advance. When we get on the boat tomorrow, I'll just take out the filling, snip off an end of the plastic bag, pipe the filling into the halves, and voila! (Or, I hope it'll be that easy and beautiful--I'll let you know in the "Part 2" post!)

Hmmm... is that everything? Oh, wait--we have a birthday on our hands here!

When I was a little girl, I never took cupcakes to school on my birthday; instead, my mum and I always made "Birthday Brownies." They're quick and easy--even though the brownies are made from scratch. Two of my containers above are iced and decorated with Jeff's favorite candy (Reese's Pieces) while the other one is, well, for me (M&Ms). Can't wait to dive in!

So, with the beer and wine stashed at the neighbors' (who are coming with us tomorrow) and all the yummy treats hidden in the fridge (behind "don't peek!" boxes that have been artfully arranged), Jeff has no clue what's going on and I can't wait for tomorrow morning!

"It is the star to every wandering bark..."

July 25, 2009

"Sonnet 116"
(William Shakespeare)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, not no man ever loved.

When Jeff and I were planning our wedding in the spring of 2009, we spent a lot of time with our wonderful pastor, talking about what we wanted to include in the ceremony that would best represent us. We had favorite hymns and had selected Bible verses, but I kept coming back to my desire to include a Shakespeare sonnet. Not only had Jeff and I met at the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey, but I also had "Sonnet 116" in mind already--one that so beautifully expressed what lasting love really is. Finally, we decided to include it, and my brother read it beautifully on July 25, 2009, at our wedding ceremony.

On that day, I thought we'd been through a lot. We'd faced difficult friendships, wrestled with financial concerns, made compromises as we learned what it was to be part of another family, and dealt with the disappointment of not getting jobs we so desperately wanted. As a result, when Ret read the sonnet, I proudly thought, "yes--our love has stood up to some tempests and will endure." It's not so much that I was wrong then but more that I was, perhaps, a bit naive. As my mum and dad would say, there were "rooms of life" back then that I just hadn't walked in yet--that I couldn't possibly imagine ever walking into, if I'm honest. 

Every spring, my freshmen present sonnets to the class, and we always include "Sonnet 116" in the packet. One of their tasks is to state the sonnet's central idea--to explain its meaning in a concise, clear sentence. This year, two of my favorites describing "our" sonnet were these:

"True love is pure and reliable. It is consistent."

"Love is something that will not waver under pressure."

Very little in our last 21 months has been consistent. Very little has been reliable. And the pressure has been constant. And yet, today, as I listened to my student explain the sonnet to her classmates, I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I realized that our love is pure. And reliable. And consistent. And unwavering. It has not bent or altered or shaken, even in the face of grief and trauma we never could have imagined. It has not changed with the passage of Time or been cut down by challenges.

One of my students described the speaker's tone in the final couplet as "smug." She noted how the speaker seems over-confident in what he's stating--so confident, in fact, that he's willing to wager that he's not a writer and men can't fall in love if what he says isn't true. And to that I say, "well played, sir."

There is no error in Shakespeare's words, if the love is steadfast and true. How blest I am to be part of a marriage bound together with that kind of love.

I'm still here!

On the bow of a sunset catamaran cruise in Aruba--thank you mum and dad!

I know--it's been a month! As I sit here, watching the sunlight pour in through the open door, it's hard to believe that my last post was about our snow day. In the interim, we've been to the Panama Canal and back, making new friends, dancing the jive, and generally remembering what it means to live our lives as the joyful, fulfilled, insanely blessed couple that we are. There will be plenty more posts about the wonders of our physical journey, but I just wanted you all to know that our emotional journey has left us, well, just plain happy again!

It's remarkable what happens when you stop trying to live joyfully and just start doing it, isn't it?

A Love Letter

It's the day after Valentine's, so it's an appropriate time for a love letter, isn't it? As you might suspect, a good part of this one is written to that amazing man I was blessed enough to meet nearly seven years ago, but there's also a piece of my heart reserved for one of our favorite students--ever. J, one of the most talented student artists we've ever encountered, stole our hearts about five years ago when she began painting sets for our shows, and, in spite of the fact that she's now in college and far away from us, she's a part of our lives every day.

The story of this love letter begins with a songwriter by the name of Leonard Cohen. For as long as I've known him, Jeff has loved Cohen, but I was never really able to get on board with the gravelly, bordering-on-off-key voice that Jeff loves so much. As a result, I missed out on the lyrics to Jeff's favorite song--until he put them in a card one holiday early in our relationship. From then on, "Dance Me to the End of Love" became one of my favorite songs.

Fast forward to the day that we had to tell our beloved J that we were leaving New Jersey to move to Virginia. That spring, J--a junior--was in my Shakespeare elective, and she broke down when she learned Jeff and I would be leaving, and we broke down when we realized we'd never again encounter a student quite like her. But J moved beyond her sadness and looked towards our joy, and she told us she wanted to paint us something as her project for the Art Show later that spring. After consulting with us, she determined that we needed an entry table--which we did--and she went to work. Along the way, she asked me what we love most in the world aside from each other, and I offered possibly the most confusing answer to an artist ever: "J, we love theatre, walks in the woods, ballroom dancing, your Georgia O'Keefe-inspired painting--oh, and that Leonard Cohen song!"

To have a student care enough to know you well is a rarity. To have that student love your spouse, too, is even more unusual. And to have a student pour her heart into a piece of art for you and your spouse--well, so far for us, that's once in a lifetime. And that's why we are so blessed every time we walk up the stairs of our little townhouse, because we see this:

In the photo above, you can see so much of Jeff and me: the curtains of a theatre opening to reveal our initial, the words of our favorite song, a piece of J's original O'Keefe-inspired painting we loved so much. But walk up the stairs all the way, and you'll see the top of the table's upper level.

That night in the spring of 2010 when J revealed the finished product to me during her art show, I burst into tears. To receive a love letter (and there is an actual letter on the back of this piece of art, but that's just for me and Jeff) is an overwhelming experience any time--but to receive it from one who knows you so well is beyond compare. J's love letter was in the form of her passion, but it was about our passions--and she is part of our lives every day as we see her work in front of us.

But J's art inspires us to dance to the end of love, "through the panic till I'm gathered safely in." And that's tonight's love letter, part 2. I'll make it short and sweet, because--amazing readers of this blog--you know the panic that's been our reality for the past 13+ months. In every stage of that journey, Jeff has gathered me and safely taken me in. So it will come as no surprise to you--though it was a surprise to me--that I discovered this in my classroom yesterday afternoon when I returned from study hall:

My husband knows me so well that his card stated that he didn't want me to be the only girl at school without flowers (in fact, I was one of the envied few with flowers!) and that he also knew I'd never eat a box of chocolate, so he was including a bag of Pirate's Booty. He didn't make me cry--he made me laugh out loud. After all, what else is there to do in the face of a year full of panic?

Today, my tulips bloomed, and my students ooh-ed and aah-ed over them throughout each class period. I told stories of this man I love so much--of his success last night with his first Code 20 performance and of his love of our little boy-cat, Ozzy. Most of all, though, I just remained grateful for the panic he's seen us through and the strength he offers me as we face tomorrow.

So, J and "Rabbit" (the only name I call Jeff by at home), you are my loves tonight. "Thank you" are words too small and trite for the gifts you've given by opening your hearts to me in return.

Contagious Joy

I have a longer post in the works, but I had to share this tiny moment from a snowy Friday afternoon--the first one we've ever had (thanks, Global Warming!) in the neighborhood we now call home.

And that's only three of the seven "regular" neighborhood kids
we've adopted as our own!

See that goof smiling at me through the tree? Have you ever loved someone so much that their joy actually has the ability to erase any sorrow you feel?

Jeff will be the most wonderful father one day--but, for today, I'm just so glad he's the most wonderful husband. His joy--in the snow, in the kids, in a beer with some of the men he calls his closest friends--is contagious, and I'm infected now!

Breakdowns and Breakthroughs

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I have a wonderful therapist. She came to me by way of Jeff's concerns about my body issues (before our first pregnancy even occurred) and my school counselor's recommendation (after our first loss last January). Knowing the struggles of other women who are frustrated in their searches for a good therapist, I feel all the more fortunate to be under her care.

Last night, I thought a lot before therapy. My first session after this most recent loss was fine, but I left it feeling like I hadn't been totally open and raw with my therapist--who, aside from Jeff, is one of the few individuals in real life who I can be that way with. So, as I considered last night's session ahead of time, I determined that I wanted to discuss success and failure--the ways in which I didn't feel successful at all right now, and the things making me feel like a failure.

Bring on the waterworks.

Now, I'm not surprised when I cry (in therapy, at the mattress commercial, in the first ten minutes of Hunger Games). Last night, though, it was quite enlightening to realize that I couldn't even say the word failure without needing the Kleenex box. Here's the thing: I like to be successful, and I strive for perfection in most areas of my life. These are not new realizations; it's simply how I'm hard-wired, which means it's something I've come to accept. However, the breakdown last night initiated not from my striving for perfection but from my realization of imperfection.

For me--maybe not for other women--but, for me, a miscarriage feels like failure, which means that a second miscarriage (especially one that took 11 months and thousands of dollars to conceive) feels like even more failure. Failure to carry past eight weeks, failure to give my husband a child, failure to offer my own parents the chance to be grandparents, failure to will my body into submission. And so, when I can't will my fertility into submission, then my attention turns to criticizing that body that has failed me.

And so, last night, we ended up back in the realm of mirrors. We talked about my negative self-dialogue--which is, in actuality, a monologue, as I feel completely incapable of challenging the thoughts that spin through my head. I point-blank asked my therapist what to do when I stare in the mirror and judge my pudgy belly or flabby arms. I was pretty sure I knew the answer would be one of two: change where I'm looking to someplace more positive or work on cognitive restructuring (transforming those negative thoughts into more factual realizations). Boy, was I wrong.

"Avoid mirrors."

At first, I was completely confused--I look in our mirrors at home constantly. Heck, I don't even shower after a workout and put on PJs without checking to see what part of me is most unattractive. But then it occurred to me: right now, I'm smart enough to protect myself from pregnant women and infants however I can. I know seeing the nursery at church or the pregnant coworker one building over will trigger negative thoughts and tears, so I just avoid it. Why, then, had it never occurred to me to avoid the thing that most often triggers my body self-hatred?

So, last night I tried it. Actually, I forced myself to do it. Before I took a shower, I opened the mirrored bathroom cabinet so that I couldn't stare at my reflection. When I got ready to change into comfortable clothes, I opened the full-length, mirror-plated jewelry cabinet in our bedroom, so looking in it wasn't even an option. This morning, I got out of the house a full ten minutes early because the only glimpses I gave myself were while doing make-up and then a quick, cursory glance to make sure I'd picked matching boots before I walked out the door.

It's not easy. I still found myself analyzing my round belly in the bathroom work mirror and criticizing my hair. But at least now I know it's in my power to stop looking--and that feels like a breakthrough. I don't have the strength to challenge the negativity yet, but I sure can try to protect myself from the painful thoughts.

So, if we go out to dinner anytime soon and you find me refusing to sit facing the mirrored bar, you'll know why. Self-torture isn't something I'm willing to indulge in anymore.

Why Lint Rollers Were Invented.

My morning trio, without fail, starting every one of my days.

When the alarm goes off, it's like there's a weight on me. And next to me. And pinning down my arm. Jeff's usually been exiled to a small sliver of the bed (I like to remind him that I get a quarter, three kittens get half, and he gets the remaining quarter, but he doesn't follow the logic). And somehow, in spite of how desperately I need to go to the bathroom / shut off the alarm / get a drink of water, I just can't bear to ask the gently purring creatures that surround me to move. And so we lie there for several more minutes, eyes closed, occasional patting happening, and it's absolute bliss.

Rosie and Guillie, cuddled together,
just as they've been for nearly 13 years--since the first night I brought them home.

Jeff and I always both thought we were "dog people," so there's something very humiliating about actually admitting that we've transitioned into "cat people." We used to try to hide it with the typical excuses: "It's so much easier to leave home on a whim with cats," or "It's great not to have to take 5AM walks in the snow!", or "Vet bills are much less expensive for cats than for dogs, you know." But the truth of the matter is that, no matter how often we promised ourselves those things were true, the real truth was that we were falling in love with our little furbabies more and more every day.

Ozzy's two favorite places to be:
Securely on Jeff's back or shoulders (above)
Nestled between his feet as he cooks in the kitchen (below)

And our three little ones, in return, have a remarkable ability to turn "non-cat people" into cooing balls of goo that can't help but reach out and scratch a belly. Even our next-door neighbor, J, who himself is highly allergic to cats, seems inexplicably incapable of walking through our living room (on his way to our cat-free back deck) without reaching out to ruffle up Ozzy's mane as he sits, perched atop Jeff's shoulders like a little parrot. At the vet, Guillie snuggles right up to the tech, even as she's swept away for shots and medication, and Rosie's uncanny ability to locate and infiltrate the warmest lap in the room always earns her a long waitlist of friends who volunteer to serve as her pre-heated furniture.

Jeff swears my co-sleeping with Rosie is a normal occurrence,
which I can no longer deny in the face of photographic evidence.

So, yes, there are vet bills. And scratched-up furniture. And economy-sized lint rollers in every bedroom. But I wouldn't trade any of those things for the unconditional love that our three little ones show us on a daily basis, and even more in a time of grief. They just seem to sense what we need and, just like any family member would do, they provide whatever they can in the way of comfort. The sound of a little purring motorboat (or three) does far more good than most cures I know for broken hearts.

Happy Engage-a-versary!

(Sinatra Drive in Hoboken, NJ, November 19, 2008)

Four years ago tonight, the moment above occurred. Miraculously, Jeff managed to stun me into speechless surprise; the look on my face is no trick of the camera or well-acted choice--it's complete and total shock as a tiny ring box opens.

It's actually a miracle we even got to the point of the ring box, to tell you the truth. Not knowing any possible reason why Wednesday, November 19, might be a significant day, I had already canceled my own engagement by throwing a tantrum about how we couldn't afford to go out to eat. Once we got over that hurdle, friends set me up to pick the "right" restaurant for dinner (Trinity, the location of our first date), yet I chose Cuban for no apparent reason. The night of the actual engagement, a meeting ran late at work, and then the friend who was bringing me to Hoboken ran late, all resulting in a very anxious future fiance pacing the river. All that is to say nothing of my attempt to go directly into the restaurant--rather than to the bench where Jeff sat (it was cold!), or my three interruptions of the proposal-I-didn't-know-was-a-proposal.

Finally, Jeff got to the end of the words he'd planned for months: "You've swept me off my feet; I'd like to sweep you off yours for the rest of your life." And what did I do? Offered a "That's so sweet," followed by a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, followed by standing and stamping my cold feet. As a result, the moment above is the direct result of my endlessly patient husband sharply calling "Tory!" and opening the box I didn't even know he had.

Little has changed in four years. Jeff remains endlessly patient, and I continue to interrupt the majority of his important speeches. I still try to control where we go and when we go there, and he still beats me to the punch some days. And, no matter what, November 19 has always remained as our day--our own personal holiday. I somehow always manage to forget the exact date, but Jeff never does. There's always a card on my bedside table in the morning or flowers when I get home from work. This morning, there was a small pile on the butcher block in the kitchen: soft, fuzzy socks, portable hand warmers, and a card that read "Let these gifts warm you as you always warm me... or at least... warm those cold piggies [toes and fingers] of yours." This day--our day--marks the beginning of when we knew our life would be together always.

How honored I am to call this man my husband, the one I pledged to love forever and a couple of extra days.

Yup. I married ALL of that.

The man I love, prepared for anything Snor'eastercane 2012 might bring!

I adore my husband. I am awed by the way he cares for me, in the midst of the calm and the storms and everything in between. He knows when to ask the tough questions and how to prod me out of my comfort zone, but he's also well aware of when the right answer is Annie's mac 'n' cheese and a glass of chardonnay.

Not one of his home-bartending creations, but an equally delicious moment!

And he doesn't just care for me; instead, he has a long track record of nurturing my friends, too. He's sat through countless hours of chick flicks, through long nights of tears, and through being the only guy for a night out in the town center (which sounds enviable to some men, until they realize it's just four girls gossiping about fashion and work for several hours). He never complains, either; instead, he's quick to toss an extra (veggie) burger on the grill or whip up another round of cocktails.

The pumpkin-carving and fire Jeff prepared for my girlfriends and me the night of the hurricane.
(There were S'mores, too--we just didn't have enough time to get to them!)

And he makes me laugh--really laugh--at least once every day. He sends a fabulous Get Fuzzy cartoon to my phone or stalks Ozzy around our house, looking for all the world like a giant cat/child hybrid. He tells me stories of the things his first-grade students say in acting class and points out the kids in our neighborhood doing silly things. He agrees to watch a half-hour sitcom I love (in place of an hour of Discovery Channel) just because he hopes it will make me smile.

Sticking out our tongues (just 'cause) on top of Federal Hill, Baltimore.

The lists could go on and on, but I'll stop here (for now). Boo, you're right, we made a family the day we got married. I want to be silly and sappy and sentimental with you forever and a couple of days!