to be wild, or how i won 30 cents in atlantic city

i wore gray and black yesterday. a thrifted blouse with pretty pleats that, when the shoulder pads were removed (for the love of all things vintage, what purpose did shoulder pads ever serve?), was actually quite lovely.

and as i pulled my paper from the corporate printer, someone behind me said, oh, is this the week of gray and black? i looked down and yes. i was wearing the same combination. this time, zippered black pants about ten years old and a bejeweled gray top from express. the one i bought in high school. before our mall was bought out and slowly, one by one, the stores started packing up shop. express was one of the first to go.

it's safe, i suppose. the always handy, always pleasing, palette of gray. but then again, maybe i'm the safe one. you see the picture above? it's me in atlantic city. i gambled $2.00. i lost $1.70. i'm not cut out for the risk. the chance. (plus, the slot machines were very confusing, there were no instructions posted anywhere and all i did was press buttons.)

but what my co-worker didn't know is that i, too, can be a bit rebellious. but it might look different than most.

i feel wild when i wear a new bright lipstick. when i catch myself in the rearview at just the right moment in the afternoon and think, yes. that shade is yours.

when i forget that i'm tired, that it's been a long day, and that i have work in the morning, and go sit in a dark theater with robert. the one downtown without stadium seating, so you really can't see anyway. sliding my hand under his arm and just listening.

when i laugh uncontrollably at something that's not even that funny, and when i dance in the kitchen at twilight.
when i walk down our old country lane and look at pablo running headfirst into the breeze.
when the mail comes.
when the morning comes.
when the flannel is still warm from the dryer.

there are many things that bring me alive. that make me feel sunny. even if i choose wardrobe staples that are decidedly stormy.

wednesday night discord

it was a computer night. robert tucked into his walnut corner desk, plumbing tickets organized and spread across the smooth wood. and i behind my cherry red table, the one we painted ourselves that hot august, with scratches and dings along the side, battle scars of moving.

and we sat there and stared. into the black hole that is the internet. microsoft word. etsy. pablo nudged my heels and i looked down to see his little squishy face, tennis ball in his mouth. i wish there were some sort of tennis ball machine we could get that would just shoot out balls for him to chase, i found myself saying.

and as soon as the thought made its way from my crowded mind to my loose, sleepy mouth, i regretted it. regretted asking for silence. for peace and quiet. for a still, resting home.

give me the noise, the hectic. that floorboard in front of the guest room that moans when work boots hit. give me cereal bowls in the sink and curlers on the bathroom vanity. i want to revel in the mess of it all, the lived-in feel of a  house turned home. give me late nights on the linoleum in the kitchen, dog face mashed into my own. robert's tennis shoes under the coffee table and plants overflowing on the windowsill. give me the underbelly of the beast of chaos.

i don't want to miss it. this fleeting bubble i can almost tangibly feel drifting higher and higher toward the heavens. of all my loved ones still here. a pup who still wants to play, and can hop onto the bed. able arms that can throw toys, stretch into child's pose and wrap around my husband. it's brief, this life. a whispered breath, really. and to wish for it to be any easier, any less involved, is a pity. for discord, i've found, is the mother of dreams.

a real world christmas

it was cold that night, and dark.

there were no rooms and people were rude. they were lost, lonely and scared.

on a bed of straw, huddled near livestock. not the ideal way to bring a savior to the world. not the ideal place for anything, really. the birth was flawed, riddled with unexpected setbacks, disappointments and heavy-hearted fatigue. in an age where lead-based paint is feared, the floor of a barn seems an unimaginable substitute for a hospital. but for all its human shortcomings, what a divine, precious perfection. it was real, hay bales and all. the face staring back a marriage of the human and the holy. yes, it was not quite as imagined, but in its very essence, the realness, the grit and dirt and sweat of Jesus' birth is what makes it endearing, special and sacred.

i find comfort in that. in the realization that God wants the soil of our lives, the grimy undercore of our souls, to plant the seed of faith. life is messy and tragic and altogether hard sometimes, but it's also so blessedly beautiful.

we took christmas pictures on sunday. from the moment i slipped on my dress, it just felt wrong. it was windy. and cold. and pablo was preoccupied with the cat running behind the deck. my hair was laying weird and i picked my skirt on the wooden bench. we argued about dog placement and portrait vs. landscape. about self timer length and background location. seven pictures later, we settled on a semi-focused, semi-centered one that will suffice, and ordered thirty.

this picture sort of sums it all up. we were frustrated, ill and tired with each other. i was tempted to send these out as the final picture, a nice detour from the typical, posed shots that line our fridge.

because this picture represents real life. it was not ideal. actually, nothing went according to plan. but it was real and honest and rooted in love. and in the end, the chaos gave way to beauty. much like that birth, i suppose.

i will be sweet for you

xxx

around eleven, he wrestled me onto the couch. my bangs hot with the feel of a house warmed with oil heat. it was dark and the lamp made our shadows dance on the whitewashed, wooden walls. his face was close and he told me, i love how sweet you are. i smiled with my eyes and kissed him, thinking about all that word encompasses: sweet.

and i promise you dear, i will be sweet for you. i will greet you at the doorstoop at six in the evening when your collar is wrinkled and your hands smell of copper. i will let you gather me in your arms, and lead you into the kitchen. and likewise, i will wave to you in the mornings as i pull out of the gravel drive, your face getting smaller and smaller as i get closer to the cornfields.

i will be sweet in the afternoons, calling you to check in from that cafe i love to frequent during my lunch break. i will send you texts, not sexts, because i am a lady. and i will leave you lipstick messages on the mirror on your birthday.

but there is a line, i believe. between sweet and sugary. there is a threshold there. a sacred, delicate, whisper-thin line that can easily be traversed if one is not dilligent. i promise to be salty sometimes, too. i will challenge you, call you out, and, only because i love you and sometimes this happens with people you love, i will disappoint you. make you sad. i may shout out sarcasm in a fit of rage or go to bed in silence, whispering i love you in my lowest tone only because i hate going to bed mad. and i'll mean it, mind you. but that doesn't mean i won't hold a grudge. or give you the silent treatment. or ignore your calls the next day.

yes, i will be sweet. i can't help it. i come from the south, and a good family. and i will love you to the ends of this earth and after. but everything needs a counter, and the salt will inevitebly seep in. but just ride it out. and, if you can, appreciate the difference. the wholesome, satisfying, balanced meal of my love that will feed you, sustain you, and nourish you. long after the sugar buzz wears off.

a night with NKOTBSB and a morning with you

 via

dear,

as you well know, i went to the NKOTBSB concert saturday night. and it did not disappoint. but i want to tell you something. matthew morrison was the opening act. he was wearing his trademark fedora. he flashed his dimpled smile and sashayed across the stage, crooning jazz hits and spinning around. but my heart only skipped one beat, not the two i expected, when he whispered in to the microphone and looked up into the camera, his blue eyes twinkling. similarly, my temperature only rose a few degrees when donnie wahlberg ran across the stage, ripped off his tank top and threw it into the crowd, though others around me fanned themselves in exasperated desperation.

and then, when my favorite backstreet boy, nick, chose a woman from the crowd, placed her on a barstool and sang just to her, leaning over into a backbend across her lap, i only felt the slightest tinge of jealousy, unmatched by the shouts and hollers echoing off the coliseum walls. they sang. they danced. they pelvic thrust their way into the night. and i watched in enjoyment, it is true.

but on sunday, as we sat in church. on the hard-backed chairs. we bowed our heads and you. you reached for my hand and held it between yours as we prayed. and i felt my heart leap to my toes and swell with love.

that, my sweet, is the right stuff.

a series: five things i wish someone would have told me: the real world

1. the cliques are still there. girls can still be hurtful and boys can still bruise. that doesn't end with high school and it certainly doesn't end with college. the challenge is rising above it all and staying true to how God made you. because david whyte was right. the truth is, anyone or anything that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

2. schoolwork is over, and full-time work typically only lasts until five, but you still have to balance and schedule. i thought when i graduated that i would just have tons of free time to lay around and be lazy with my new husband. those times are there, but they take careful planning. i've rediscovered mornings. with all their dewy grass and songbirds. i get up earlier, read scripture and focus myself, giving me the energy and clarity i need to arrange my day the way i want it.

3. you've got to work to maintain your friendships. high school and college are like little bubbles. you get to spend so much time with your friends! you are all experiencing this adventure together, maybe living together, staying up late together, and just inhabiting the same world together. when the school stops and real life kicks in, people move away. separate. lose touch. and it's so hard to maintain that connection without the connecting factor, that common ground of school. so you work at it. you write hand-written letters to each other. you facebook. you drive halfway across the state to see them. whatever it takes. because female friendships are sacred.

4. you've got to work at your love too. work can be stifling and overwhelming and i often find myself knee deep in proposals and papers and just the computer in general, that i take robert and his sweet presence for granted. go on dates. just do it.

5. the only way to get through this crazy, beautiful, immaculately chaotic life is with the help of our Savoir. He is, after all, what makes this world so gosh-darn real.