Dear Josie - On the Cusp of Eighteen Months

Dear Josie,

A year and a half. I can't really believe it - my little baby is nearly a year and a half old and it feels like just a couple days ago that we found out you were growing, surely and expectantly inside of me. I loved you from the moment I knew you were in there, but I fell in love with you the moment you were placed in my arms, it was different, this thriving little life that seemed so small was mine and you needed me to take care of you. As your mom, I have blossomed and have loved every single second - even the ones where you make me want to tear my hair out. Yes, we have those now. You're an indignant little thing sometimes, and stubborn as a bull - wonder where you get that from? 

But as I think about these past eighteen months and what they have meant to me, how they have changed me, and where we are now I can't help but revel in the vibrancy that you have brought to everything, the purpose and drive you have given me that wasn't there before. I had dreams and aspirations before you, sure, but the determination to bring those to fruition and the decidedness was not there before you. You are the sweetest, most loving little girl and your hugs and smile melt my heart on a daily basis. Not only are you sweeter than pure honey, but you are absolutely hilarious. Your silliness has me in stitches all the time! You love putting stuff on your head and walking around, wait for us to laugh at you. Whether it's a mesh clothes hamper or my sweatshirt, or a little wicker basket, you put it on your head and get this adorable look on your face as you await our inevitable delighted laughter.

Most of all, you bring joy into our every day. You light up even the darkest of moments and your presence gives me such joyful thankfulness - especially that I get to be home with you daily and enjoy your sweetness and hilarity throughout my week. 

Some things that you really love are: BOOKS! Your Nana is so proud, I'm sure. You love books; sometimes I'll catch you just sitting quietly on the floor in your room, an open book in your lap, just looking and studying the pages. You also love animals! Stuffed and real. You, of course, love your pup Cael, and admittedly love terrorizing him too. Along with Leo the pug when you're around him. You've also got a variety of stuffed animals; Lorne the wolf, Merlin the bear, Biscuit the dog, among so many others. You love seeing animals out and about as well and make noises to try to talk to them. You love Cheezits (thanks, Dad) and apples too, and pretty much eat anything at this point but meat. You also oddly enough love spicy stuff too. You also love playing peek-a-boo.

You say a number of words, Dada and Mama being among them (my heart leaps in my chest every time I hear you say Mama), bubble, ball, Nana or Night Night, sit and stay (for Cael) and a few others I'm sure that I'm not remembering. 

You are also tough as nails - you rarely cry for being hurt. You climb all over everything, and are extremely dexterous (again, thanks, Dad!) though you still manage to give me mini heart attacks all the time.

In short, you're my daughter and I love everything about you and am so overjoyed at watching who you are unravel daily. So thankful God chose me to be your mom! I love you!

Love,

Mama

*hangs head in shame*

This space has been sorely neglected. Again. To be fair, I have had a lot on my plate lately and many exciting things afoot. But still. I apologize to all of you (are there any left?) who usually read my blog and have been missing its presence in your live (hah).

I will not promise to be here more often. Every time I do, I end up breaking that promise and I hate going back on my word. No, instead, I will promise to make every effort to fill this place with my musings and happenings, and of course, ridiculously cute photos of my daughter. In fact, here's one to sate your appetite till next time:

Till next time! Hopefully that won't be too distant from now. I imagine it won't be though, it's officially autumn, and this season always seems to pull the words and creative musings from my soul. I breathe it in and love it.


Caitlin

front porch perpending.

I'm currently sitting outside on my porch, warm breeze on my arms, and my second cup of coffee sitting beside me - I can smell it mingling with all the other spring fragrances on the air, the freshness of new growth and the promise of an imminent spring rain. I can't help but revel in the beauty of it all. My little daughter plays and sits with her favorite book beside me, and the dulcet tones of the fiddle, guitar, and mandolin sing out from my music to join with the joyful birds in their springtime song. It's all so idyllic and I have to pinch myself to remember that this is a Monday morning, not a lazy Saturday. But there's really not a huge difference in those two things for me anymore - instead of an alarm clock waking me up at 6:30 or earlier this morning, I got to sleep till Josie and I decided to wake up and cuddle for another 30 minutes before even getting out of bed. It's incredible the things you get to enjoy when you decide you want them and work hard to make them happen.

I love springtime - it's so full of life and newness and brings so much hope for renewal and rebirth. It's funny how we can get into such a funk in the winter, the sun never stays long enough and even when it does the frigidity of the season drives us to stay inside and sulk sometimes. But then spring comes, finally, and we have a Julie Andrews Sound of Music moment where we twirl in our front yard, exulting in the warmth and sunshine and shoots of new green leaves (Oh, that's just me? Well, you get it). It's just so refreshing after such a long, hard winter like we had this year and I rejoice in it!

My view this morning.

Now my sweet babe slumbers in my lap - she's getting so big that her legs just hang off my lap in sleep-rendered limpness. She's growing just as fast as those shoots of newness on the tree in my front yard and I am so glad that I don't have to miss a single second.

My other (better) view.

Enjoying this moment,


Caitlin

one year.

This past Wednesday was a big day. My little baby, my beautiful and sweet girl turned one! I cannot believe how quickly that year flew by, and here I am, a mother to a one-year-old. She has such a precious heart and a sweet disposition, and she's funny too! She's silly and loves to play around and have books read to her. She's almost walking - she easily could be by now, but she's a careful one and won't do it till she's sure she won't fall-- any day now though! She babbles up a storm all the time, and says 'Da-da' and 'Da-dee' regularly - only sometimes though is she actually calling for her Daddy. She's eating food now -- I'm making it all for her-- and her favorites include strawberries and sweet potatoes. She loves going for walks in Montreat, and I can't wait to show her how to play in the creeks this summer. Her Nana and Major were in town for her big day and she loved playing with them and being held by them, and having books read to her - not sure who enjoyed it more actually.

I am blessed daily in the knowledge that she is my daughter, and that I was picked specifically to be her mum. She is learning and growing every single day and I am so glad that I am able to be home with her and not miss a single minute of it. I have loved so much being a mother to Josie, and I am so excited to see with what else (and who else) God is going to bless our family.

Her birthday was full of love and family - she shares her day with her daddy, which is so special! She opened some presents smashed some whipped cream and fruit, and generally just made everyone happy-- she's great at that. She was tired, but so sweet the whole day. I just can't get over what an amazing disposition she has. I know God has big plans for this little girl, and I'm so honored to part of her life.

changing my fate.

This happens every year, I resolve to be more present in this space at the beginning of January, and for that month I'm totally on it, writing and posting fairly often. Then it tapers a bit in February and then all of a sudden boom I'm gone, and there are one or two stray posts here for the remainder of the year. It seems like things are going that way this year too, but I'm here to change my fate in this space!

It's a little odd to think how much my life has changed since I began writing in this blog, and I mean at the very beginning when it was still Black Currant Thoughts and my blog titles were the kind of tea I was drinking while I sat writing that particular post. I was still finishing up my undergrad degree at Montreat; in fact, beginning this blog was an assignment in the computer class I had my last semester - a class I'd been putting off and should have taken my freshman year. From there I went on to a sundry of different jobs, Movie Gallery being the worst, being a nanny to four-month-old twins having the steepest learning curve, and working at Biltmore being the most fun and enjoyable - not to mention a sprinkling of photo shoots and weddings in and among those - all before Jeremy and I packed up and moved our lives to Edinburgh, Scotland for a year. Still before Scotland though I encountered my first real tragedy, a close friend from high school was taken from this world in an early morning car accident that shocked and saddened so many. Ryan's death, and that of my grandfather shortly thereafter, taught me to live each day in the knowledge that it could be my last, or the last of any of those around me - not in a depressing way, but in a way that allows me to love freely and care deeply in each moment. I hope she'd be proud of the way I'm riding my wave in life.
Then Scotland captured us with her beauty, heritage, and culture. We are so fortunate to have been able to follow our dreams and live for that year in a place like Edinburgh. It was good for our souls, our marriage, and our individual collection of experiences too. Scotland has always been part of our heritage, but now I daresay it will always be part of our own stories and our family's future as well. Our children will grow up knowing and loving that place as we do now.
We've travelled, we've moved, we've had numerous different occupations, we've had a few different family things going on, but the biggest most life-changing occurrence, of course, has to be the arrival of our own sweet Josephine MacLaren - almost a year ago now! I can't believe that next month she'll turn a year old! I cannot believe how much I've changed because of her, and how much pure joy she brings to me on a daily basis. Even when she crawls behind the couch and thinks it's a game to run away from me so I have to move the side-tables to get to her and pull her out. Even when she poops or pukes or drools on me. Even when she screams when I have a headache. I love her, with every fiber of my being and love who her presence has made me into. I love being her mum, and love watching her grow and learn and change.

So all in all, this space has seen a lot of changes and a lot of being events in our lives, and I intend to keep recording them here, even if I don't get to write as often as I'd like, I'll continue to make it a point to come back here and update. Thanks to all who have been with us since the beginning, and all our new friends and readers too. Love to you all.

Caitlin

valleys.

I haven't written in the past couple days because I was waiting for inspiration to strike me. But then yesterday I remembered that that's not really how I write, and it'd been so long since I had written regularly that I had forgotten my method. Typically I sit down, no real semblance of an idea in my mind, and just start writing. Thoughts, ideas, and dreams flow out of me that I didn't really realize were there, and therein lies the beauty of writing for me. Sometimes I don't really know what I truly think about something until *boom* there it is, freshly penned from my own mind. Sometimes my best ideas stem from sitting down and free-writing without real thought and then surprise myself as I reread what has just flown from my fingers. So here we go.

The last few days we've had snow - a lot of snow - and while I generally agree that winter and its frigid temperatures are so much more bearable when there is snow, I'm pretty ready for this snow to go away. It's beautiful, but everything stops and shuts down when there's snow and life gets suspended in this snow globe of fear and anticipation of 'snowmageddon'. I've been known to enjoy a snow day or two - especially when I was working in the corporate world and a snow day meant pay without work. It's a very different story when you own your own business though - the snow and fear of icy roads paralyzes people and puts a temporary halt in my month's momentum, and I've got a goal I'm pushing for so it's frustrating! But at the same time I'm thankful for some downtime and I know that if I keep working and keep doing the next right thing I'll still meet my goals. The key is not to let obstacles -especially those out of our control - stop us, but let them make us stronger and better.
I feel like that's true in any aspect of our lives though. Why let the things we cannot control stop us or discourage us? Instead, recognize what can be learned from any given situation and learn it! Let us stop looking at why a situation affects us negatively, and instead look at any obstacle or speed bump and find what good can be found in it. If things were always easy how would we learn? If things were handed to us how could we be truly grateful for our blessings? There cannot be mountains without valleys, and each make the other that much more marvelous.

Today I'm thankful for the valleys in my life and in my business because I know that mountains are sure to follow, and it's those mountains that give us the vantage point of the dazzling bigger picture and allow us to look back at the valleys and truly appreciate them for their beautiful role in our journey.

seasons.

It's funny, we all long for the spring when we're in the frigid dead of winter, and for the crisp coolness of autumn when we're in the dog days of summer, and some of us even say "I'd be happy if it were always spring." I've heard myself say it before, but the more I think on it the more I realize and understand the beauty of seasons. Would we appreciate that crisp autumnal beauty without the lush heat and sun of summer, or the blooming life and new green buds of springtime without the harshness of winter? Probably not nearly as much, it's winter's bite that makes spring's thaw that much more beautiful and welcome, to say nothing of the anticipation of summer as we eye our neglected sandals and sundresses in March, wondering how many more weeks we'll have to wait till they will be worn again. The anticipation makes the arrival of the seasons of warmth and beauty so exciting, and engenders our utmost appreciation.

It's the same in the seasons of life we go through. The trials are paramount to being thankful for the blessings, and indeed, are part of the blessings themselves sometimes. I sit here on a Saturday morning, coffee mug nearly empty beside me and I am thankful for the season in which we find ourselves. It is a season of transition now - that time when the days are whispering and hinting of the coming springtime, but the nights are still firmly rooted in winter's chilly grip. Yesterday was my last day at Montreat; my full-time job is officially over and I am no longer tethered to a computer during the weekdays. Praise God for the springtime that is imminent! But I sit here, just Josie, me and the dog lying at my feet, because Jeremy is still plying away, working hard to continue to provide for us at McDonald's. And praise God for the winter that reminds us of His provision. It is this season, this time and that before it, that will always let us remember and appreciate from where we have come. To remember that the blessings we enjoy are not to be taken for granted -- we must remember the winter, for only in our remembrance can we truly enjoy and bask in the sunshine and verdancy of the springtime that comes after.

And so I sit here, thankful for the winter through which we are navigating and even more so for the warmth of spring and summer for which our course has been set. I revel in His blessings, even in the winter - I will not doubt in the dark, or in the boreal climes, what He has shown us in the light and warmth.

summer on the mountain.

being still.

There have been many things that have forced stillness, or in some cases idleness, upon me in the past. But nothing quite like a sleeping baby can thrust me into a time of being still. I mean that physically as well as mentally. I've been meaning to write again in the space for a few days, but not until now - in the midst of needing to prepare for this evening, make dinner for a husband been away for three days, and wash the long-neglected pans in the sink - does the weight of her sleeping body on me keep me where I am. She is tired and needs this rest, but she also sleeps deepest and best when sleeping on my chest, or on me in some way. I suppose my warmth and my pulse against her little form is a comfort to her, and so I stay. Stay here in the sweet moment, regardless of the things I need to do, and just let her sleep. I will cherish the times I chose to sit in stillness with her, rather than bustle off to the things I think are important at the time. The dirty pans have waited days anyway, what's a little more time? Time to watch my little angel sleep again, to memorize the rounds of her little cheeks and her tousled nearly-there hair - all the things that will change so quickly as she grows into the woman God created her to be. It's worth being still for her, and I'm never idle as long as I'm memorizing her.

one-handed talents and time shifting.

It's amazing the things I've learned to do one-handed since becoming a mom. The cup of coffee sitting beside me was fully made one-handed - from cleaning the pot and grinding the beans, to grabbing the mug, pouring the coffee and doctoring it just right with creamer. Learning the counter-balance of baby-on-hip as you move through doorways or down halls was another learning curve - it only took one time of slamming my arm and Josie's poor little head knocking against the door jamb to teach me that lesson. As I sit here, the sweet weight of a sleeping little girl on my chest, and think of all the ways she has changed me in the last nine months I am overcome with emotion for this little being that I helped make. I never knew being a mom would suit me so well, I never knew that the little noises she makes with her mouth while she sleeps would sing sweetly in my ears, rather than disgust me as it does when adults make similar noises. Even her most give-me-attention cries don't grate in my ears (yet).
She has wrought great change in me. She has made me patient. She has made me giving. She has softened the hardest parts of me. She has given me motivation to reach for my dreams and make changes I never thought possible. She has given me perspective. And she has given me cause for lots of introspection.

One of the things I've been pondering upon lately is how time changes as our lives change. I was chatting with a girl in her freshman year in college and asking her how her Christmas was. She nodded, telling me it was good then stopped and said, "It went by really quickly though! Quicker than usual!" I just looked at her and said, "It'll never slow back down now, it'll just get quicker and quicker." How true is that though? I remember as a kid, and even as a teenager too, thinking that time went by so slowly! Once Christmas break arrived, I'd take naps every afternoon to try to make Christmas come quicker, and it still felt like it dragged on getting here. Now I find myself staying up later just watching Josie sleep; I don't want to miss anything! The days are flying by and she's growing so fast that I'll do anything to try to slow things down. It's funny how our perspective shifts like that, isn't it? You go from being a child to having a child, and time goes from standing still to days running together in a blur they're passing by so quickly - I can hardly keep track with what day it is.

I guess all of this is to say that Josie is teaching me how to live in the moment and enjoy the now for the beauty each second brings - not yearning for something in the future or even living in the past, pining for what was. This moment is precious. Her little mouth partially open as she sleeps, the smell of her sweet baby breath as she dreams and breathes, the contrast of her long, black eyelashes against her creamy skin and how they're so long they curl a little at the ends, the lines left on her face from my shirt as she shifts in her sleep to her other side, her little fingers and hands twitching as she slumbers, and that smile that fleetingly graces her sleeping face every once in a while. I could go on and on - this moment is beautiful and I am thankful for it even as I look forward to more and remember ones past. My daughter grows and I'll just grow with her, as mommas do, always in awe at the beautiful life with which I have been entrusted.

let the songs begin again.

It is the first day of a brand new year, and I can hardly believe that it is 2014. Not only that, but I have been married for six and a half years now, and I have an eight and a half month old daughter. When did I become such a grown up? I feel like it was just the other day that I pulled up onto the campus of Montreat College, full of excitement and anticipation of being in college and away from home. Fast forward nearly ten years (what?!) and a lot has changed, but I'm feeling a similar excitement and anticipation roiling again in the pit of my stomach for what this year will bring, and I feel a grin spread across my face at the knowledge that it will be very good, indeed.

Some of you may know that I began a venture this past year with my sister-in-law, Christal, called Arbonne. I was the biggest skeptic at the beginning, having already tried and hated network marketing, but there was something different about this company and Christal convinced me to just see if it might be a fit for me. With the encouragement of her, and my other upline friends, I jumped in with both feet and have been sometimes stumbling, sometimes sprinting, and sometimes crawling toward my dreams these past seven or eight months. Today, my dreams have become that much more attainable and some have already been realized. Today, I am officially an Area Manager with Arbonne and I only have two weeks left of my regular full-time job [and Christal is a Regional Vice President now!] This means a number of things for me: the most important of which is that I am officially a stay-at-home mom for my beautiful daughter, Josie - this alone is cause for the utmost rejoicing and tears of joy; the second thing that this means though, is that writing will now be pushed back up to the forefront of my daily tasks alongside mothering the most adorable and happy-go-lucky eight-month-old. While cleaning up my office/library/craft room today I found my original action plan from my first month in Arbonne and I got to reread the WHYs that I put to paper when first embarking on this journey. Intermingled with the staying at home wishes and financially free plans I found this: "I want to write. Hands down, I know that's what I was created to do." And that's what I plan on doing. I plan to write something every single day, whether it's here in this space, in my personal pen and ink journal, or on my novel that has been ever gnawing on my mind these past months; I will write. And this makes me so incredibly happy. God is so good, and He truly provides the desires of our hearts. I am in awe at his grace and mercies every day and to Him I give all the glory and credit for my current dreams-coming-true state.

Let there be songs on this mountain once again!

in which I became a mother.

I realize this space has been sorely neglected for quite some time - and I also realize that I have written that sentence before. However, this time I have the best excuse that one could ever have for not being present in this space - I became a mother. My life has changed remarkably in the past nearly six months, and I cannot even imagine not having Josie in it now. She has made me a better person and has made me a new person. In fact, the little weight I have on my chest right now is the best feeling in the world, and I feel so incredibly blessed be her mum. I love every single thing about her, and her little face is my favorite sight to see these days.

I wish I could tell you that I would try to write consistently here from now on, but with all we have going on right now there's no way I can make that promise. What I can promise is that whenever I have the time or proclivity to write a little something here or post a photo of our goings-on, I will. This adventure of motherhood is one which I am thoroughly enjoying and I cannot wait to continue down this path. I will update when I can, and I will breathe in every moment of this sweet little girl.

When I'm 98.

My Great-Grandmother Barker turned ninety-eight a few days ago. On Sunday, the Barker progeny gathered in her honor just outside of Charlotte to celebrate her life, legacy, and continuation of her place as matriarch of our family. She was able to say a short prayer before the meal as she sat at the head of the table, while her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, as well as her latest great-great-granddaughter that I carry with me. She is such a testament to our family, and her faith, steadfastness, and determination is an inspiration to all of us.
As part of the celebrations, Aunt Betsy asked us to write an essay about what we would like our lives to look like when we turn ninety-eight--our hopes, dreams, and aspirations. As usual, I took a more creative take on the assignment and wrote a scene of what I would like to imagine my ninety-eighth birthday will look like. I have shared my scene here--being surrounded by family, as Grandmother is, is my biggest wish:

When I’m 98

By Caitlin Barker Foreman

            The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across on the road leading up to the house, the dust has already settled, though the kids have only been gone for a half an hour. I say kids, but really they’ve been grown and had families of their own for years now. I sit on the crisp-white front porch, rocking slowly back and forth, swaying to the sound of the wind in the trees that line the driveway and dot the rolling hills surrounding the house. I look up to the mountains and consider their grandeur—how small am I, how insignificant compared to them. I have lived but for the blink of an eye in light of their stalwart history. The rocking chair creaks in slow time beneath me, and I still hear the echoes of my great-great-grandchildren’s squeals and giggles of delight as they frolicked and played through the well-worn halls of the farmhouse and spilled out onto the lawn and gardens surrounding it filling the air with their joy.

            Today I turned 98 years old. I look down at my hands as they grasp the armrests of my trusty rocking chair and marvel at the change that has been wrought in them these 98 years. I’ve often wondered at the phrase about knowing something “like the back of your hand,” because I certainly haven’t gone through life staring at the backs of my hands enough to recognize them as the years change and wither their once smooth skin. Now these mountains, those I know. I know the smells that come with the first spring rains, and the early budding Dogwoods and Bradford Pear trees. I know the verdant greens that fill the valleys and peaks with beautiful new growth—I even know the constantly changing clouds and the shadows they make on the mountainside in the summer as they float lazily overhead. I know the deep dimples on the cheeks of my beloved in his ever-present smile, and the timbre of his voice as he says he loves me every night before bed. And I know my children. I know the little freckle on the side of my eldest daughter’s nose that has been there since she was a year old, and I know the cowlicks in my youngest son’s hair that still get the better of him some days. It is things like these that I have spent my life memorizing, not the aging skin on the back of my hand, but the glorious blessings with which my Creator has gifted me. More precious than jewels these things are. More precious than the books I have published that allowed me to provide for my family, or the wondrous sights around the world I have seen. Blessed am I in the eyes of the Father, for my quiver is full and my heart overflows with joy.

            I close my eyes and let the spring breeze caress my face— it blows silver hairs pulled loose from my tied-back hair that tickle my forehead.

            “Mama?” says a soft voice that followed the familiar creak of the screen-door opening. “Mama, it’s time to come in.” She comes out and kneels beside my chair—she’s still so beautiful and elegant, the years have been kind to her. She has her father’s dimples. “Happy birthday, Mama. Did you have a good day?”

            “Oh, sweetheart. Every day the good Lord blesses me with is a good day, but yes, this one was particularly fine.” Any day that I am surrounded by my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren is a very good day, indeed.

            “You sure have left a legacy of progeny,” She says with a smile as she stands up beside me as if she knows exactly what I was thinking. “Not to mention a legacy of love. God has truly blessed us by giving us you as a matriarch, Mama. I hope you know how much you’ve inspired all of us— you and Daddy. We love you. Happy 98^th birthday again, Mom.”

            My eyes fill with tears at her words. God had blessed us, beyond all measure, but I know that it is me who is the one truly blessed. She begins to help me to my unsteady feet as her husband comes out onto the porch bearing my walker—I hate that thing, but I can’t get around without it. Before they help me inside, I turn my head for another glance at my mountains. The sun has begun to set and casts a beautiful golden light on the newly green trees gracing the familiar face of those mountains. I smile to myself as I’m helped inside. Here’s to another year full of joy, family, and God’s unfailing love.

Forty-six

There are days when the birth of my daughter still seems forever away. And then there are days when things are put into perspective and I realize how close I really am to holding her in my arms. Forty-six days.  Forty-six until my due date, so give or take a week or so on either side and I’ll be looking into the eyes of my firstborn child. It is so surreal for me still to know the truth of that, to feel her squirming around inside me constantly, knowing that she is there and growing and so very mine. It’s surreal, and then at the same time it is so right and good, and I rejoice at the blessing of carrying this child for nine months in preparation of being her mother. Mother. I am a mother. This title is one that frightens, excites, and incites all at the same time. Frightening because I fear I’ll fail miserably, exciting because of the exhilarating knowledge that this baby was made especially for Jeremy and me, and inciting because I am compelled to be the best mother and wife that I can be to my new little family of three.  I will cherish the remainder of the time I have to be just me and her together, and Jeremy and I as just husband and wife, and I look forward to the time when this baby deems herself ready to make an appearance with joy and hope.

Last week on Valentine's Day at 32 weeks.

birthdays - both present and future.

Entering my thirtieth week with the knowledge that in ten short weeks I could be holding my little girl in my arms has been pretty surreal—kinda like this entire process actually. I still can’t properly picture it, but as the time draws nearer my joy and excitement grows larger and more profound. God has blessed Jeremy and I beyond words with the existence of this wee bairn, and I pray that I am ready—and if not ready, then prepared to be the best that I can be—to be her mother. Jeremy and I have begun getting up just a little earlier in the mornings. We roll out of bed, brew a pot of coffee and settle side by side on the couch as the morning light filters in through our living room window. Jeremy then reads the Bible out loud, usually a chapter from Psalms, and a Proverb for the day of the month we’re on (since there are 31 chapters), and then a passage from the New Testament as well. We began in Ephesians, and are into Philippians now. We’ve also begun praying together each morning, and I cannot express how beginning my day that way has improved my attitude and my overall demeanor for the impending day. Sharing this time together has enabled Jeremy and I to grow in ways that we had not before, even in five years of marriage, and help prepare us to be the mother and father for our little huckleberry that we were created to be. We pray for her every morning, and we pray that we are up to the task of raising her up in the way she should go. I am overjoyed about this new chapter in our lives, and am so excited to see what else is in store for us as we go forward and take on these new roles.

Also, today is the birthday of my first ‘baby’, our Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Cael, turns five today. We got him when he was three months old, and since then he has been a constant source of love and joy in our lives—the kind that only a loyal and loving dog can bear. So happy birthday, Cael!

Both of my wee ones. :)

coffee and comfy pants.

There are some days when you wake up that you just know the day is already a goner. You’ve woken  up late, nothing seems to be going right with your hair, your wardrobe, or your time management for the morning, except—blessedly—the coffee maker and its lovely aroma of fresh brewing coffee that is the single shred of hope that might turn the day around. But then you remember through the aroma and half-laid plans of sitting around in your comfy pants reading in the dim light of a rainy morning that it is a work day, and you are still running late.

Work. Blerg.

Women have fought for the right for an equal workplace and an equal opportunity to hold a credible vocation, and I sincerely appreciate and value the true sacrifices of women’s suffrage throughout the years. However, sometimes I wish I was expected to just stay home and tend to the household and just be a mom. I’d be completely content with that, and I don’t think that makes me any less a woman or advocate for women’s rights. It’s just as much a choice today—and a valid one at that—to make the decision to stay home with the children and be the stay-at-home mom. Besides, I don’t imagine my days as merely sitting around in my comfy pants reading—the option being there for pockets of time however does sound nice.

Perhaps if I was doing something that I loved I would have less of these kinds of mornings. But then again, what I truly want to do still involves having the option of waking up and deciding that some time with a mug of coffee or tea in curled up on the sofa in comfy pants and a good read is doable. I want to write. I want to write and make something of this gift and passion that I have been given. I want to be able to support my family and provide for them with my writing, and have a little on the side for exciting trips and the occasional frivolous splurge. So, I suppose, that my occasional discontent in my current state is borne of the desire to be doing what I feel I was created to do. I want to create. I will create.

The option of coffee and comfy pants on a work day is not beyond my grasp. For those two things are more than compatible with sitting down in front of a computer and weaving worlds and stories together with the written word. J

cultivating creativity.

Yesterday marked three months until the due date of this precious baby girl growing within me. Three months. That’s no time at all, is it? She has definitely made her presence known through kicks, jabs, and general rolling around these last seven or so weeks, and as she grows, my awareness of her and my joy and anticipation grow along with her. This is starting to get very real, and very exciting.

I’ve been reading in the mornings as I eat my breakfast andthe aroma of brewing coffee wafts through my kitchen a book by Madeleine L’Englecalled Walking on Water, which is anexploration of the relationship between faith and art, and what it means to bea Christian artist. It’s been a beautiful journey of realization, critical thinking,and rediscovery of things I’ve long known but recently forgotten. One thingthat she speaks about and has particularly struck me is the importance of a child-likeimagination and the truth found in story and myth. To soon are we told to putaway ‘childish’ things and grow up to realize the ‘real world’ of cold science.We are taught to doubt and turn our noses up at outrageous ideas like unicorns,dragons, selkies, and faeries. What a tragedy it is when a child turns in hisimaginings, closes them up in a box never to be opened again, and learns todoubt what he cannot see. The attitude of some that say “Let not this childpollute his mind with fairy tales, let us teach him of the ‘real’ world,” isone that strips the child of his creativity, of his very childhood. Of courseit is important to teach our children of the reality of this world, and of itsdangers and snares, but not at the expense of or rather than fairy tales thatteach and bring wonderment to our children’s minds.

Having studied folk and fairy tales for a Master’s leveldissertation, as well as the culture in which they have long been perpetuated Ihave come to understand that to tell fairy tales to our children is not to lieto them. It is to broaden their perspective and engage their imaginations toteach them the truths that lie inherently in so many of those tales and songs.I want to teach my daughter to see the fantastic in the mundane, and see beautywhere is it unexpected. I want her to see mountains and wonder what adventuresmight lie in wait there, whether dwarves live under them or dragons keep ahoard there. I want her to wonder whether faeries are real as she walks througha silent forest as the sun filters through the leaves. When we take her to thebeach, I want her to remember the stories about selkies and mermaids andimagine that she sees them beneath the waves or sunning themselves on thoserocks out there. There is so much to be gained from story-telling andimagination, and I want her to have every opportunity to experience thosethings and engage in the magnificent high-creativity that comes with achild-like wonderment of the world.

My mother told me when I was young that the tops of fallen acornswere vessels that faeries used for their cups and plates at their feasts andparties, and if I collected the very best ones and put them under my pillow atnight, they would come to take them and leave a token of thanks in their place.I would spend hours collecting the delicate things, reveling in the knowledge thatsomething I did could somehow help the faeries. I felt important, and Iimagined the beautiful creatures with their gossamer wings making merry arounda table set with cups and plates that I had collected for them. I wasadmittedly a little bummed when I realized that it was my mother who took theacorn tops from my pillow when I slept and left coins in place of them, but Iwould never trade those hours collecting and imagining nor the world I held sodear in those moments. Those memories are some of my favorites. I want mydaughter to have an abundance of those memories. I want to encourage her toimagine worlds and beings no one has ever seen, and to share in those worldswith her.

“In art we are once again able to do all the things we haveforgotten; we are able to walk on water; we speak to the angels who call us; wemove unfettered among the stars.” –Madeleine L’Engle

“In our society, at the age of five, 90 percent of thepopulation measures ‘high creativity.’ By the age of seven, the figure hasdropped to 10 percent. And the percentage of adults with high creativity isonly two percent! Our creativity is destroyed not through the use of outsideforce, but through criticism, innuendo, by the dirty devices of this world. Sowe are diminished, and we forget that we are more than we know. The child isaware of unlimited potential , and this munificence is one of the joys ofcreativity. Those of us who struggle in our own ways, small or great, tricklesor rivers, to create, are constantly having to unlearn what the world wouldteach us; it is not easy to keep a child’s high creativity in the late years ofthe twentieth century.” –Finley Eversole, in The Politics of Creativity

I intend to try, and I intend to cultivate the creativity ofmy daughter, and all of my children, so that they remember that they are morethan they know. We are made in the image of our Creator, therefore we arecreators ourselves.

                                                             Reading together as a family. Starting her off right with The Lord of the Rings.                                                                         

well, it was something.

As projected, I didn't reach the 50,000 word mark. I didn't even make it halfway. But that is totally okay, because I am still writing. I wrote a little over 14,000 words during November, which is more than I had written in any previous months. And that's something, right? Right. I have continued to write and have written over 3500 words since the beginning of December, and my story is progressing and coming together, finally. My faithful Snippets are to get some credit. Though we're not together, drinking good coffee drinks and chai and sitting in papasan chairs surrounded by fluffy cushions in Moments, we are still meeting and talking about our stories. And that is what helps continue to drive me to write. I so appreciate the feedback and encouragement of my fellow Snippets, Ellar and Amethyst (or Pixie, if you like), and meeting with them regularly has been the catalyst that I needed to write more often and the encouragement I needed to remember that first drafts aren't perfect. It's the birthing process of the story and it's not always pretty, it's rarely pretty in fact. Their discussions and feedback have helped me reconcile the two major plot strands of my novel, which was no small feat, and that has given me a new gusto for writing and finding out what happens next.

So what happens next? Well, I think it's time for the Fair Folk to make an real appearance. What say?

give it another try.

That's right. I'm giving National Novel Writing Month another try this year. After the epic fail of last year, I can hardly do worse, but instead of making my goal to finish 50,000 words, it will be simply to write as often as I can. If I make it to 50,000 words, awesome, if not--my time will not have been wasted. I just need to get back into the habit again.

Thanks to Ellar for giving me this much needed quote:

"Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think

about this, because it is the key to making art and very possibly the key to finding

any semblance of happiness in life. Every time I have set out to translate the book (or

story, or hopelessly long essay) that exists in such brilliant detail on the big screen

of my limbic system onto a piece of paper (which, let's face it, was once a towering

tree crowned with leaves and a home to birds), I grieve for my own lack of talent and

intelligence. Every. Single. Time. Were I smarter, more gifted, I could pin down a closer

facsimile of the wonders I see. I believe that, more than anything else, this grief of

constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being

writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can't write the book I want to write, but I can

and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course

of my life I will forgive myself."

      --Anne Patchett

Plenty.

My alarm went off when the morning was still darkly cloaked with night, and for a moment I wondered why it had gone off before I remembered why I had specifically set it last night. I gently nudged the sleeping form beside me, and reminded him that he was to make coffee for the morning.
    "Did your alarm already go off?" He asked groggily.
    "Briefly, it was on vibrate, but it's time."
He gave a deep sigh and then heaved his tired body from the bed before I managed to pull mine from under the warm covers. Regardless of how frequently I wake up before him, I always have a hard time leaving the comfort of the bed when he is still in it.
But this morning had an exciting reason to be awake so early, and we both pulled ourselves from our sleepy reverie.
I pulled on jeans, a tee shirt, my blue flannel button-up, a black puffy vest, and pulled my hair out of my face with a quick sweep of the curls into a messy ponytail. The coffee wafted through the house, and I sighed knowing I couldn't have a cup. I know women do it all the time, but with your first--I hear--you're always more cautious about taking risks.
Jeremy had gotten ready and we met in the kitchen ready to leave.
    "What time is the sun supposed to rise this morning? It's still really dark out there?"
7:42AM was the answer, so we had a little time before we had to leave and I enjoyed a bowl of cereal as Jeremy let his coffee cool. After a few minutes, coffee was poured into a travel mug, my chunky grey scarf was grabbed, and Cael excitedly wagged his tail as informed that he was going to accompany us on a ride.
Vestiges of the autumn sun were already apparent in a glowing grey-gold over the tops of the trees and the surrounding mountains as we pulled out of our driveway. The morning was crisp and silent as we drove west.
We made the northward turn onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, and my heart swelled in my chest as we drove past the autumn-hued birches, maples, and oaks. Burnished golds, vibrant reds, and sweet oranges greeted us in the still grey morning--their colors muted in the non-light but not subdued as we drove toward Mt. Mitchell. The suns presence was ever-growing as we made twists and turns round the mountains, catching glimpses of rich valleys and long-range views of rolling peaks as the colors slowly began to illuminate around us.
We drove past a few of the lower overlooks as 7:42AM crept closer, and the sun crept nearer to the tops of the mountains. We came to a stop at an overlook with a wide vista facing southeast and watched the sea of mountains beyond us slowly and gently receive the morning light upon their slopes and seep into their valleys. I took photo after photo as Jeremy and I both reveled in the beauty of the sunrise and the illuminated colors of autumn in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The glory of God is undoubtedly evident in these things, and my heart can't help but rejoice in it.
It was surprisingly cold that high on the mountain, and we didn't dress as warmly as we should have. With cold hands and full hearts we got back in the car. We had some time before we had to be back, and so we kept driving north through trees now fully ablaze with autumn's morning sun. We passed patches of the woods were fully and completely golden, and as the sun played through the branches both of us were reminded of Tolkien's description of the golden wood of Lothlorien--and we drove through our own version of the Misty Mountains.

We eventually had to turn around and make our way back home, but I always feel like I leave a little piece of myself up there this time of year. Autumn is a season for harvest, a season of plenty--and each autumn I am struck with just how I have been blessed with such plenty, such fullness, such life. Especially this year as I carry a tiny life within me. I will teach this child to love and appreciate the rich fullness of autumn in these mountains, and I look forward to many more autumn sunrise drives with my dear heart, Jeremy.
   

Many-hued, sun burnished mountains.

Our own Golden Wood, Lothlorien.

I'm your Huckleberry.

Well, whether I'm ready or not this baby sure is growing. I still haven't felt the little huckleberry moving around yet, but if our ultrasound a few weeks ago is any indication, he/she is moving and wiggling all the time.
We had an wonderful day yesterday apple picking at an orchard just past Hendersonville yesterday with some friends. It was a gorgeous, misty autumn day and the orchards still bore beautiful fruit--though we had to walk a little further to get to it. We picked Arkansas Black apples, Pink Lady apples, Granny Smith, Blushing Gold, and probably a few more I can't remember. But it was lovely being able to pick our own bushel of apples, and enjoying the company of our friends, Peter and Allie Marie (they're nearly newly weds, getting married in April--just before the baby comes actually). We also enjoyed the freshly made Apple Cider Doughnuts--seriously, they were incredible. We bought a half-dozen and four were gone before we realized what had happened. I actually just now finished off my first mug of fresh-pressed cider that we bought yesterday too--also seriously delicious. We ended up buying eighteen and a half pounds of apples... I suppose apple sauce, apple butter, and apple pies are in my near future. But if you know me at all, you know what a delightful prospect that is for me--I LOVE apples. I was seriously made for this season--I love everything about autumn.

Arkansas Black Apples

Our comrades in apple-picking, Peter and Allie Marie.

Our 18.5 pound bushel of apples, and my strong man. :) I am also very excited about those apples.

While we were at the orchard, I remembered that Huck (current nickname for the wee one) is about the size of an apple this week--I'm fifteen weeks along today. So I decided to take advantage of the photo op, and get some obligatory bump photos.