A Midwest Girl Leaves Home

April.

May 1, 2024

April brought all the showers as promised; now we wait to see if May holds up her end of the deal with flowers.

I’m sitting here looking out at more gray clouds while drinking my second cup of hot coffee for the morning.

It’s cool and gloomy, but the bright green baby leaves are bravely peeking out and promising warmer days will come.

We’ve worked hard this month planting grass and trying to transform our yard from a muddy, sandy mess into something we can go out and enjoy this summer.

Darren and our son have been building rock retaining walls and getting everything prepped for stone pathways and a patio.

When we pulled into the driveway yesterday, my six-year-old daughter said, “Man, this place looks good. Look at that grass!” Apparently even she is tired of the brown muddy mess 😁

I spent one rainy day this month introducing a friend to my favorite bookstore and antique shop. We sipped hot coffee and drove around the sweet little town my family moved away from a year ago.

I came home with an antique printer’s tray — I’m going to hang it up for the kids to fill with the many treasures they bring in from outside like rocks, seashells, and feathers.

I also found a few beautiful old books to read and add to our shelves.

Speaking of shelves, Darren used some of the wood from the old farmhouse we remodeled in Massachusetts and added these shelves on either side of the fireplace here in our new home.

I’m enjoying having another area to decorate and display photos.

Photos are really important to me. I love the way a photo can transplant you back to a moment in time and remind you of the significance that moment held.

I took the photo of the clouds on one of our last evenings at that farmhouse in Massachusetts.

Leaving that place was incredibly hard, even though we knew it was the right thing to do.

That night, the clouds reminded me of wings, and it felt like a reminder that God’s wings were wrapped around me then and always.

I took the photo of Darren and I holding hands during that same difficult summer of transition.

We were sitting in a field in Maine, under a tree that we’ve gone and sat under ever since we were dating.

We’ve held hands in solidarity through many years and many things — good and bad, and that photo reminds me to keep holding on to the precious hand God placed in mine.

Other treasured moments from this month include the sweet letters my mom and dad mail back and forth with the kids.

If my kids are going to grow up far away from grandparents, I’m glad they can at least keep in touch as pen pals 🖤

Here is Puppy, the brave survivor of a panther attack (this particular panther being our rather naughty cat).

Puppy has been a beloved member of the family since our daughter was born, so I’m glad we were able to get him on the road to recovery 😛

One of my favorite things this and every month is our Friday night movie nights together.

We all look forward to piling on the couch together at the end of the week to enjoy a show (and pizza and popcorn and ice cream because we don’t mess around).

Our kids are getting so big and one of the only times we get to snuggle up with them these days is during these family nights each week. We may drive each other crazy 98% of the time, but I will always treasure these evenings together.

I closed out the month yesterday by snuggling my daughter who was home from school with an ear infection. Again, the bigger they get, the less I get to scoop them up in my arms… so I’ll take what I can get…even sick day snuggles 🖤

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March.

April 1, 2024

March is a tease. The trees are heavy with red blossoms waiting to bloom and daffodils shine like the sun against the gray and brown landscape. But it’s cold outside, and spring hasn’t yet come to New England.

Actually, we’re supposed to get snow on Thursday, which is stupid.

Because we’re tired of being cold, we went to Canada for spring break 🙂 We mostly stayed inside, and it was fun.

While we wait for warmer, brighter days, I’ve been busy making the house feel like spring.

Linen and cotton pillows replace the soft, fury winter ones. Greenery is swept off the mantel by flowers and buds. If it’s cold outside, then we’ll just have to work at it being warm and cozy inside.

We closed out March with Easter. And though I love the meaning behind Easter, the death and resurrection of my wonderful Savior, I struggle with Easter every year.

When I was 22, fresh out of college and newly married, moving across the country was a wonderful adventure. I soaked that excitement up for years.

And then I became a mother.

Motherhood stirs in me such a deep homesickness. I wish my parents were closer, watching their grandchildren grow up. I wish my kids could play with their many cousins. And I wish I lived close enough to my brothers to give them a hard time every single day until they die just as they deserve.

And on Easter Sunday, I wish we were all crammed around my momma’s table for dinner together.

It’s hard coming home on Easter Sunday to a quiet house and just the four of us. Not because the four of us aren’t enough — I love my little family. But because holidays feel like they should be spent with family.

I hesitate to write these words because I don’t want it to sound like I’m asking for pity or an invitation to dinner. We have a wonderful community, and kind friends who often extend the invitation to join them and their families on special days; I’m so thankful for that.

But I choose to write these words because I know I’m probably not the only one who wrestles with sadness on a day that should be happy.

There are plenty of reasons the holidays can feel heavy in our hearts — death, divorce and broken relationships, isolation, the invisible fears and burdens we carry.

I think of a friend who just lost her dad, of another who’s estranged from her mom. So many heartaches that inch their way to the surface with the lump in our throat and the ache in our bones for something different.

So, if you’re sad when everyone else seems happy, I just want you to know that you’re not alone; it’s okay to feel that way.

Life this side of Eden is never just as we hope or expect it to be. It’s complicated — both achingly beautiful and devastatingly painful — sometimes all in the same hour or day.

But I will tell you one thing I like about Easter — I like that someday in heaven, I’ll sit at a giant table with all my family in Jesus — and we won’t be sad or lonely anymore. We won’t ache for belonging or the people we love, because we’ll finally be together.

Until that day, know you’re not alone and it’s okay to not be okay. Because of Easter, a better day is coming.

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February.

February 27, 2024

February brought us both glittering snow and promises of spring. The longer I live in New England, the more I look forward to the snow. I cheer with the kids when we wake up to a snow day and any excuse to stay home.

The kids and I spent our snow days trying to figure out how to make soft, fluffy dinner rolls. We didn’t succeed. But we haven’t given up yet either. We’ll just keep eating our way through trial and error (and loaves of banana bread too) until we bite into the perfect roll at last.

We celebrated Darren’s 40th birthday this month. It’s funny, because we both mildly panicked about turning 30. But the idea of 40 doesn’t really bother either one of us. I think after the craziness of last year, we both feel older than we are anyway, so 40 doesn’t sound so bad 🙂

For Darren’s birthday dinner, we dropped the kids off with family and went out to a little Lebanese place that’s one of our favorites. We filled our middle-aged bellies with lamb, chicken, kafta, falafel, rice, hummus, and fattoush…annnnnd were very full…but not very sorry. It was good.

We had Spirit Week at school this month. Let me just park here for a minute 😛 My kids have completely different personalities. I think of them as the sun and the moon…both beautiful but bringing such different lights into the world.

Roman is the moon — born an old man, factual and serious.

Aletheia is the sun — bright, playful, and dreaming.

Every year when Spirit Week rolls around, Aletheia jumps in excited to dress up and be silly. Roman, on the other hand, has no patience for such foolishness. They were supposed to dress up like senior citizens one day…and the pictures tell the story 😆

Speaking of my crazy loon of a daughter, the girl has been begging for a pet lizard for forever. We finally decided to get her one, and now it lives in her zoo of a room along with her many toy snakes, lizards, and cheetahs.

Meet Jack, the much beloved leopard gecko.

I’ve been thinking this month about how easy it is to get a bit lost in the work of taking care of a home and family. I’ve always got a running list pulsing through my mind of what everyone needs and what needs to be done.

I scour clearance racks to keep the kids dressed, pack lunches so they don’t subsist on corn dogs as they’d prefer, and get up early to make sure everyone gets something in their belly before we race out the door.

But it can be easy to forget that I need to put on more than the same hoodie every day or that I ought to eat more than a glazed donut in the car.

So, I’ve been working this month on keeping myself on that running list in my head too.

A couple simple changes have helped a lot, like making myself a hot breakfast after school drop off and actually sitting down to eat. I even scoured a clearance rack for myself and wore something other than ripped jeans and a t-shirt for a day 🙂

Other small changes that have helped this month — deleting Facebook and Instagram off my phone, redeeming our many hours in the car by listening to audio books with the kids (we’re loving The Little House on the Prairie series), and listening to my Bible reading when I’m driving alone.

I’ve also been listening to my pastor’s commentary on the Bible reading plan I’m working through this year. You can check that out here if you’re looking for a way to start reading the Bible or would like help better understanding what you’re reading. This has been really helpful and encouraging to me.

It’s been helpful this month too, to get outside as much as we can when the weather allows. I’ve been working on clearing areas around the house of brush in preparation for planting flowers, bushes, and gardens this spring.

Then we have a big brush fire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows at the end to warm up.

Now that February is coming to a close, I feel all the stir craziness of spring settling in my bones. I’m ready to pack up the winter decor and fill the house with lighter, brighter things. I want to go for long walks in the warm sunshine and sit outside in the fresh air.

Until then, we’ll see what March brings 🖤

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January.

February 5, 2024

It’s been a long time since I played with words.

The last year was really, really hard. Today though, I sit on the other side of that all-consuming year and breathe in the goodness of what we built.

I’m tucked in my armchair in a bright, warm corner of our bedroom — my favorite nook in the house.

The sun is shining, which is not remarkable, unless it is. And it is remarkable after so many months of rain and gray.

The sky is a shade of blue that seems rather special to New England — azure, bright and clear.

*Not today, but we sit under the same clear skies*

The kids have the day off school and were lured outside by the enchanting sky, cold as it may be. “It just looks warm,” they tell me, and can’t help but play in the dazzling light.

I don’t blame them. I could sit here all day long watching the light dance and play across the room.

I have a simple goal for writing this year — to share one post at the end of each month with thoughts and photos of the month gone by.

For us, January was a month of rest and settling in.

Though we moved into our home in November, it took me until January to really feel settled. The boxes are unpacked and thrown away at last (after three different moves over the last year!).

Right after the new year, we filled our house with friends for the first time. Starting over in a new place is hard. Making friends as an adult is hard too. But God has been good in building community around us here in Connecticut.

We’ve had to show up and plant the seeds, but God has grown good fruit from our labor.

I sat on my living room floor that night with friends wrapped all around the room and ten children bouncing and booming all through the house. The conversation, noise, and laughter made it feel like home. A house is just a house, but a home is something entirely different. And that cold January night, we were home.

We spent a lot of time this month hanging photos on the walls. Darren and I have been married for 15 years, and parents for almost 10.

Looking through photos and deciding which ones to display was a sweet reminder of all the years we’ve shared and the life we’ve built together along the way.

January was a month of quiet and creativity.

I’ve allowed myself to take a step back this month and rest as much as possible. We pushed so hard for so long and reached a place of deep burnout by the time we were able to stop.

That works for a season — but only if you rest and recover afterword. So, as hard as it might be sometimes to make it happen, we’re working at being still and enjoying simply being home.

My husband came home with a little black kitten one night.

We are all rather smitten, our son especially so. Meet Panther 🙂

I’m always happy when January is over. Winter is long and I look forward to brighter, warmer days. But I have no complaints about this January; it was a good, rich month of rest and renewal.

I hope you’ve had a good and merciful start to your year as well. Until next month <3

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Finding Joy

April 6, 2023

Initially, my instructions were, “don’t fill your boots with water.” I say this to my daughter as she rolls a Tonka truck toward an irresistible puddle and eyes me — sizing up how much she’ll get away with.

It’s cute, isn’t it, how I’ve been a mother for almost nine years, and I still think I can tell a five-year-old standing between a dump truck and a puddle not to get “too dirty.”

We’re on our land, working on our house build, and the whole place is one giant mud puddle. The kids always get filthy here — rolling down a giant hill of dirt produces very consistent results.

We’ve taken to loading the kids into the car directly onto trash bags, barefoot, and generally after dark — so our civilized townhouse neighbors won’t have even more questions about us when we come rolling in covered in mud yet again 🙂

Obviously, I lost the battle with the rain boots and mud.

And I’m glad I did.

I struggle as a mom with being happy and joyful. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my kids or being their mom. I do. I like them a lot.

But I get so tired, and overwhelmed, and busy, and… and it’s easy to lose my joy and laughter amid it all.

It’s a lot of work keeping people alive. They need to eat every day (like, several times a day). They need to sleep even though they don’t believe you. They are absolute germ factories, and I’m not even sure anymore if it’s possible to keep them healthy.

I try, and I try, and I try… and I wear myself out trying. And somewhere along the way, I get pretty grumpy about the whole dang thing.

Earlier this week, when my son was mad, he told me I reminded him of this grumpy, saucy monkey in a movie we watched.

It was sort of funny. But mostly not… because he meant it… and he was right. I am a grumpy, saucy monkey a lot of the time.

But every now and then, I remember to stop telling my kids to stay out of the mud and remember to take pictures of them smiling instead.

This is all you see on social media… the moments I remember to simmer down and let my children laugh and play while I delight in them. But that’s not really who I am most of the time. Just ask my son.

This story doesn’t end with a moral or any solid advice. I just thought, for the sake of solidarity, that you should know if you are a grumpy monkey, or you see people post beautiful moments with their children and you feel like a failure, that you aren’t alone.

I told my kids one hundred times to stay out of the mud before I finally grabbed my camera and took pictures of them having fun instead.

Sometimes you lose battles and win wars. Sometimes the war is with yourself, not them.

The end.

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Dust & Sunshine

February 23, 2023

I run through rows of corn taller than my twelve-year-old frame. The fuzzy, prickly stalks pull at my arms and legs and, occasionally slice like a paper cut into my skin. Somewhere, deep within the tidy rows, a bare circle of ground hides like an accidental fort…that magical spot where the tractor turned around and left nothing to grow.

In this accidental fort, I plop myself on the ground, eyes to the summer sky. The ground is hot and dusty beneath the Midwestern sun. Fluffy, whipped-cream clouds roll by with nowhere to go. There is no time here, save the rising and setting of the sun. I’ve nowhere to be, and nothing to do, so I lie in the dust watching the clouds play and shape-shift as they roll toward the ombre horizon.

That was twenty-five years ago.

Today, I wake early to a moody gray sky spitting snow, and sleet, and rain at us like it’s cursing. I get myself and the kids ready, and we rush out the door like we do every morning. Weaving through traffic, we make our way through the madness of Hartford down to school.

I have many a place to be and much to get done. Time is a taskmaster and ever my enemy these days.
We’re knee-deep in our “let’s build a house!” project — that precarious point when you’ve gone far enough to question your sanity, but too far to change your mind — sane or otherwise.

And I am tired.

Tired enough that I sat on the couch this week and cried. And if you don’t know me well enough to know, I’ll just tell you that is neither normal nor good.

When I’m tired from all these early mornings, or stressed from the traffic, or frazzled from running around, my heart and imagination retreat to that summer day in a cornfield beneath the clouds. A time when time wasn’t a thing. When there was no traffic or madness — only dust and sunshine.

And then I remember — that’s why we’re building this house, really. For the space and reprieve. For the fields and flowers, the dust and sunshine we might come home to each day should we survive another trip on i-91 😉

When I was twelve years old lying in a cornfield, my mother was about my age and busy raising six kids. She was not, I assure you, lying anywhere watching the clouds roll by. I can’t even picture what she would’ve looked like sitting down.

She was building a life for us (and my father, too). And I’m sure they were tired, tired enough to sit and cry.
But what they gave us in their work and sacrifice, was the freedom to run and play and make a study of the clouds and sunshine.

And that’s what I want for my children, too. Freedom. Freedom to run and play. Time to notice and ponder. A magical circle, an accidental fort in this loud, fast, exhausting world. I hope they remember the sunshine on their skin and the dirt at their feet.

We’re not building a house for a fancy place to live. Goodness, we had a house we loved already. We gave that up because, really what we’re building is a life, not a house.

This is our legacy — the dust and sunshine.

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A Year in Photos

January 4, 2023

2022 brought many changes for our family. Sometimes, all I remember about the year is the packing and moving and the whirlwind of work that went into making that happen.

A year ago in January, we began seriously looking for a house in Connecticut. In the year since, we finished remodeling and selling our 1860s farmhouse, bought land and a townhouse in Connecticut, remodeled the townhouse and moved in, started the kids in a new school, and finally, started clearing the land and building our farmhouse here in CT.

My consumption of coffee makes a lot more sense after writing that paragraph.

I spent the last few days sorting through all the pictures on my phone from the last year… and though it feels like all we’ve done for the last 12 months is roll our stuff across the country like dung beetles, it turns out we’ve had many other adventures too. Here’s a few:

WINTER brings days at home soaking up what we know will be the final months in the house we love. We spend evenings around the fireplace, build many a fort, and pray hard over our next steps.

In February, we escape to Florida for a reprieve from the New England winter and some time away with family.

SPRING brings the first walk on our new land in Connecticut. We begin dreaming about building a farmhouse and raising our family on some acreage.

The next few months are busy with packing the house, finishing all the left-over projects on our current home, closing out the school year, and settling where to live while we build.

SUMMER is a blur of activity.

We take in all our favorites things around our beloved town one last time… swimming in the lake, walks around the common, burgers at Howard’s, and stopping at the corner store for ice cream.

Our house is finally on the market, and we are off to Maine for the 4th of July.

In the mix, Darren and I celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary, and the kids have their birthdays.

Near the end of summer, we go camping in Vermont. We arrive on Aletheia’s 5th birthday and start setting up camp.

That evening, Roman takes a hard fall off his bike, and is transported by ambulance to the hospital. A CT scan is run, and he walks away with a bad concussion.

Had he not been wearing his helmet, the whole situation likely would’ve ended differently. I look back at the pictures surrounding that day and I’m so thankful.

AUTUMN sweeps in. We settle into our townhouse just days before the school year begins.

We close on our house in Massachusetts.

A week later, we are on a plane flying to my parents’ house in Missouri. It’s the perfect break after an exhausting summer. Darren and I even sneak away for a couple days to ourselves thanks to my mom and dad.

FALL brings the first tangible work on our new home. We begin clearing the land, excavate, pour the foundation, and frame up most of the structure.

We spend weekends exploring Connecticut and finding our way around.

WINTER is welcome this year. We’re a bit tired and tattered, and staying in for a few cold months sounds good.

We celebrate our one and only Christmas in this townhouse … dreaming already of our first Christmas in the farmhouse next year.

New Year’s Eve is spent with friends here in Connecticut — friends who have many times over made the chaos of the last twelve months well worth it.

Finally, we finish the year thankful, truly thankful for all it held, and step into the next year ready to begin again.

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Darkness & Light

December 12, 2022

I am up at 1:00 am to the sound of my daughter coughing. I find her stumbling, half-asleep toward my bedroom. She’s scooped into my arms and placed quietly back into bed.

A hand to her forehead, then a thermometer. The fever pulsing through her body for nearly a week fights on. I stumble downstairs, half-asleep myself, and fumble for cough syrup.

3:00 am — I wake to the sound of coughing — my son this time. The thermometer, mercifully, reveals no fever. I pour more cough syrup and find my way back to bed.

5:00 am — I wake, one last time, to the sound of coughing. My daughter finds me in the dark, and together, we tip toe back to her room.

The fever has broken at last. I snuggle next to her on the bottom bunk, hoping my presence will lull her back to sleep. It works. I hear her breathing deeply beside me and breathe deeply myself.

The phone buzzes to life. School is cancelled. We get a snow/sick day. My tired, tense body relaxes… ahh, we get to stay home and rest today.

My daughter sleeps until 10:00am. Her weary body finally catching up and fighting back.

My son pulls on layers of snow clothes and heads outside to play in the small patch of common yard we share with the neighbors. His delight is tangible as he pelts snowballs towards the house and grins his eight-year-old-boy grin at my camera.

We move slowly through the day, watching the moody clouds give way to sunlight dancing across our first snow.

I put mulligatawny on the stove, thanks to the recommendation of a friend some months ago. The aromatic fragrance of root vegetables and curry fills the house.

This became one of my favorite meals the very first time I tasted it. We dip soft, warm naan in the broth and soak the warmth and comfort into our bones.

The sky grows dark so early. We close the blinds and migrate to the living room, near the glow of the Christmas tree. This is the first year I’m learning, really learning, about Advent.

I’m beginning to understand the tension between the darkness and light, the weariness and hope. How perfectly this time of year displays these very things — a weary world rejoices. Goodness, we are weary. But how we might rejoice.

My son loses steam as the day ebbs on. Soon, he’s snuggled against my shoulder. His throat hurts, he says.

Our snow day is a sick day after all. I wonder if we’ll sleep tonight.

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Little Farm

October 8, 2022

In my chair, in a snug corner of the living room, I watch a flawless fall day unfold out the window. My view – tidy rows of little colonial townhouses, fluffy clouds against a brilliant blue sky. The leaves blush, submitting to the cool air in a transformation to golden ends.

We’re here. We made it. Connecticut.

We walked on our land today, watching a mighty bulldozer command dirt this way and that. The shape of a long, tree-lined driveway taking form before our eyes.

When I first walked this land, I couldn’t see what Darren saw. I couldn’t imagine a house or farm or building dreams here in any way. Though I love big, old trees, the trees themselves made me claustrophobic. I wished for an open field, like the one I grew up on in Missouri.

But I’m beginning to see it now – the winding driveway to a little farmhouse, the yard spotted with towering maples, the flowers I’ll plant and the gardens we’ll grow. All of it begins to play out in my heart and imagination.

I don’t think I was ready to dream a new dream when we started down this road. I loved the house we were in. I loved our town and our kids growing up close to cousins. I wanted to stay; I knew we needed to go. So, I tore my heart away from that place one box at a time.

Every day since January 1^st has been chaos to that end. The packing, remodeling, house hunting, buying, and selling… I thought it’d never end. We skidded across the finish line on our bellies, moving the weekend before school started and getting sick immediately after.

It wasn’t until this week that I sat and caught my breath. I’d sit in a very certain spot in the living room to get a glimpse of the cornfields out beyond our townhouse…and marvel. Marvel at a God who allows the view of cornfields for a Midwest girl uprooted. Wonder at a God who allows us to build a house in the woods even when life demands we be so close to the city.

He sees us. And though he often says no, he gives so many good and merciful yeses too. He gives cornfields in the city and reminds me that he’s here in all the unlikely details that play out before us.

Three years ago, life began to unravel for us. It has taken all three years since then to see and believe things will ever piece back together again.

Earlier this week, I sat at a friends’ house drinking coffee and holding her new baby. We talked for almost two hours solid, and the time clicked by so quickly. I wasn’t sure I’d have friendship like that again. But God… he meets us in the raw, hurting spaces and grows good things in that same soil.

I don’t know what all God will grow in us here in Connecticut, but I finally know without question that we are where he wants us to be for right now.

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Small Town Festivities

May 22, 2022

This is our last summer in the small Massachusetts town we love. Come fall, we’ll hand the keys to someone else and start a new journey in Connecticut.

Until then, we spend these perfect warm-weather days soaking up our favorite places and traditions around town. From evening walks around the town common ending with a stop at the corner store for ice cream, to sunny afternoons beside the lake. This place will always have our hearts.

Yesterday, we enjoyed one last Asparagus Festival on the town common. I can explain.

Don’t be jealous, but our little town is believed to be the birthplace of asparagus in America — and we’re very proud of it 🙂

Every spring, when asparagus doth sprout, we hold a festival in honor of said vegetable’s greatness. Yes, like all festivals, it’s an excuse to eat from food trucks and buy knickknacks…but it’s fun.

The kids took their first pony ride, splashed in the iconic fountain, made crafts, and somehow got sticky from head to foot eating cotton candy.

We came home with a painted print of the town common by a local artist who signed the piece and chatted with us about the town’s history; it will hang somewhere special in our new home, no doubt.

I’m so thankful for the seven years we’ve called this place home. And while I’m sad to leave, I know there are good things ahead.

Actually, a friend from Connecticut told me there’s a strawberry festival not far from where we’re moving… so we’ll still have an excuse to celebrate eating food and soaking up some small-town fun 🙂

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April.

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March.

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February.

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January.

It’s been a long time since I played with words.

For us, January was a month of rest and settling in.

January was a month of quiet and creativity.

My husband came home with a little black kitten one night.

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Finding Joy

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Dust & Sunshine

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A Year in Photos

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Darkness & Light

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Little Farm

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Small Town Festivities

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It’s been a long time since I played with words.

For us, January was a month of rest and settling in.

January was a month of quiet and creativity.

My husband came home with a little black kitten one night.

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