Dedicating The Last Mile

Hands, put your empty hands in mine
And scars, show me all the scars you hide
And hey, if your wings are broken
Please take mine so yours can open, too
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you

--Rachel Platten



ON MARATHONS:

Back in May of 2005, Ben ran his first (and only--so far) marathon.  He read a couple of books on how to train, and he successfully ran it with his sister and my brother by his side.  He had been a runner for years, but not this extreme distance.  Though he trained, prepared and finished, it was still incredibly difficult for him to do.  His stomach had revolted during the race which held him up for 20 minutes, and for about two weeks after the race he hobbled around like an old man, the sides of both of his feet bruised and painful from swelling inside of his shoes during the 26.2 miles.  When he finished the race, we both cried as we hugged, celebrating his victory.  The entire process of it all was extremely inspiring and emotional.

Ben told me after the race was over that in one of the books he had read to prepare, it shared a tip to maintain motivation during the race by dedicating each mile he ran to someone significant in his life.  He said he dedicated all of his to different people; his parents, his friends, his teachers, his siblings, to me, to our unborn son (who would be born 2 weeks later) and to the other children who would follow, to God, to himself, to his sister and my brother.  He said thinking of who he was running for kept him focused, pushing through the exhaustion and pain.

Oh, tears make kaleidoscopes in your eyes
And hurt, I know you're hurting, but so am I.
And, love, if your wings are broken
Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too.
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you

Last weekend found us in the kitchen, once again crying as we held each other.  We are on the final mile of the marathon he has been running for the past 8 years.  You would think being at the end of this grad school process....being able to see the faces of loved ones come into focus through the crowds....the color of the finish line ribbon brightening as it nears.... knowing these are the very last steps he would have to run before finally being done would bring some sort of relief just because he is so close.

Instead, the fear of falling and not making it back up, the worry that he may cross too late to be awarded the accolade for starting and finishing this near-decade journey has gripped him.  The terror that the voice in his head that has tried for eight agonizing years to convince him he will never be Good Enough has finally become so loud that it is all he can hear, it has stopped him in his tracks.  He is frozen and immobile.

Even if we're breaking down, we can find a way to break through
Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through Hell with you.
Love, you're not alone, 'cause I'm gonna stand by you.

I am not, and never have been, a runner.  However, I am a pretty great cheerleader.  I've been given the Gift of seeing the best in others.  I'm great at motivational speeches and finding a silver lining, at seeing Gifts of others no matter how deeply buried they are, and doing all I can to bring them to the forefront.  Somehow when the mountain becomes steeper and the path more rocky, I can summon Faith, Courage and Belief in the Good that it could overcome anything--especially when it comes to those I love.

Oh, truth—I guess truth is what you believe in
And faith—I think faith is having a reason.
And I know now, love, if your wings are broken
Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too.
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you.

I'm sure being on the receiving end of me as a cheerleader could potentially become extremely obnoxious to someone who just wants to hear the words "It's okay to give up.  You've done enough, you can stop running now.  Just sit down and rest, breathe.  Don't push yourself anymore."

The thing about the marathon of grad school is that there have been so many times through this process I have felt God inside of it--writing this story, molding and shaping both Ben and I to become who He wants us to.  With each hurdle that has been put along the miles Ben has run and I have cheered along by his side, I have the sense that there is a greater purpose at work.  So the blistered feet, the scrapes and stumbles, the mistakes and disappointments we have continually faced have not devastated me, but only caused me to feel this purpose even more intrinsically than before.  My push to finish the race, my belief in the Good, my motivational speeches--they're all extremely sincere.  Where they come from inside of me, I can only describe that place as Truth.  Something I know without knowing how I know it.  It's just there, existing as honestly as something I can actually see or touch.

I'll be your eyes 'til yours can shine

And I'll be your arms, I'll be your steady satellite.

And when you can't rise, well, I'll crawl with you on hands and knees
'Cause I... I'm gonna stand by you.

Aside from potentially driving a runner crazy, another problem with being a cheerleader is that there is only so much I can do when it really comes down to it.  Ben is the one reading, training and running.  No matter how many speeches I yell from the sidelines, how many cups of water I hand to him as he jogs by me, no matter how much I can feel that he can finish this, I have no control over how much he feels it.  I cannot physically move his legs for him, breathe more air into his lungs or transfer my adrenaline into his veins.  If I could--believe me, I would.  Over and over again, no matter what that sacrifice might to do my own body.  I would do it.

You're all I never knew I needed
And the heart—sometimes it's unclear why it's beating.
And, love, if your wings are broken
We can brave through those emotions, too.
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you.

When we stood holding each other last weekend in the kitchen while our baby girl slept above us in the crib on the second floor and our two middle girls played together above us in their bedroom and our son cheered and yelled at the game system above us in the loft, I felt this as a Moment for us.  Time slows, and I'm keenly aware of all of my senses, combined with the feeling of him with me.  We've had several of them in our marriage--most of them happening during the past eight years of this marathon we have been participating in together.

"Do you remember telling me when you ran your marathon you dedicated each mile to someone, to help you stay motivated and to finish?"  I asked.  "Will that help?  I want this last mile to be for you, for you to feel your worth and acknowledge all you've been through and how hard you've fought."

"No," he replied.  "This last mile is for you.  I would not be here if it weren't for you, I would have quit long ago.  This last mile I dedicate to you."

I hugged him tighter and cried harder.  "Don't give up.  You finish this." I whispered, handing another metaphorical cup of water to my weary, incredible runner.

After a few minutes we separated, Ben picked himself back up and began running his last mile again.

Much later that night, while the kids were asleep and Ben was downstairs working, I prayed.  "Please, please, please," were the only words I could say as tears streamed down my face.  Even though I couldn't say any more, I silently finished my prayer.  Asking directly for the things Ben and I were both fighting for, even if that required a miracle happening.  Pleading for that miracle to come to pass.  Also adding in though, that if that miracle is not part of the story He is writing for us, to be able to withstand the blows.  As much as I really, really want him to receive the certificate he has been working for years to receive, I care more about the state of my runner when this is over.  

"Miracle or not, this will end regardless.  Just please give us the strength to still stand whatever the outcome is."  These were the words I silently ended my prayer with.  I felt immediate reassurance from that Truth place, that my words were heard.

It was then that I decided.

Ben may be dedicating his last mile of this marathon to me, but I am dedicating my last mile as a cheerleader and a support of this marathon to God, because without Him urging me and strengthening me so I could encourage Ben, I would not still be here.


And now as the finish line approaches, and Ben gives the last of this marathon everything he has,  and I yell my words of encouragement while he makes his way down the final path, and God continues to write Our Story,

we wait.

A Love Letter About Tiny Houses

Dear Ben,

It's 1:28 in the morning.  I'm here alone in our bed while you're sleeping on the top bunkbed in Caleb's room.  You've taken on the responsibility of handling our vomiting son while I handle our teething daughter.  

In the morning when we're woken before our bodies have gotten adequate rest, and we blink our blurred eyes and rub our dark undereye circles and walk slowly downstairs to make our kids breakfast, they will be greeted at the table with the stuffed animals you bought for them and the books I bought for them, and we will tell them Happy Valentine's Day!  And let them know they are loved.  

Then we will make them breakfast and take care of whoever has needs and our Valentine's Day gift to each other will most likely look like trading off taking naps.  Some days just turn out this way and we do the best we can.  

Tonight before the vomiting began and the teething baby woke up crying, we were watching an episode of "Tiny Houses" and you asked me if I would ever live in one.  At first I said, "No, never!"  You know I'm a girl who needs her space to think and just be for a minute before joining back in the group.  But then I watched the episode and changed my answer.  "Well, not with our kids, I wouldn't.  But if it were just with you, I could do it."

I really do feel this way, you know.  Even after thirteen years.  Especially after.  I think that says something about us, don't you?  To not mind living in a 200 square foot house together, to still like each other that much?  

I know you know me well enough that there would be times I would need to curl up in the small space next to the washer and dryer to write something without interruption or read a book and you would give me that time.  And I know you well enough that there would be times you would need loud music and loud laughter and lively conversations that would fill the 200 square feet from corner to corner so full it would threaten to burst the teensy glass windows.  

I would decorate our 1'x1' back porch with those backyard lights I love so much and we would drag our small folding breakfast nook outside and eat dinner together there on autumn nights.  

And if we argued or things got tense because I grew tired of cooking on a one-burner stove and you've had it because I let my hair clog up the drain in our kitchen/shower....what then?  Maybe I would hide under the covers for a minute and you'd step outside and stare at the enormous sky and inhale deeply?  The good news is, I'm not really worried.  We would figure it out.  Even in a Tiny House, I have every confidence in us that we would be okay.

I've written about us many times, and will continue to.  I want our children to know who their parents were as they were growing up.  Right now they're self-consumed in their own needs, without any real idea there are two adults in their peripheral vision who have emotions and needs as well.  This is how it should be, I think--within reason of course.  The day will come soon enough when their horizon will broaden.  

When that day does come, I want them to know our story.  After 12 years of leaving his wet-from-the-shower towels everywhere but on a hook, their dad showed their mom how much he loves her by starting to hang up his towel during their 13th year together.  And I want them to know that after 12 years of wearing wrinkled clothes, their mom showed their dad how much she loves him by opening up the dryer and folding laundry that was still hot enough that the buttons on the jeans burned her fingertips, because their dad loves un-wrinkled clothes.  

Our love is a work in progress of the very best kind.  It's one built on all of the experiences we have had and will have.  Our kids are lucky to have parents who still try, and work with and for each other.  I think one day they'll realize how rare this is.  

I love you, Ben.  Your voice is still the one I want to hear when I'm worried or feeling lonely.  Your Big Laugh still makes me laugh, every time.  You walking through the door at the end of work is still the best part of my day.  

Thank you for the last 13 years of Valentine's Days and for loving me every day in between them.    

Love, 

Your Favorite Wife

Lucky number 13.

I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be
So desperate to find a way out of my world and finally breathe
Right before my eyes I saw, my heart it came to life
This ain't easy it's not meant to be
Every story has it's scars

When the pain cuts you deep
When the night keeps you from sleeping
Just look and you will see
That I will be your remedy
When the world seems so cruel
And your heart makes you feel like a fool
I promise you will see
That I will be, I will be your remedy

No river is too wide or too deep for me to swim to you
Come whatever I'll be the shelter that won't let the rain come through
Your love, it is my truth
And I will always love you
Love you

--"Remedy"--

A couple of months ago we had an honest, vulnerable discussion about walls built within marriage.  

I knew when he spoke, he saw me--for one of the first times in a long time, I felt understood on a deep level.  I knew when he saw me, it was a cross roads.  I could either admit the hard things I didn't want to admit, or pretend they didn't exist, hoping for them to disappear.  But I know things like this don't just "disappear."  

I see couples in Hollywood crumble all over the place.  Sometimes I wonder about them--why can't they hang on?  Is it because they didn't know each other well enough?  Is it because they didn't know themselves well enough?  Is it because their work requires them to be apart for long periods of time?  Is their foundation not strong enough to withstand the distance?  Or did they merely stop needing each other, because they couldn't--because physically they weren't there to BE there for one another?  

Ben and I are no Hollywood couple, far from it.  But we are a couple built inside of 2 years of a solid, happy, loving foundation followed by 2 years of extremely stressful, fearful parenting, followed by 1 year of traumatic, chaotic group home managing, followed by 7 years of separating grad school living combined with three more amazing, yet needy children.  

These things take tolls on individuals, which in turn take tolls on marriages--there is no way around that.  Our needs as humans had been put on the back burners for so long there have been days/weeks/months/years we had forgotten we even HAD any needs.  Our marriage also had needs we had forgotten, not because the love has not been there....they've been forgotten more because there had not been the space to take care of it.  And honestly?  We took for granted the two solid years of foundation we had built in the beginning.  Our love, happiness with each other, and strong friendship and respect for one another could withstand any storm, we believed.

So far, that has worked.  I truly feel if our foundation had not been as strongly built from our beginning, we would have crumbled like so many we see and hear about.  

Yet we remain standing, though the stress and time apart has taken its toll.  

I am a firm believer when the rope of marriage begins to fray, it takes each person to work individually on their end of the rope before they can work on things together.  We are complex humans, bringing lives together that are full of two entirely separate experiences, strengths, weaknesses, needs and emotions.  

But individual work is scary, isn't it?  It's so much easier to blame the whole of the sum instead of the parts, when those parts are made up of yourself and the person you love most in the world.  It's easier to blame a baby with seizures, and teenagers with rage issues, and grad school with its so many demands, and financial struggles leading to multiple jobs, and young children with their neediness and moving 14 times.

I know what it means to look in the mirror--really look--and realize I have personally contributed to my own unhappiness, my own loneliness, my own fears.  It is extremely vulnerable, painful, honest work.  Ben also knows  this individual work and what it means to look in this same mirror, owning his parts.  

As painful and scary and hard as this work is, it is also the work of Healing.  

I have seen the ends of our individually frayed ropes begin to heal, as we each pulled apart layer after layer of our own experiences to get down to the core.  I have never been more proud of myself, or Ben, than when we are working this way.  We have allowed one another to see each other in our most vulnerable places, and a love I never could have imagined has grown from seeing each other like this.  As individuals, we watched ourselves begin to Rebuild, and we were each other's cheerleaders and best support system.  Once the two pieces of our marriage had begun healing, we then needed to work on the sum of our parts.

So when it came to that crossroads a few months ago, looking at him in our dimly lit kitchen around 2 am, I chose to let him see me again.  

As much as I want to be that perfect wife, I know I never will be, because I am not perfect.  As much as he wants to be that perfect husband, he knows he will not be.  

But that night we laid our offerings of who we actually ARE, on the sacrificial table of marriage, again.  With our strengths, weaknesses, hopes, needs, and love for ourselves and each other.  

We promised during our 13th year, it was no longer the time for rebuilding ourselves individually, it is now the time for Rebuilding Our Marriage.  We have talked about what that looks like for each of us, with an understanding that it will take time.  As quickly as the Crumbling appears to happen--it doesn't, not really.  It's something that is slowly picked apart and chipped at, until finally a cornerstone has been worn thin enough to fall, taking the entire structure with it. 

Rebuilding is a process of picking up one piece at a time, with the hope there will now be extra support built in surrounding it now, after we know better, after the individual Healing has taken place.  It takes patience, and heavy lifting at times, and always--that constant self-check of fear and needs and individual vulnerability and honesty.  

Some may read this and think it might be a depressing Happy Anniversary! post.  But I feel the complete opposite.  I am so proud of us, and of our marriage.  Weaker people and weaker love would not have been able to even get to this point.  We are still here together, after the dust has settled, picking up our pieces and Rebuilding.  We are still laughing and holding hands, and looking at each other with a newfound admiration and strength in our love that did not exist before the Crumbling.  

Thirteen years of being married to this incredibly strong, good man.  Thirteen years of being the one he comes home to.  Thirteen years of feeling his warmth on the other side of the bed, of wrapping his arms around mine.  

I love you, Ben Strader.  Ours is a courageous Love Story.  And I'm so grateful we have chosen each other all over again.  Here's to our 13th year.  

12.

I've been around the world but never in my wildest dreams

Would I come running home to you

I've told a million lies

But now I tell a single truth

There's you in everything I do

--Imagine Dragons
"Bet My Life"

"Are you happy?"  he asked me tonight, and it caught me by surprise.  I paused, which he took as a bad sign--but it wasn't, I was just reflecting.  I was thinking about happiness, and my definition of it, seriously considering whether the current state of our lives, and the current state of myself, fit within the realm that I judged the word 'happy.'

I had been staring at sweet, sleeping baby Claire when he asked me this question, listening intently to her breathe.  She is 5 weeks old now and has come down with her first illness, and I had been debating all day whether or not to take her into the doctor.  I'm not in a good place when my small babies are sick, it brings up old feelings of fear that I have to work hard to fight my way out of.  Luckily her breathing was soft and quiet, clear of the mucus-filled cackles I had been concerned of earlier.

I looked up at him, sitting across the room, running his hands through the thick hair he had been begging me to cut for weeks.  The  glow of the lamp next to him cast a soft light on his brown eyes.

"You know, I was thinking about our life this week," I began, "and how I'm really not a very romantic person.  I don't need flowers and gifts and big romantic gestures, though those are nice every now and then.  But what I am, is a sentimental person.  When I step out of my daily life for a few moments, and pretend I'm someone outside of our home, peering in the window and watching us, my perception changes.  When I look back through pictures and think of our memories, I'm overcome with emotion.  I remember when I was younger, picturing what I wanted--writing a list of things most important to the least.  On the top of that list was being married to a good man, and the next one was being a mother to a lot of kids.  I know when I wrote that list, I had no idea what marriage would be like, and knew even less what motherhood would be like.  I was so naive, back then.  But I'm no longer naive.  Marriage and motherhood can be incredibly hard, and most of the time I'm so caught up in the tantrums of our children, what I'm making for dinner, or the never-ending laundry piles, or the constant compromise and teamwork that marriage requires, that I forget to step back and peek into our windows.  Right now, I am living my own dream, with you being the good man you are, and these four incredibly beautiful, amazing children.  So yes, I am happy."

He nodded and sat quietly, soaking in the words I had spoken.   Then came the next question.

"Will you still love me in 10 years?"  This was another that I took time to consider.  It wasn't because I wondered whether or not I would still love him, because I easily knew the answer to that.  I was taking time to remember why I love him now, and how there could not be doubt of the knowledge of my love for him continuing through my life, well past 10 more years.

Memories of us flashed through my mind.  There were so many--of us at our best moments, and of us at our worst--but one was more vivid than all of the others.

5 weeks ago, I was in the middle of the most painful labor I had ever experienced.  I had been dilated to a 9 for four hours, but the baby would not drop down into the birth canal because my water hadn't broken yet and was so big that the baby couldn't move past it.  My midwife was concerned--if they broke my water and the baby's head came down first, I was okay.  But if the umbilical cord came first, I would immediately have an emergency C section.  So they waited, and adjusted my positions, hoping it would help either move the baby or break the water.

In the meantime I could feel every contraction, and my back was in such excruciating pain that there were moments I couldn't focus on anything else except the blackness of it.  I cried and tried to breathe, and visualize the baby moving down, but each time the contraction started up again, the blackness returned.  I felt like I would lose my mind to the pain, and honestly came to the point where I was convinced I would die within it.  The only thing that brought me back from the dark that threatened to consume me was the feeling of Ben's hand gripping mine, and the sound of his voice:

"Okay, here's another one....this one is really big, but you're almost at the top of it....okay, you're at the top, you'll start to go down soon.....breathe, keep breathing, you can do this.....okay!  You did it, you're going back down now.....you're almost there....you did it.  (a few moments later)  Alright, here comes another one--I know, I know, it's okay.....It's okay, you can do this, you can do this, keep breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, okay you're climbing to the top......"

He could not take the pain from me, but he was there inside of it, with me.  I focused on his voice and his hand, and fought the waves of blackness.

As I thought of this memory, it was symbolic to me of our 12 years together--through all of the mountains we have had to climb, we have been each other's constant.  Our voices offering laughter until we cried, words of love and support, sometimes frustration, but continuing to see the best in each other. Our hands gripping tightly, holding on as we faced some of our best accomplishments and biggest demons.  Together we have been the one temporal thing that has stayed the same through the darkness and the light.

I tried to picture replacing his voice with another's, his hand with someone else's, and could not do it.  I knew I loved him now, more than I ever had, and that in 10 years my love for him would hold another decade of memories and depth.

"Yes, of course I will love you in 10 years.  You are not only what I hoped to find, you are more.  I love you, Ben."  

"I love you, too," he replied.

We stared for a few minutes at the newest miracle we had created together, watching her tiny chest rise and fall.  With God as our guide, we had come through another year.

And I knew we would continue through many more.

searching for silver, part 2.

{around the campfire, with no idea what was ahead for us}

after stopping for dinner and multiple potty breaks, getting lost, then being pulled over for speeding just outside of city limits (our first-ever warning ticket only! we couldn't believe our luck.)  we pulled into the campsite after dark.  the kids were bursting with excitement, and i found myself joining in as we bundled up in jackets, unpacked the car, and began to set up the tent.

a short while later, we gathered around a big campfire with the other ward members, chatting and roasting marshmallows.  caleb showed up at my side with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

"are you doing okay, bud?"  i asked, remembering the last time he drank hot chocolate while he was on the fathers & sons campout with ben just a couple of months ago.  in the middle of the night, he randomly threw up an enormous amount of liquid, covering his entire sleeping bag with a puddle of regurgitated hot chocolate and marshmallows.  it only happened once, so we figured his upset stomach was due to an overdose of sugar.  (throwing up is a common occurrence when caleb has too much many sweets)

"don't worry mom, it's only half a cup," caleb replied confidently.  we talk a lot at home about listening to our bodies and taking care of them and i let go of most of the control so he can feel confident in his decisions--and learn from his own mistakes.

for a couple of hours, things went great. the girls told us they were ready for bed around 9:00, so we set up our sleeping bags and planned on getting the kids to sleep and then joining some of our friends outside of our tents for games.  leah and caleb snuggled into their sleeping bags, laughing and talking for a few minutes before quieting down.  june however, had other plans.  she hadn't had much of a nap that day, and was overly tired and really grouchy.  after an hour she finally lay down beside me on the air mattress.  (yes, i said air mattress.  this is still considered "real camping" in my book.)

the temperature had dropped so much i could see my breath in the air and i put a third pair of flannel pants and another pair of socks on.  i looked across the row of children to find ben already asleep, huddled so far into his sleeping bag all i could see was the top of his forehead.

i settled down and just as i was drifting off to sleep, i heard caleb's voice--in a much higher pitch than normal.

"mom, my stomach hurts.  i think i'm going to throw up!"  his tone was panicky.

i jumped out of my blankets as quickly as i could without disturbing june, and frantically grabbed for the backpack i had stuck several unused garbage bags in its front pocket.  i'm no fool--we've been down this road many times before, and i came prepared.  as one hand was retrieving the garbage bags, the other was smacking ben's sleeping bag by his feet.  he sat up, his eyes squinty and confused.

i loudly whispered, "caleb's gonna barf, get up!" and ben sprang into action.  he helped caleb up while i unzipped the tent for the two of them to walk outside.  i heard caleb begin to retch and knew then, we were in for a long night.  after he had finished, we tried to give him some medicine and only a minute later, he threw that up as well.  even though he had made it in the garbage bags, there was some residual on his shirt and he needed to be changed.  his entire body was trembling from the cold as ben and i worked to quickly switch his clothing.  to warm him up, ben sat down with him in his lap and wrapped a blanket around the both of them.

"i'm so sorry you're sick, buddy," i said softly as i wiped his mouth and nose.  "and i know you're old enough to make your own choices, but i'm just going to go ahead and take the lead with this decision:  you're off of hot chocolate for the next couple of years, okay?"

he nodded with a little smile on his face.

for the next few hours, this is how they sat as caleb continued to vomit.

i was awake the whole time, but laying down across the tent next to june, who continued to stir.  i could tell she was cold, and kept trying to put more layers on her but she would irrationally thrash around and scream when i would try to help her.  the only thing she would let me do was stand and hold her wrapped in a blanket, but would wake back up again if i tried to lay her down her own.  i finally rocked her to sleep, and carefully inched my way to lay back down while still holding her.  i was hoping my body warmth would be enough to keep her comfortable, though by this time i was also trembling.  the blankets on top of us were stiff with cold, and anytime i moved, a breeze of freezing air would chill me to the bone.

i remembered i had brought essential oils, so i motioned to ben where they were and he put them on caleb, speaking calmly and encouragingly to him as he held the garbage bag near his mouth.  a few minutes later, caleb fell into a deep sleep.  ben continued to hold him and hummed songs softly as he waited to make sure caleb was okay.  once he was sure, he slowly laid him down, and climbed back into his sleeping bag.

i hugged myself around the stomach to try to find warmth and closed my eyes to go to sleep, when june woke up again, crying loudly and waking up leah.  she said she was scared, so i told her to climb up on the air mattress, on the other side of me.  she did, bringing all of her belongings with her, and i realized there was not enough room for the three of us and our piles of blankets.  june settled back down, and i tried to find a way to get comfortable, but ended up waking her up again.  this time, she was ticked.  she screamed and yelled something i couldn't understand but was positive it sounded like cursing in toddler language.  she climbed down and tried to walk, immediately falling and becoming even more enraged.  this woke up leah again, who whined loudly, saying she didn't want to sleep by me anymore.

and this was when i had had it.  vomiting children is hard enough on its own.  freezing, and having freezing children is hard enough on its own.  camping with kids is hard enough on its own.  serious sleep deprivation is hard enough on its own.  but combine all of them??  it felt like too much.

delirious with exhaustion, uncontrollably shivering from cold, and extremely frustrated with the situation, at the sound of leah's whines and june's cries (again), i said under my breath, "oh my hellllllllllllllllll,"  and it was from the heart.  then i realized we were surrounded by families from our church who could have heard me, and was embarrassed, but only for a second.  :)

i looked at the clock on my phone.  3:48 am.  i helped leah back to her original sleeping place, while ben picked up june.  i was feeling so done with this night.

then i heard it, ben's soft humming again.  i looked up to see june wrapped in his blanket, as he stood in the tent in only his thermal shirt, pajama pants and socks.  he rocked her patiently, humming several songs.  she quieted down, and he kept rocking.  i looked at my clock once more, 4:13 am.  though i was still shivering, i somehow found a way to finally drift off to sleep....

the morning sun was shining through the red fabric of the tent as i was woken to caleb's frantic pleas.  "mom, i think i'm going to throw up again!"  ben sat up at the same time as i reached for the last garbage bag we had, and held it next to caleb's mouth.  when he was finished, i wiped his face and looked at the time.  6:09 am.

ben scooted closely to me, and looking directly into both of my eyes, said with a serious tone,  "that's IT.  we're outta here."

"oh, THANK YOU!" i replied.  ben turned on the car with the heat blasting, we helped caleb in with the garbage bag, then picked up each of the girls and strapped them into their carseats.  ben told me to stay in the car to help entertain the girls and assist caleb if he needed to be while he began taking down the tent and throwing our belongings into the back of the van with a determination i hadn't seen in a long time.

within 20 minutes, we were ready to go.

we told our friends good-bye, to enjoy the warm breakfast we could smell cooking, and began our 2 1/2 hour drive back home.  within 10 minutes of leaving the campsite, leah announced she needed to go to the bathroom (yet somehow didn't when i had asked her before we left?  anyway.) so we pulled over, took out her travel potty seat and ben helped her.  while of course i took a picture.

i wanted to be in a bad mood--i really did.  it was a long, extremely arduous night.  our optimistic attitudes had definitely been deflated.

instead i forced myself to start searching for the silver lining, because i believe there always is one, in every situation no matter the difficulty.  as i thought through the details of the night, i started forming a mental list:  the vomit was contained--that was a blessing, no one else vomited, we had a car with a working heater to turn on in the morning, there were flushing toilets at the campsite, soon we would be in the comforts of our own home/shower/bed..... but through all of the positive things i could list, one stuck out more significantly to me:

"i want you to know, as awful as that experience was, my love and appreciation for you grew even deeper over the past 24 hours,"  i said aloud to ben.

"oh, really?"  he said with surprise.  "how so?"

"i watched you and was amazed, yet again, at your unending patience--sitting there with caleb and taking care of him while being so close to his vomit, talking to him kindly and keeping him warm.   then with june, doing the same thing when you were so tired, standing and rocking her while she was insane.  your patience never wore out....well, maybe this morning it did.  but in the middle of it all, you were so great at handling it.  i definitely wasn't so fabulous at this, and it made me realize how grateful i am for you.  i have several friends who married men who are not helpful with these things--saying ridiculously that it's the 'woman's job' and checking out.  thank you for not being that kind of a man, or husband, or father."

"well, you're welcome!"  he said with a small laugh.  "sooooooo....does this mean you'll go camping as a family again?"

"are you seriously asking me this right now?  seriously.  so you're delusional then.  NO.  i'm not even entertaining the idea for at least 5-7 years.  i love you, but even love has its limitations,"  i said, and we both laughed.

we happily drove the rest of the way home in the morning sunlight, talking, eating snacks, and realizing that if you search for it, you can always find the silver lining---even after a horrendous overnight camping experience.

searching for silver, part 1.

{the beginning of the end}

it's no secret that i'm not a fan of camping.

when ben and i were dating seriously, we discussed the fact that i'm a self-proclaimed 'indoor-girl', and i asked if this was something that could potentially damage our bright and shiny possible future.

{side note:  my definition of 'indoor girl' is this:

• an absolute lover of the outdoors and nature, until it requires me to:

1. sleep on anything aside from a mattress and box springs.
2. sleep/eat/live inside four walls made of material that cannot provide protection from inclement weather, dangerous 4-legged predators, or shriek-inducing creepy crawly things (when the enter/exit door is left unzipped, of course)
3. dig a hole in the wilderness, or hover over a non-flushing, fly-covered latrine, or even worse.... (cue the dry heave) asking me to "pack it out."  for any of you reading who knows what that statement means, i am so sorry.
4. sleep while sharing the same 100 ft space with my three children (whom i love and adore) because of their severe inability to sleep anywhere unless they're tucked in their own beds.  (and even then, their sleeping habits are extremely questionable)

other than those requirements?  nature and i get along quite well.  there's no place i feel closer to God than when i'm surrounded by the beauty He has created.  i just don't like to sleep, or use the bathroom there.  end of side note.}

ben thought long and hard about my question.  he was not only a self-proclaimed 'outdoor guy,' but he had actually communed with other nomads/hippies/earthlovers by joining in the "rainbow gathering" and accepting this way of life as his own, for a time.  this was who we were when we met in high school... my curly hair, overly-mascaraed eyelashes and show choir uniform vs. his poofy white-boy fro, Grateful Dead tie-dyed t-shirt, frayed jeans and ever-present hacky sack.

i told him i wouldn't stifle his love of sleeping under the stars with dirt in his teeth and the next morning's trail mix near his pillow--he was welcome to go on trips and expeditions when he pleased.  i asked the same of him, to marry me without the thought of changing me, knowing i would prefer always to sleep in a hotel, with flushing toilets and my tube of mascara waiting by the bathroom mirror.

we agreed that our love for each other and immense compatibility in other areas far out-shined this measly indoor girl vs. outdoor guy conundrum.  for the past almost 11 years, this has worked for us.  ben has found male friends and family to go on weekend explorations through slot canyons and steep mountains, while i've found girls who appreciate a night away tucked into egyptian cotton sheets and showering with small tubes of complimentary shampoo.

but then our children grew up, becoming old enough to love the idea of sleeping in a tent and eating fire-roasted marshmallows until their bellies distended with sugary goodness.  

i wrote about the last time we went camping as a family; the sleepless night and flustered morning when i handed 5 month old leah over to a stranger while i made a mad dash for the outhouse before my bladder exploded.  i still remember that moment of panic.

we hadn't been "real" camping as a family since that time, until the ward campout was announced a month ago in church, and immediately the kids begged us to go.  my instincts told me to pretend i didn't hear them, but i looked into their adorable, pleading eyes, then into the chocolate-y brown eyes of their father, and i found myself saying yes.  i knew it would be a sleepless night, but my sense of optimism took over.  i pictured dirty faces, hiking among trees together, sitting around the fire playing games...and convinced myself i could just take a nap the next day.  i wanted to be a good sport, to try again.

in the back of my mind, i knew i didn't want to be someone who always says "no" to things just because i don't love it and know it's going to be a lot of work.  how could i teach my kids to try again and do hard things, if i wasn't willing to?

knowing it was going to be cold, we packed multiple layers for each family member, and left mid-afternoon, ready for our adventure....

north carolina, day 4 & 5. the beach and celebrating.

back when we were naive, in love, and child-less, we decided that a wedding 2 days after christmas was a genius idea.  10 years later, we realize that if we want to celebrate the day we promised to each other, it would most likely never take place on the actual day, but more likely several months either before or after it.

since most of our anniversary celebrations consist of a nice dinner and a couple of hours on our own, we decided that on our 10th, things would be different.  {which is a decision i'm grateful we made ahead of time--seeing that i took care of barfing children on our actual anniversary.  our already-set plan gave me something to look forward to amid vomit-filled laundry.}

and so, when carmella called to let us know she was engaged and we were invited, we decided to leave the kids with family in utah and celebrate our ten years the way we had planned so long ago:

less naive, still in love, and child-less {temporarily}.

we had less than 48 hours staying in the beach house on topsail island, NC, but we made those hours count.

a beautiful book.  my mind swallowed it up in 3 days, 

and left me crying on the plane as i read the chapter of her father's death.

we spent hours talking just like this.  about our past, present and future.

me reading excerpts from my book.

meanwhile, the sun spent hours turning our previously fair skin a nice shade of red--

despite our efforts with sunscreen.

face time with the kids, showing them how we could walk out of the doors

of the condo and feel sand beneath our toes within just a few feet.

after the phone call ended, we promised each other to bring 

these 3 pieces of our heart back with us one day.

 we went out to a fancy dinner one night.  

if i were asked what meal i would bring with me on a deserted island, 

i would strongly consider this bruschetta.  

i am a lover of bruschetta, and this one beat any i have tasted before.  i still dream about it.

what happened to ben's eye?  who knows.

the tourist shop, where ben told me to endure some form of psychotherapy while posing for this picture.

humidity!  my skin was in heaven, my hair was, well...

when i woke up in the morning, ben took one look at me and just said, 

WOAH.

and just like that, it was over.

as rain began to pour over the beautiful beach, blending into the waves, 

we found ourselves in the rental car on our way back to durham 

for our last night in north carolina.

"love's the finest thing around..."

right now, i'm sitting on a couch in topsail island, north carolina, listening to the waves of the ocean with james taylor singing on the speakers about this very place.  it's no wonder he wrote a song as a tribute--there really is something about this beautiful state, with layers of green so thick you can't find your way out of it.  and the beach here is healing, especially in the moonlight.

we planned this trip so many months ago--saving and working and over-working for more paid time off--that it feels a little surreal to actually be here.  i wonder when it's over if i'll have the same feeling i did as a kid when christmas day was coming to an end, or i was going on my last ride at disneyland, or tasting the final vanilla-y crunch of my ice cream cone before it vanished.

it's interesting, what my mind can do when it has quiet and freedom to think.  i've been so thoughtful these past two and a half days, traveling with only myself and ben.  this is the first time in over 8 years that we've spent more than one night together without our kids.  we miss them terribly of course, but i'm remembering again what it feels like to fall in love.  we're connecting on a level that is built with hours of conversation without interruption, sitting next to each other without a little human bursting into tears, devastated that one or the other of us didn't sit by them, laughing our heads off over something that no one else is a part of except for the two of us, dancing together in the middle of a crowd of strangers who are also dancing to celebrate love, not caring if anyone else is even glancing at our incredibly lame moves.

i'm realizing how deprived our relationship has been of emotional intimacy.

i looked at his hand intertwined with mine as we sat on the airplane side by side and wondered when i had last noticed them with intent, concentrating on what it felt like to live in the details of a moment with him again the way i did so long ago, when he was the only person inside my world.

there is warmth here, with him.  he is my home.

during a long drive toward one of our destinations this weekend, he asked me my perception of him--the good and the bad, saying he was open to hearing whatever i had to say, answering any question i wanted to ask.  i thought for a moment, focusing on what was beneath the outside shell of him, under the hard-working grad student, the dedicated husband and father and the many other roles he plays.

i knew, through all of these years together, and changes and trials, my perception of him is still the same.

"you are sunshine to me,"  i said, and apologized for the corniness of the statement.

he smiled, and i explained that he is what has kept my head above water during a time when i thought the dark and twisty of the world might take me under.  i wanted to surrender to it for a while, feeling it must be what i deserved.  he kept holding on, and i worked one day at a time until i could feel my worth from the inside-out while he patiently waited.  now it is his turn, and the last year and a half has taken its toll as one wave after another has threatened to pull him under.  i have learned from his example, following his lead to be a gentle, quiet and patient support as he works on his inside-out self worth.

we talked about how scary this feels--digging your way out of a hole you didn't even realize you were in until life wouldn't let you not look at it anymore, and how it could be so much easier to give up and succumb to the ugly that is desperate to pull you under.  we are recognizing that relationships can't truly reach the deepest level of trust and intimacy unless both people are willing to work on themselves individually, owning their issues and trying to extract their unhealthy pieces and then coming back together to rebuild a newer, better foundation.

as i told him how proud i am of him, of his ability to face the hard and painful issues of his childhood, i couldn't help but cry.  the words caught in my throat and the tears streamed down my cheeks.  he reached across the car and took my hand, and i repeated the words i have been saying to him for so long, only now i was feeling a new depth and sacredness in them.

"i love you."

tonight we walked hand-in-hand along the beach as the waves crashed over our bare feet, picking up seashells along the way, saying hello to strangers as we passed.  the sun was setting, and we knew we needed to walk to the small grocery store before it closed, so we started the way back toward our beach condo.  suddenly, i turned and kissed him.  it was a kiss reminiscent of our dating years, starting from my toes and working its way up, and the spontaneity of it took us both by surprise.  for me, it was my way of acknowledging a new level in our relationship.  he kissed me back and i again made a conscious memory of this moment, living in the details of it.

we have two more days here, and then it's back to durham for our flight out on tuesday.  i don't know if it's possible, but i'm going to do my best to prioritize time like this with him every year.  not just for a few hours at a movie or dinner, but a weekend where we can reconnect in ways we're unable to otherwise.

i had no idea how much we needed it until now.

There ain't no doubt in no ones mind 

that loves the finest thing around,

whisper something soft and kind.

And hey, babe, the sky's on fire, 

I'm dying, ain't I? I'm going to Carolina in my mind.

the greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.

{woke up to roses, truffles and a hand written poem...a throwback to several years ago, when all ben gave to me for "the day of love" was a card about skunks farting--and he didn't even sign it! this year he surprised me with traditional gifts, yet still managed to sneak the humor in.  totally my style.}

i kept starting new posts to try to come up with something creative related to valentine's day.  like last year, writing about the day we fell in love, before we even knew we had.  or love letters to my kids, or something equally exciting...but i'm drawing a blank.

i know there are a lot of skeptics about valentine's day, and for the most part, i'm not a high maintenance girl when it comes to celebrating this one.  even though they're great and appreciated, i don't need flowers and chocolates and expensive gifts.  it has been low-key for us partly due to our financial situation, partly due to ben choosing to work in a field that requires long--and often overnight--hours (especially on holidays), partly because we have three children...but also because we're both satisfied with the low-key.

i'm not a skeptic though.  there are plenty of days for skepticism.  i love celebrating this one, it reminds me how much love is in my life.  i know it is not a small thing, and not always an easy thing.  relationships are tricky, layered and complicated.  i know as my kids grow, these sweet and often sloppy kisses are going to become few and far between.  so, i focused on really spending time with them and for them today.

caleb may not remember how we read together and played outside this afternoon, or how he was hugged goodnight, then held by the cheeks while staring into his eyes and thanking him for what a good boy he is.  leah may not remember that she wore a valentine's shirt that was bought just for her because i know how much she loves hearts and to feel pretty.  she won't remember how many times she was helped in and out of the bathroom today or how she was given  4 different types of kisses (butterfly, eskimo, frog and bird) when she was tucked in (for the 10th time) tonight.  and june most likely won't remember how we shopped in the mall together today, sharing a pretzel and water while counting her fingers and pointing out other babies as they passed us by.  and when we heard one of her favorite songs, how we started dancing between the racks of clothes, while strangers watched.  she won't remember laughing as  she was being tickled on my bed and when i asked her for a kiss, she leaned over, making her "mmmmmuwah!" sound, and i took a picture to freeze this moment in time for me.

and ben may not remember that all 3 kids were taken to the grocery store right at dinner time (one of my least favorite things to do) to buy the food to make the amazing steak and asparagus meal that was cooked just for him.  or how we talked about how funny our kids are, and the crazy teenager he had to administer psychiatric testing on today.  how we lay in bed warm under the covers, looking at pictures of the dream house we want to someday build ours after, talking about the things we'd change and those we'd keep the same.

i try to close my eyes and take snapshots of these moments, to hold onto them so they can stay in my memory long after they pass.  but every day the sun sets and the moon rises and these memory snapshots fade.  these flashes of my life surrounded by four other people are what mold and create the feelings we have, the relationships that are continuing to form.

i hope today they could feel how much i love them.