Creature Bug

I Love a Good Carrot

I promise you, this isn't going to turn into a blog about the weather. Really. It isn't. But if you're local and you've watched the news, or watched a commercial about the news, or been out in public where people talk, the big news is that it's supposed to snow here. I'm sure the news people have come up with some name for this supposed snowstorm. February Snow? February Storm? February Stormy Snowy Something? All I know is that according to the tv people, it's News with a capital "N."

There's Libya.

And then there's snow.

And believe you me, the snow is getting way more airtime than Libya (which is why I don't watch the news very often).

Most of the time, I just rely on my weather app on my Droid for temperature and a general idea of what the skies might bring me in the next five days. I've plugged a few cities into my weather app, so whenever I'm feeling curious I can see what the weather is like in, say, Glasgow.

I need to know what my sister is experiencing.

Or Providence, Rhode Island. To see if the sun is shining for my brother-in-law and his family.

Or Boise. For my Uncle Bud and Aunt Janet.

Or Orlando, Florida, just in case I decide to hop on a plane and visit Walt Disney World.

Or Honolulu, Hawaii. Because at any given moment, that's where I'd rather be.

I'm often checking the weather in Honolulu. It's usually around 80 degrees. Even at 3 am. Somehow this brings me joy.

Last year, my friend Megan and I were talking about Hawaii. How much we love it, and how much fun it would be to go there together sometime. I have family who graciously allow family to stay at their house on the big island, so it's just a matter of airfare and car. The talking between Megan and I was wishful dreaming because last year Jason didn't have a job, and I was pregnant and miserable, and life in general wasn't flexible enough to plan for a trip to Hawaii. So our familes went to Reno, Nevada, instead and had an awesome time.

Someday, we said. Someday we'll go to Hawaii together.

A few weeks ago, Megan and I were talking again about Hawaii.

"We really should go," I said.

"We really should," she said.

"I think we should," I said.

"I think we should too," she said.

And we sighed and blissfully ignored the rain pouring down outside. Someday, we said.

Later, I happened to look at airfare to Kona. Three hundred bucks. I started getting dizzy with excitement. A few giddy Facebook messages to Megan, a conversation with Jason, and some phone calls later and voila: Megan and I were going to Hawaii.

 

We're going for five days, and our loving and amazing husbands are staying home with the kids (except Addie, who will get to go on her first airplane ride). Our primary objective is to hang out on the beach and relax.

When I see a forecast that says it'll be 20 degree this weekend, I think of Hawaii.

When I think of having a bowl of ice cream at night, I think of Hawaii (and the swimsuit I will be wearing).

When I think of the upcoming soccer season that will have Jason gone many nights a week, I think of Hawaii.

Megan and I got lucky: our someday is coming in June.

Aloha.

Week 318: Love is a burrito, a cartoon, and frozen custard

 
(photo from June 2002)

Thirteen years ago I married my best friend. We had dated long enough to know what we were getting into. He knew I was a little bit on the roller-coaster-emotional side; I knew he was a bit on the always-on-time side. There were no surprises, except that he didn't like mac-n-cheese (oddly coincidental that my dad also hates mac-n-cheese) and I could never put my shoes where they belonged.

He still doesn't like mac-n-cheese.

I still don't put my shoes where they belong. Or my sunglasses. Or the car keys.

*

Since the girls were both staying overnight with grandparents on Friday, we celebrated our anniversary a few days early. We had dinner at Baja Fresh, saw "Despicable Me" (funny and kid-friendly, btw), and had frozen custard for dessert. It was fabulous because we were together. Memorable? Probably not so much. Maybe more memorable? The anniversary gift we're giving to each other in the form of having all the bedrooms professionally painted.

Certainly, we've had the fancy anniversary celebrations: the year we went back to Maine; the years we've gone to the beach; the gourmet dinners out. And we've had the non-fancy celebrations: the years we spent writing papers due for our grad classes the next day; the year we saw "Harry Potter" (which I rank as the lamest anniversary ever for reasons beyond just the movie); the year we spent at home staring at our 2-month old daughter.

It's just like our marriage. Sometimes the moments are amazing and memorable and sometimes they aren't. And sometimes you purposefully forget them because maybe they were moments where you didn't shine. It's okay.

*

I asked Jason if this was the hardest year we've had, what with my severe prenatal depression and his being unemployed. He said no. In fact, he said there haven't been any hard years.

"They've all been good years because things have always been good between us."

When you marry your best friend that's what you get: good years. Lots of them.

All of them.

Interviewed at 1:30...

...phone call at 5:00.

Jason has a teaching job for next year.

JASON HAS A TEACHING JOB FOR NEXT YEAR.

JASON! HAS! A! TEACHING! JOB! FOR! NEXT! YEAR!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hallelujah, thank you Jesus, and Amen.

A Weekend in Lincoln City

One of the small inconveniences for where we live now is that we don't live as close to the beach as we did before.

We used to live just over 1 hour from the beach.

Now we live over 2 hours from the beach. TWO WHOLE HOURS.

I moaned about it once to my sister--who lives in Colorado--and she told me to be quiet. Evidently moving from Pasadena, CA, to Ft. Collins, CO, has taken a toll on her beach humor. Sheesh.

A few months ago, when we were thinking about what to do for our anniversary weekend, we thought about heading somewhere north. Now that we live in Washington we have a good excuse to explore all the beautiful places up north. I'm assuming there are beautiful places up there anyway. At least, that's what Margaret and my Sunset magazine keep telling me.

But then a former student of ours had her wedding last weekend, so we ended up down in Oregon anyway. We weren't at all disappointed because it was a wedding we were happy to go to.

Geron and Ryan make a beautiful couple, and we were extra delighted to be able to visit with her older siblings who we also had as students (although I already talk to Devon quite regularly, but still. good times).

After the wedding, we were off to Lincoln City, our go-to beach city.

Even though it was hotter than blazes in the valley, it was quite foggy and cool at the beach with hardly a view of the horizon. No matter. We still had a great time shopping at the outlet stores, eating lunch at the Blackfish Cafe (highly recommend the chowder, and Inkling will agree with me on that), eating dinner at Kylos (the crabcakes are delicious, though probably overpriced), and staying two nights at the newly remodeled and oh-so-chic Surftides Hotel. Their continental breakfast was rather pitiful, but the rooms were fab with amazing views of the ocean (the above picture was taken from our hotel balcony).

We took long walks on the beach. I got in a good nap. Jason got to exercise for a couple hours (whee). And we even went to see a movie. It used to be that I wondered why anyone would go to the beach and then waste time sitting in a movie theatre. Now that I have children, I think anytime you have a babysitter is a good time to go see a movie. (Incidentally, we saw a popular R-rated comedy which was hilarious, though very, very deserving of its R-rating.)

Then we wrapped up our visit with a trip to our favorite candy shop, owned by a family whose daughter was a student of Jason's.

Read's Homemade Candies is the only store in Lincoln City that makes its own salt water taffy. Their taffy is excellent (and Sydney and Jules agree); their chocolate covered orange sticks are amazing. I ate...oh...let's just say, I ate a lot of them. And I'm not sorry.

It was, all in all, a perfect anniversary weekend. Very relaxing, and just what we needed, especially since we had been more than a little snippy at each other the week before. Though we may be perfect for each other, we are definitely not perfect to each other. And this summer--what with all the settling in, readjusting to a new life, reconnecting after a school year of long absences from each other--has been...I don't know what to call it. Well, I guess it's been hard work. Twelve years of marriage and we're still learning how to be gentle with each other. I'm willing to bet we'll always be learning that.

Fortunately, the hard work is worth it. Absolutely. Positively. Every single day.

PS: The hard work is easier with a mouthful of salt water taffy and chocolate covered orange sticks. Just FYI.

Dancing Down the Aisle

Jason and I are heading out of town for the weekend in order to not-so-solemnly celebrate TWELVE YEARS of marriage.

Woo hoo!

Twelve years! What was I thinking, getting married at 21? Evidently I was thinking pretty clearly because it was one of the best decisions I've even made in my life. (The other great decision was switching to bootleg jeans, which changed my fashion life forever.)

And if we had to do it all over again, I would use my powers of persuasion to get Jason to do this wedding entrance. It's amazing.

As my friend Becca wrote, it's exactly how a wedding should feel.

And aside from a few hiccups here and there, it's exactly how the last twelve years of marriage have felt.

Jason, honey, sweetums...I love you.

Week 250: Ah, dear Oregon. I knew thee well.

On this day, the 250th-week anniversary of being a parent, I, Stephanie of Creature Bug, do not-so-solemnly announce that life in Oregon as I know it is officially done.

Although we still have stuff in an apartment in Salem--Jason still lives there during the week--my life now  happens here on the Family Farm, in my grandparents' house that my grandma no longer lives in since she lives next door with my parents now.

My clothes are here. The pantry is stocked. The fridge is full. All our mail has a Washington address. I have a phone number that begins with a new area code. I still teach in Salem, and still have my Oregon driver's license, but not for much longer.

It's true that I grew up here on this land, living here until I was 18 years old. But I lived in Salem for 15 years--fifteen adult years, which is considerably different than 18 childhood years. I went to college there, got a teaching job there, attended church there. I had my babies in the Salem hospital, walked along the sidewalks with my kids in a stroller. I read the newspaper almost daily, and visited the library weekly. I drank more cups of Dutch Brothers coffee than I can count. I've memorized the aisles of the grocery store, the nearest Walmart, and Costco.

I know the names of all the high schools, know the nearest parks, know the fastest way to get somewhere in town. I can tell you which direction the one-way streets run, and what roads get traffic at 5 o'clock.

 

Since as an Oregonian I have experienced college, church, graduate school, parenting groups, and employment opportunities, naturally almost all my friends live in Oregon. Although the distance of 70-miles (or more) will curtail spontaneous get-togethers, they'll still have reasons to drive to Portland (if only to visit Powell's), and driving to Portland is a mere 20 minutes for me. We won't be neighbors anymore, but hopefully we won't be strangers either.

Life on this side of the Columbia River feels...different. A lot is the same (same weather, same tv stations, same radio stations, same breakfast every morning), but there are still things to get used to. Sales tax, pumping my own gas, learning the fastest way to get somewhere, figuring out where the pretzels are at the grocery store, remembering I don't have the dial the area code before the phone number like you have to do in Salem: small changes that remind me I'm the new kid in town.

The old way of life was rich with blessings, but the new way will be amazing too. Already the blessings of living on the Family Farm are apparent. Sydney can play outside by herself. Jules can walk to Grandma and Grandpa's house and ask for candy (which she does, being ever the precocious one). There are cousins around to play with, old high school friends to connect with, a huge extended family to depend on.

Yesterday there was a deer in the front yard. Today I noticed the trees in the orchard are starting to blossom. And tonight when I walked outside I could see the stars that were never visible from our home in the city.

Six months of living everywhere and nowhere has made me grateful to finally be somewhere permanently. A year ago I was heartbroken about leaving Salem, but now? Now I'm ready. It's time to put down new roots right next to those old roots that I left behind years ago. There's no fanfare; I'm just declaring today the day to make the change.

And so I say, Goodbye Salem, Oregon--you were a town I grew to love more than I thought possible.

And now, Hello, Southwest Washington. Life is going to be good here.

good memories & moving from oregon

 

More answers...

When fellow mommy blogger (and new Facebook friend!) Goslyn asked me, "What is your happiest memory?" I had a flood memories rush to the front of the line. I have lots of happy memories, considering my perfectly regular childhood, a lovely marriage, and sweet children. But the one memory that stands out? The one I turn to when I'm feeling down?

Well, I have to say it's December 2007's anniversary trip to Camden, Maine.

I know I should probably pick a memory that involves the girls, but a trip to Maine? A surprise trip to Maine? A surprise trip to Maine where we honeymooned more than 10 years earlier? Well, really. It's hard to top that. 

It's funny because the timing was far from perfect. We didn't really have extra money to be spending on travel, but decided to do it anyway. Jason had to take along all of his study material for the comprehensive exams that he would be taking a month later. I hadn't exactly stopped nursing Jules, which is to say that she knew how to use a sippy cup, but still used me at sporadic intervals throughout the day.

Yep.

She and I went cold turkey when I stepped on that plane to Maine, and even though I did nurse her one more time when we got back it was essentially the end of the nursing road for both us. My mother-in-law was a saint for taking Jules, who adjusted just fine. As for my adjusting, I ended up being rather uncomfortable--even a quick stop for cabbage didn't help--and developed a pretty terrible cold as a result of my body not quite working right.

It didn't matter. 

Afterall, it was being together--driving down that snowy road listening to Alicia Keyes--that made it perfect. I never fail to smile when I remember our trip. It goes to show that the timing is often never perfect, but you go forward anyway.

*

Fellow Oregonian Diane asked me, "Why oh why would you think of moving out of Oregon, dearest CB?" It's a good question. Especially since I do love living in Oregon, particularly since Sydney was born. It's a great state. No sales tax. Home to Nike and the famous Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Strong identity. Easily recognizable on the national level (as opposed to Washington, which always has to be clarified as "Washington State" when one is traveling to the east coast). Even celebrating its 150th birthday on Valentine's Day. There's a lot to love.

So why the move?

The answer is that my parents gave us 2 1/2 acres in Brush Prairie, Washington. I can tell you that if it wasn't for the land, we wouldn't make the move. But the 2 1/2 acres is all the reason we need. It's the land where I grew up; it's the land where my great-grandparents lived many years ago. It's where my parents, my grandma, my aunt and uncle, my brother and his family, and my cousin and her family live. It's three miles away from the pre-school that Jason's mom owns. It's eight miles away from where Jason's parents live. Property, family, the chance to build our dream house: it was too perfect to turn down.

Fortunately, Brush Prairie is still close enough to Portland (a mere 20-minute drive away) that we'll be able to stay connected with a lot of our friends who make regular trips there from Salem. Plus, southwest Washington doesn't have any of its own news stations, so all our news is Oregon news anyway. It'll almost be like we still live in Oregon, except we'll have to pay sales tax and pump our own gas. But hey! the property taxes are low and the family is near. Can't beat that with a stick.

Week 240: The magic of nine

Not very often do I actually learn something from watching the highly-implausible-yet-somehow-entertaining Numb3rs. But after last night's episode, I did a little bit of research and discovered that the show had indeed taught me something. Plus, according to their website, all the crazy math they use is real, so maybe I'm actually learning more than I thought. Who says watching tv doesn't make you smarter?

Not only did I learn something, but I learned something totally romantic.

As you may know, in Chinese culture certain numbers are considered lucky or unlucky. If you watched any of the Olympic coverage last summer, you may have heard that the reason why the Olympics started on 08/08/08, at eight seconds and eight minutes past 8 o'clock pm, is because the number eight is thought to be a lucky number. So hooray for eights. I can't think of any eights in my life, but I'm okay with that.

What I just learned last night is that the number nine is considered to be magical, especially for weddings, because it sounds the same as the word "long-lasting."

And even though I am not a superstitious person nor do I put any credence in auspicious or inauspicious numbers, when I heard about the magical loveliness of nine I couldn't help but smile.

• Jason's mom is exactly nine months older than his dad.
• Jason's grandma was exactly nine months older than his grandpa.
• Jason's great aunt was exactly nine months older than his great-uncle.
• My mom's birthday is nine days before my dad's birthday.

I don't know about you, but I thought it was lovely thinking about all these long lasting marriages that have a connection with the number nine.

The real reason why I thought about it at all, though, was because yesterday was Jason's birthday.

And his birthday is nine days before my birthday. Somehow that just struck me as romantic and sweet and the-stars-aligned-for-us kind of thing.

Of course, all the coincidences of nines are mostly just a nice story to tell, but if I were one to put any stock in fate and destiny and all that...well, I might just say that Jason and I were meant for each other.

Fate and destiny and nines aside, I still think we're meant for each other. So, happy birthday to my sweet husband, who is definitely going to be one of the most long-lasting figures of my life. *smooch*

Eleven With A Theme

(From last month's walk through Central Park; picture courtesy Inkling.)

Eleven Ways to Celebrate 11 Years of Wedded Bliss:

1. Drop the kids off with grandparents. Hard to say who's going to have more fun...the grandparents or the grandkids! 
2. Go downtown Portland for a wonderful dinner at Pazzo Ristorante. Enjoy red meat since it's never cooked at home.
3. Stroll downtown, hand in hand, through stores, through Pioneer Courthouse Square (pause to consider watching Goonies showing in the square later that night, but decide against it). Talk about how much you love Portland.
4. Snuggle on the couch, watching tv.
5. Sleep in (even if you don't end up sleeping in, relish a morning where you don't have to change a diaper, clean up spilled cereal, fill sippycups with juice, give baths, and answer no less than 20 questions about What We Are Doing Today)
6. Finish projects around the house that are tricky to do when small hands "help."
7. Plan to see X: Files (even if you don't believe in aliens, you do believe in Mulder and Scully).
8. Pack a picnic lunch to eat at Bush Park between movies.
9. Plan to see The Dark Knight (even if one of you suspects that it might be too violent for her taste).
10. Eat dessert--black and white mousse torte, naturally--at The Konditerai.
11. Kiss each other goodnight, and remember that it's been a good year.

Of course, they've all been good years. But this year has been one in which almost everything seemed to fit in place. No big changes, no catastrophes, no surprises. We've been healthy, gotten our finances on track (hooray for finally being debt-free), made plans for the future. Only the Lord knows what next year will hold--moving? new jobs? building a house?--and last night as we were eating dinner, we decided that we aren't going to worry about next year. That piece of time is not in our hands.

But this year? Jason got his Masters degree; I got another year of making it through; we traveled to the east coast twice. We had another year of parenting two beautiful girls, who have discovered joy in dancing, joy in singing, joy in laughing. Come to think of it, we have a lot of laughter in our house.

Which is the most anyone can hope for.

(Love you, Sweetums. And better consider this post your card...since I hate to break tradition by getting you one. xx)

Related Posts:

• 10-Year Anniversary & Trashing the (Wedding) Dress
• 8-Year Anniversary & The Story of Happily Ever After

Love in my heart

This morning I watched my neighbor go outside in the early morning and start up her husband's truck. While it warmed she went around and scraped off the ice on the windshield and other windows. Although I've never her seen her do this before--I always see him doing it--I was curious to watch how it played out. She went back inside the house, and when her husband walked out the door and smiled at his warm, ice-free truck, I smiled too.

That's love, I thought. I know my neighbor well enough to know she was doing something sweet, something romantic. Tomorrow is one of the most lovely days of the year. Sure, Christmas and Thanksgiving are great. But the one that's just sweet and thoughtful and reminds us to celebrate love? Valentine's Day wins. It's why I send out Valentine's Day cards instead of Christmas cards. I'm really not all that romantic, but Valentine's Day isn't just about romance, it's about telling people you love them.

As I watch Jules learn how to give us kisses, and see Sydney's attempts at teaching Jules how to hug, I am reminded that children aren't born knowing how to love.

They are born needy. They are born hungry. They are born crying. They aren't born loving you.

That's my job. To teach my girls how to love. We taught Sydney to say, "I love you," by saying it her to every day over and over. I taught Sydney to give me kisses, to snuggle next to me, to kiss my cheeks with her eyelashes. Now, on her own, she gives me unprompted hugs. She kisses me in the morning when she climbs into bed with me, throws her leg across my stomach, wraps her arms around my neck, tucks her head into my shoulder and whispers, "I love you, Mommy," before going back to sleep. It's one of the best parts of my day.

I love my children, and love teaching them how to love me back.

And I love my husband, who knows how to love me better and more than anyone. I don't have to prompt him to say "I love you." Don't have to ask for kisses. Occasionally have to hint for foot rubs. Still. He's nearly perfect.

Even a month and a half after our trip to Maine, my heart still warms at those memories. The Monday morning we drove from Camden to Logan Int'l Airport in Boston, it snowed and snowed and snowed. The roads were quiet, and Alicia Keyes' new album played in the CD player. I took out my camera, and captured a video of it just so that I could always watch it and remember that moment: my favorite song, with my favorite guy, giving me a smile as we drove away from one of the best weekends of my life.

(video 1:32)

I doubt anyone else will find the video as perfect as I do, shaky footage and all. On the surface it just looks like a trip down a snowy road, with music in the background. But to me, I watch it and smile because it looks and sounds like love might look. Yes. Just exactly like that.

Have a lovely Valentine's Day.

*****

(c) 2008 Creature Bug. All rights reserved.

32 Things I Love About You

Happy Birthday to my wonderful husband, who gets to be a year older than me for nine whole days. To celebrate him turning 32, here are 32 things I love most about him.

1. He gives me a hug, a kiss, and tells me he loves me every single day.
2. He reads bedtime stories to Sydney every night.
3. His playfulness when he wrestles with the girls.
4. That he cuts his own hair
5. He always notices when I've cleaned the house.
6. Our mutual ability to recite Seinfeld lines to each other with perfect intonation: "The sea was angry that day, my friends." "I'm DRIVING the bus!" "We had a deal!"
7. The way he dances
8. He loves to exercise and is persistent about asking me to exercise too.
9. He always compliments me on dinner and says "thank you" even if all I did was put a pizza in the oven.
10. Cereal, also, is a perfectly good dinner to him.
11. He will watch "Grey's Anatomy" with me, even though I think he (not so) secretly hates it.
12. He has given up watching "CSI" just because I couldn't handle watching it anymore.
13. He doesn't complain that I refuse to get cable tv (even though we wouldn't have to pay for it).
14. He reads books.
15. I know he's a really great teacher.
16. He's way smart.
17. He is loyal to his friends.
18. Our secret code to tell each other "I love you"
19. That I can lean over to him in church and he instinctively knows to turn his watch towards me so I can see what time it is.
20. His freaky ability to sing cartoon/commercial/old tv show jingles, word for word. Seriously. It's some sort of gift.
21. He has limitless patience with me.
22. The amount of time and effort he is putting into our backyard
23. He's a great gift giver (diamond earrings one year for Christmas, trip to Maine this year).
24. We can play cribbage together, and even when I beat him, he will still play another round.
25. He will do laundry, vacuum, straighten-up, and cook without being asked.
26. His commitment to Tuesday nights: dinner, Dutch Brothers Coffee, story time at the library
27. We promised never to go to bed angry, and have stuck by that promise all our marriage except one night when we had a stupid argument over the dog.
28. The way he looks at me when we hear the theme song to "Antique Roadshow"
29. His passion to be a man dedicated to serving God.
30. His love of good smelling candles, and a willingness to spend a small sum of cash on peppermint candles because that's our favorite
31. When I told him I was afraid of having another baby for fear he'd be disappointed if we didn't have a boy, he said, "I'd never be disappointed. I love my girls."
32. He lets me put my freezing cold feet on the back of his legs when I crawl into bed at night.

Happy Birthday, Iokona.  {* * *}

Love, Me

A Love Project

Leslie got it right in her last comment: I am still on a vacation high. Even through a stuffed up nose, through Jules working on a molar and feeling rather needy since my return, through cold and rainy weather--I am still feeling the love from our weekend back east. At any rate, it's far more interesting to write about that than what I did today, which was watch Sound of Music with Syd and then sing that Cuckoo song for the rest of the day. Don't get me wrong; there's a certain charm to Sound of Music. I'm a big Julie Andrews fan, but I don't know if I could write very much about her. Maybe I could.

Rather than find out, I have one more batch of photos to show you from Camden.

 

If you go to Camden you really ought to stay in a Bed & Breakfast. Sure, there are hotels around (even nice charming ones right in the center of the village), but Camden is full of wonderful B&Bs that treat you to delicious breakfasts, fabulous conversations, and romantic quarters. Both times we've visited Camden, we've stayed at the Windward House, and I know when we go back we'll stay there again.

It's quite a story how we ended up at the Windward House the first time around. I had originally made reservations at the Blue Harbor House, who I found through a Maine Visitor's Guide. The week before our wedding, I called the innkeepers to confirm our reservations. Not sure why I felt compelled to confirm, it just seemed like the thing to do. Probably had it on my Wedding To Do checklist.

Imagine my complete shock when the innkeeper told me, "We have you staying here this weekend."

"This weekend?" My heart sank. "But I don't get married until next weekend."

"So you wouldn't be able to move up your stay?" Not likely.

They were full the weekend of the wedding, and since it was high travel season in Maine, chances were good that every place would be full. I started sobbing on the phone, and the poor lady felt awfully terrible about it all. I couldn't even continue the conversation, so I just hung up and sobbed out the whole story to my mom. It was a week before my wedding, and the honeymoon that I had been planning for months had suddenly fallen apart. If you've ever been around a bride-to-be, you know that this was quite the hysterical moment in our house.

Fortunately, my mom kept her cool and called the Blue Harbor House back. Could they see if any place had any openings? Well, by golly, they had called around, and the Windward House had just had a cancellation in their nicest room and would love to have us. The Windward House innkeeper (at the time) called me personally to assure me that everything would be taken care of. I could have married him right then. Except, you know, not really.

 

So the Windward House saved the day back in 1997, and it saved the day again in 2007 when we were searching for a place to vacation. The innkeepers have changed, but we are just totally smitten with the new owners. Jesse and Kristi are the nicest folks, and have young children themselves so we totally connected with them about eating out, visiting the library, and vacationing. Plus, they were fabulous conversationalists about all sorts of other things too. We hope they stay there for several more years, so we can visit them again.

Loved loved loved the room we stayed in: the Windrose Suite.

Jason had ordered the chocolate covered strawberries (*swoon*), but the chocolate truffles and champagne were an anniversary gift from Jesse and Kristi. I had consumed half the strawberries before euphorically wandering out of the sitting room into the bedroom.

The most comfortable bed I have slept on in my entire life. Worth flying to Maine just to sleep in this bed. Trust me.

No vacation is complete without a soaking tub, which I have promised myself to own one day in our new house. We stayed two nights at the Windward House. I took three baths. And finished two books. And slept in until 9 am. And sat by the fireplace. And ate chocolate. And homemade cookies. And then sat by the fire some more.

 

And when we weren't doing any of those things, we walked down the street to the village where we shopped, and ate seafood, and browsed the stores, and watched the water, and visited the library where I sat in a big beanbag chair in the children's section and read Parenting magazine.

As if that wasn't enough--and it was--we woke up the day we were driving back to Boston for our afternoon flight out to seven inches of new snow. It was everything a dream vacation should be. (Of course, we had a moment of worry about the snow until we saw all the snowplows out clearing the roads. Fabulous New Englanders and their snow preparedness.)

The one final twist to our vacation that was an extra bit of fun was getting to participate in A Love Project. A young couple created this project, traveling all over the country leaving boxes in certain rooms at B&Bs (you should check out their story...quite interesting). The only instructions are to leave a love note in the box, which will be collected at the end of this year and then the love notes are going to be published in a book. Funny thing is, Jason had planned to reserve the same room we had stayed in for our honeymoon, and when he told me about the trip it was available. Then when he went to make reservations, it was booked, so we got a different room--the room participating in the Love Project. Perfect.

We're already talking about going back next December. I suppose there's a good argument for trying out a new destination, but there's just something about Camden that brings out the best in us. It's a special place, and even though there are a dozen B&Bs in Camden, we'll go back to the Windward House. For Jesse and Kristi. For the homemade cookies. For the bathtub and fireplace. For the place that saved the day.

 

Week 188: The Little Vacation that Could

It was around our 9th wedding anniversary that we started talking about what we would do for our 10th anniversary. We should go somewhere, we agreed. Anywhere. Well, not just anywhere. Somewhere not local. No states beginning with "O" or "W." Sure, that might sound unfair to all the travel possibilities to Oklahoma or Wyoming, but that's how it goes sometimes.

Since Jules was only going to be six months old on our actual 10th wedding anniversary then we decided that Christmas break would be a better time to travel--she'd be a year old and that's when I'd planned on finishing  nursing her. We'd have time off from school, and no doubt ready for a night away from the kids, if for no other reason than we could sleep in the following morning. You know you're a parent of young children when sleeping in is the highlight of any vacation.

For eleven months--from July 2006 to June 2007--we dreamed of where we would go for our anniversary trip. We were pretty sure we were going to go to the Bahamas, not only to vacation but also to go to the wedding of a former student. We had the tickets all priced out and had our hearts set on it. I even was looking forward to getting a new swimsuit. All our spare change and cash we stashed away in a little box marked "Vacation Fund."

Then July came and with it the financial crisis of paying two mortgages. We had a house on the market, and the market wasn't looking good. The renters who had skipped out on paying their last month's rent, had left us in a bit of a pinch, but still we maintained the dream of going on an anniversary trip. Certainly the day of our actual anniversary was markedly unspectacular. Jason had to work that whole week at his dad's coffee shop, and we had trouble getting someone to watch the girls so we could go out that night. In the end, the only thing we did was go see the new Harry Potter movie. No dinner. No dessert. I think Jason may have even stayed the night up in Washington while I drove back home with the girls. Romantic it was not.

Then July rolled into August, and August into September. I hinted to Jason that we might need to use our anniversary money to keep going, but he was bound and determined that we save the fund. Nevertheless, one morning before the house payment was due I reached into the box marked Vacation Fund and pulled out $1200. I drove to the bank and deposited it.

I cried the rest of the day.

Eventually we sold the other house, but it was too late to save our dream trip to the Bahamas. I set my sights on an anniversary trip less grand, even telling Jason I would settle for just one night at the beach. But the change in plans was greatly disappointing for Jason, and he confessed that he might not want to go anywhere. I'll be honest and confess that when he said that, I initially thought I'd just drive somewhere by myself, so strong was my desire to just get away.

December came, and I settled in on the notion of having a quiet uneventful Christmas vacation. We didn't talk anymore about going anywhere. Even though we had done some refinancing with the house in order to make it possible to travel, I just figured that the moment had passed, and I was going to be okay with that.

The week before Christmas, we were all hanging out in the kitchen. I was sitting at the dining room table, listening to the girls chatter and Jason said, "Do you want to know one of your Christmas presents?"

Of course I did.

It was better than anything we could have planned 18 months ago. After ten (and a half) years of marriage, we figured out that there are some things in life that you can't afford not to do. Like spending a weekend strolling down the streets that you walked together as newlyweds.

True, I didn't get the vacation I dreamed about.

I got something even better.

The magic of eggnog

It should have been a rough day. It should have been a very rough day.

It started out with me getting to sleep at 1 AM after tossing and turning for 2 hours. It continued on with Sydney waking in the middle of the night with a bad cold. "My ears hurt," she cried. "I have a runny nose." She kept us up starting at about 3 AM, and after Jason got up to go to work at 5, Sydney and I managed to sleep for a few more hours.

When the hacking coughs finally woke her up, she was melancholy and clingy. Had to cancel my morning get-together with my group of friends. More exhausted weeping from Syd, which resulted in an early nap for her and a long hot shower for me.

I should have been exhausted. I should have been frazzled. I should have thought that taking Sydney to class with me was a bad idea.

But I wasn't, I didn't, and will wonders never cease, I got through the day without shedding a single tear.

Sydney, runny nose and all, amused my students to no end. I don't think they'll remember much about ethos, pathos, and logos, but I bet they'll remember that drawing she did on the white board which she announced was "a house." My students may not have remembered to take notes about persuasive speaking, but they did remember to say hi to Sydney and give her high-fives.

I should have been stressed out about an annual Thanksgiving gathering with friends that we went to tonight. My hair was unspectacular, my outfit un-fantastic, my daughter unwilling to play with the other kids upstairs--it all could have been the end of me. But it wasn't. Who cared about the hair? Or the clothes? Or the child who only wanted to eat ice cream? Instead we ate too much, told too many pregnancy stories, laughed too much at our memories as we played "name that tune," and clapped at the crowd of little girls dancing and spinning and giggling in the living room to the tunes of Elvis and Snoop Dog and Vanilla Ice.

It should have been a rough day.

But it wasn't.

And I don't know why it wasn't, except that it just wasn't. Instead of focusing on what was going wrong, I enjoyed the change the pace. I enjoyed walking to class with Sydney's hand in mine. Enjoyed the distractions as I taught. Enjoyed the hot chocolate she and I shared between classes. Enjoyed the hug from my husband, the time with my friends, the hour of TV watching "House." It wasn't a rough day. It was, runny nose and all, almost perfect.

Yesterday, when everything went right, I got it wrong.

Today, when everything went wrong, I got it right.

Maybe it was because it wasn't raining when I woke up this morning. Or maybe it was because of that eggnog I drank yesterday. Or maybe it was because somewhere, someone prayed for me. And if that was you...thanks. Today, I needed it.