Setting:   cold study, morning, sounds of Dan Zanes floating through the air. . .even though there are no children around.  Connor is at PDO and Aidan is blissfully asleep.  Richard is at work.
Me:  sick day, supposed to be at bible study. . .I even did the work.  Oh well.  It's nearly freezing outside and raining and I'm contemplating starting this blog.
I've always thought of myself as one of those folks who would journal.  I've started about 10 in my lifetime that have, usually, ended up with blank pages after about the 3rd week.  In some weird way, I think that starting a blog is somehow narcissistic or vain--like I'm hoping that someone would read my thoughts and reward me with a young new author award. 
Actually, to my dismay, amnesia since childbirth has set in and I'm so afraid that I'm going to forget all those moments that we say we'll never forget--like the quiet cuddles on the couch and how it feels so good to have Connor snuggle to me after his nap, the way his hair smells like a mixture of shampoo/sweat/ear wax (gross, right? not to me, so precious), how Aidan crinkles his nose up and purses his lips when he has a buggar, or even how I love to look up from my "designated" place on the sofa at night after the kids are tucked into bed and see Richard engrossed in one of his novels or laughing while reading Dear Abby in the newspaper (which goes against all preconceived notions about his tolerance for stupidity). 
I never want to forget. 

So this is for me. . .and someday for my boys.



Our family. . .wow!  10 years ago I couldn't even have conceieved of what those words  would mean outside of fond memories of childhood--Mama always having the right words for raising us girls, even if we didn't want to hear it; and, Daddy so strong and trying so hard to make us laugh, even when we didn't want to--and looking forward to those fun Thanksgivings and Christmases getting to catch up with aunts, uncles, and cousins. . .

Richard is my soulmate.  He came into my life right at a time when I was leaving behind the comforts of sureness from childhood and school to enter into the unknown world of life beyond that small town.  I thought that I'd already made that jump 5 years earlier when I started at UNC.  Always so independent, I tried despirately to shed that accent, the slowness of life, and naivity that Mama and Daddy had worked so hard to give us. 
Even though I didn't know it until later, I was losing myself during that time.  I read somewhere that a college-aged teenage girl separated from childhood female family members is very likely to experience a dramatic drop in self-confidence.
With Richard, I found my way back.  He was one of those guys that you were glad to bring home--smart, funny, easy to talk to, and not judgemental. . .and best of all, he was crazy about me.  He made it okay for me to want to be who I was.  In fact, I am more myself than I've ever been.
Nine years later, here we are in Waco, TX, of all places--twenty-one hours, by car, from my "home".  That's a testiment to "bringing me back"--I've never been more my parents daughter than I am here in TX with my family.  What do you know. . .the little girl from NC, all brighteyed and ready to please, fought the temptation to stay and be unaware of how perfect things were in order to take the leap into the crazy TX "frontier", battle the heat and awful cedar (and, might I add, Texans weird obsession with being Texan), and to grab life by the horns (ha! TX pun intended) with my love.  The best thing is that now, removed from that comfort zone, I see how wonderful my childhood and my family are and I am determined to give that to Connor and Aidan. 

God's will be done.