Are You Ready?

Duane gives me a $50 ring we got at a pawn shop hours earlier.  The only thing he promised me that day is he would never leave me.  I have no idea where that ring is, but I know where my husband is at any give moment!

Duane and I don't pretend to know everything about marriage.  In fact we have both been divorced, this alone tells you we have both failed once at the great institution.  And I am sure there are days we both would appreciate a divorce from the other, but it's temporary.  It doesn't feel like it in the moment; learning from my parents who will celebrate 40 years of marriage June 2 has taught me love conquers all, which is a pretty tough order to fill.  They have also taught us that if love conquers all, money is very helpful in paying for it, but it isn't necessary.  When you are young and in love, it seems like love conquers all--my parents were teenagers when they married.   The money thing came later for them.  In my world, the ring is a monetary symbol of the future, which is usually a much bigger promise they can live up to.  And so it begins.

Since we eloped and didn't have rings, I married him with his grandfather's ring.  The important thing about this is we didn't promise ourselves for money.  The rings were a symbol.  Sometimes in marriage we feel like we need to have things.  But those things can't replace what is in our hearts.  I was in my uniform this day.  Neither of us wears the ring we gave the other that day.  But one thing remains: the promise we made to each other when we vowed forever to each other.  No one in that moment we made our promise said it would be easy.

There are so many things a couple can argue about that relationship doom seems inevitable from the beginning.  No one tells you this at the place where you go to get your rings!  In our buy-now, pay-later society, how is anyone to survive at all?  Why don't they just tell you before you start out life on the wrong foot by financing your diamond and gold rings this is a bad idea?  And our litigious, fault-finding society doesn't help matters either.  The Number One Thing married couples fight about is....take a guess.  Not sex, though that is up there (I will address this in a future blog).  Not communication, though I'm pretty sure we all suck at it (and I'm a professional communicator).  Not children, though lord knows, it's a daily struggle.  It isn't in-laws, or vacations, or putting the toilet seat down.  I'm sure by now you've guessed, it's money.

I took a painting class because I recognize I have a need to do something fun.  My understanding husband doesn't request the same treatment; he always praises my amateur paintings and even though we might be broke, he never mentions it when he talks about how beautiful the painting is.

I won't lie.  When Duane and I talk about money, I feel physically ill.  I want to throw up.  I feel defensive and under attack.  This isn't because he makes me feel this way.  It's just my reaction.  Every time we count down the dollars and look at why we aren't where we need to be, I take on my shoulders what I've spent.  I don't try to defend every time I stopped at Starbucks or took a painting class.  I just feel guilty for not having done more.  And I suspect that's how a lot of us feel and so the conversation ends before it begins.

Duane and I taking our marriage oath April 20, 2009 in front of the Justice of the Peace in Biloxi, MS.  We weren't kidding.

Duane and I have had our share of money arguments and issues dealing with finances.  We are after all homeowners.  That in and of itself can make people want to lose their minds.  We aren't poor, but when we look at our finances at the end of the month we are amazed at how expensive everything is (diapers, food, rent, electricity, water, gas, cars, incidentals, insurance, medical bills, phones, internet, supplies, it goes on and on).  Our number one goal in doing what we are doing and living like we are is to move our financial situation from a reactive one where we are paying bills that come in because we owe money to a proactive one where we know there are things we have to pay and the rest is optional.  Once we made that paradigm shift in our minds, it made all the difference.

We had to decide, as painful as it was, that our expenses were red: we have zero choice in paying them; yellow, we have little choice in moving the date they are paid but they have to be paid; and green for those things we would only pay if we could such as TV, phone, internet, eating out, and impulse purchases or things we wanted but didn't need.  Color coding everything into green, yellow and red was easy; the hard part has been enforcing it.  That is to say, after we made the commitment to even talk about it.  We all have something to gain by leaving things the way they are and I will address this later.  Change is hard.

Stroller Envy



Duane gives me my nightly injection of fertility drugs



I have to preface this post with the fact that I began this yesterday in a lighthearted attempt to talk about how my life has shifted from deciding which beers are on tap to whether I can afford the $1,000 stroller at Babies R Us to keep up with the moms toting tots at all the places I take August on the weekends.  I had to stop.  Something wouldn't let me keep it lighthearted, but I'm used to that, so I let it sit for a day.  Something silly hit me mid-post, much like it does in my real life: I can't just get pregnant and I've lost three babies to miscarriage.  Some people who haven't lived this life I lead might wonder why I can't just get over it or if I will ever move beyond this, and the short answer is, I don't think so.  And as much as I want to move on, life happens and I am reminded of who I am, where I came from, and how far I've come.

Beautiful August Cameron

I never wanted to be the poster child for infertility or miscarriage.  I never wanted to be the person holding an acquaintance's hand, letting her cry to someone, anyone, after she just lost her baby (they call me sometimes because they can't bear to hear what well-intentioned friends and family say to them such as it was God's will).  I never wanted to have to explain to my own family day after day what to say and what not to say to help me heal, knowing Duane and I will likely always have this tender scar that will never heal and it can burst open on certain days or in certain moments (June 6th, November 14th, Christmas time).  I never wanted to be the woman who has to constantly answer the questions, "So do you want to have kids," or "Is she your first," or "Do you want more," with answers like, "We are working on it," or "Someday," or "Yes, she is our first," (feeling like our son Connor is looking down on us from heaven saying what about me?  I didn't choose this life, but it's the life I've got and I can't be bitter about it, lest it eat me alive and I forgo all the beauty surrounding me).

My written observations about being a mom began here yesterday:

Duane and I taking August for a walk in the jogging stroller on the Green River Trail behind our apartments

Every time I go to the zoo, I get stroller envy.  Parents with toddlers know what I am talking about.  Stroller envy makes you seriously rethink your priorities so you can buy that $1,000 stroller you registered for during your baby shower but no rich benefactor bought.  I always dread this about going to the zoo since our strollers (yes, we have a few), though adequate, would never propel us among the stroller elite circle.  In fact, I keep two strollers in my trunk at all times, which pisses off Duane because it keeps me from being able to go to Sam's Club to buy large things like diapers and toilet paper since I have no room; I have two strollers in my trunk for crying out loud!  We also have a wagon, a jogging stroller, and a hiking backpack, all of which are perfectly suited for certain occasions.  I no longer buy cocktail dresses, shoes, or makeup anymore, by the way, because my efforts are focused on Smoosh.

August looking at the gorilla from her adequate stroller

I didn't know about "mom culture" until I started taking my precious cargo to places like the zoo, the aquarium, the Children's Museum on the weekend.  And I don't think anyone is competing to be the best mom, but c'mon, we kind of all are.  Rest assured, my baby will be in the cutest outfit on the planet, lest anyone try to upstage AugDog.  My goal is to collect as many comments like, "Oh my gosh, she is just the most adorable baby I've ever seen," or "Wow, her cheeks are just so...."  Yeah, I know, she's my daughter.  And I try not to judge, but I do when I think no one is looking in how we handle our children's behavior or what they eat.  In my head, I am always telling myself, "my kid is far superior to yours."  And I don't mean anything by it.  I am super cordial around other parents.  Until they are more concerned with their iPhone than they are with the snot running down their kid's nose and how they let their kid shove my kid and totally didn't correct the behavior.  Let me just tell you.

August playing in the water at the Children's Museum

And then I deteriorated.  I got in my head.  I began to process the day, not by how lucky I am or how much fun we were having, but by the observation that every. single. woman. was nine freaking months pregnant.  No joke.  It was like a shampoo commercial of long-haired perfect women waving with streaks of sun showing through their glee flying by my face with a perfect smile and infectious laugh.  The pregnant women were everywhere in many colors and sizes, representing diversity and life itself--be fruitful and multiply said God.  They represented every woman but me and I felt my thoughts turn bitter, angry and confused again.  This feeling isn't new.  I battle it often and my demons are mostly other peoples':  Why can't she get over it?  Isn't she grateful for August?  She just needs to relax.  Why can't they just adopt?

Here's what went on in my mind:

I always feel inferior when I see bulging pregnant women in these places, despite the fact that my kid is one breakfast away from winning the Nobel Prize for whatever.  It feels like God is mocking me.  Not many people were at the zoo today since it was cold and raining.  Despite the dismal weather, it seemed like every woman in Seattle who was more than six months pregnant decided to go to the zoo.  And they weren't just pregnant.  They were glowing with rays of golden light illuminating them as they rubbed their fertile bellies dressed in perfectly tailored L.L. Bean outfits that probably weren't even made for pregnant women.  Their kids laughed in slow motion and made eyes at the pregnant bellies and the moms acknowledged me as our kids intermingled.

Dad on a rare family day off work helping August paint

At one point, August made eye contact with one of the lucky pregnant women and she shyly walked up to her.  August stared at her belly since she's been obsessed with them lately and I could tell she was trying to find the courage to touch the pregnant belly.  The lucky mom laughed and made some casual comment about how August wanted the maraca she had and gave it to her.  August continued to stare and inched closer.   All I could think about is how August loves babies--she signs baby, says baby and walks up to babies and won't leave them alone.  August would really love having a baby here.  And I want to give her one.  But I can't and one day she is going to ask me why.

I resent these women and then feel guilty about it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I try to avert my eyes and then there is another bulging woman showing off her "I didn't eat any ice cream or cupcakes or french fries" body in the pants she wore in high school with nothing more than a hair tie attached to her button fly and she wouldn't even need the hair tie if her hair hadn't become so long and luscious due to the prenatal vitamins and the pregnancy hormones.  Oh and bluebirds will fly out of her vagina when she gives birth, by the way.

August's first time working with clay

Today we went to the Children's Museum and things were a little better, even though every woman I encountered either had a narcoleptic newborn in some fashionable front carrier on her chest or was also bulging with a future tax credit in her biological oven.  It was easier today.  I don't know why.  I never know why.  And I never know when it is going to hit me either.

I know this makes me seem like a raging lunatic who is unapproachable or overly emotional.  But I'm not.  I'm just a mom who has lost three babies and has a really hard time bringing life to the ones I know God wants me to have.  I struggle daily, but I struggle because I know the reward is greater than my fight.  What I want people who want to support me to know is that the best way to support me is to just listen.  Call me and ask questions.  But ask questions about my struggle.  Ask questions about my son.  Ask questions about how I am feeling and when I answer honestly, just listen.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility and just don't know what to do or say, please click here.  My guess is that you aren't alone.  None of us who experience infertility want you to have to be a part of this, but the honest truth is, we are glad you are because we can't do this alone.  We might try to do this alone, but we need you.

Thousand Mile Journey

I've been thinking about how to get started blogging again since my computer was the issue.  Duane got me a new computer for Christmas so I wouldn't have an excuse.  I guess I have to start somewhere.  So much time has passed; there's so much I want to tell you.  I can't cover it all in one blog and every time I get started, I stop because I think it's getting too long.  My solution is to just not worry about it.  I figure if I just start here and write, I will get better.  Eventually, I will be where I want to be with this blog.  I suppose life is like that.

Duane tilling the garden at the Pea Patch last spring on his only day off.  It took four hours and left blisters on his hands. 

I heard on the radio today a follow up on New Year's Resolutions.  I thought about my own--to plan out the garden, to get through next winter entirely on our own produce with things we've canned, frozen, and dried.  I plan to be more organized and not have piles of things with numbers that will eventually equal a stolen identity leaving me paranoid to just throw anything in the trash.  I'm also becoming a bit of a hoarder when it comes to bits of paper August has scribbled on.  I vowed also to come up with some sort of system to save money, pay bills systematically, and to bake bread daily.  We plan to be debt free so we can buy a house in the fall.  All of this goes without saying that I have also vowed to not eat too much, drink too much, exercise more, and call my family every Sunday.  Have I gotten to how bad I am at making sure Christmas cards and thank you notes are sent out on time?  What, am I crazy?  I thought so too.

This is one month's supply of drugs for an IUI cycle.  After five rounds of this, we are now on to IVF and our drugs are five times this.

 By the way, did I mention we have been trying to have another baby since August was six months old?  Most people just get drunk and squander away their savings on impulse purchases when they are trying to (not) have a baby and wind up pregnant.  Not us.

I'm not sure, but some nights it feels more like revenge and less like love and the beauty a couple shares when trying to have a baby.  Duane takes a little too much joy in the process.

It's almost February and I don't even think I stood a chance past the first week in January with goals like that.  Yet, when I look back on the past few weeks, I'm actually proud of what I have accomplished.  When I think about it in these terms, I realize it isn't even February and I've already experimented with a few different kinds of breads, frozen a bunch of sugar pie pumpkin puree from the farm for pies, breads and dishes later in the year.  I've taken inventory of the freezer and created a spreadsheet for the garden and begun to plan.  I've ordered seeds and enlisted help from nearby friends who are willing to help plant and weed in exchange for some produce.  I've started a calendar for meals and begun inputting recipes I've gathered from my favorite cookbooks I hope to make in the future.  I even attacked laundry mountain once this year, which is *almost* more than I can say for last year.  And our IVF cycle is scheduled for February!

In just a few days, with no air conditioning when it was 90 degrees outside, we canned 110 pounds of tomatoes in two days.  Four weeks later, we canned another 125 pounds.

When I look back at last year, I try not to be too hard on myself.  I try to look at what we've accomplished rather than get down on myself for what we didn't.  Of course Duane has his own set of things he wants to accomplish, but collectively, we've moved mountains even though some days it feels like the mountain is on top of us.  We paid off almost $10,000 in debt by cutting out things we thought we needed but don't, like cable and Starbucks.  We learned how to grow a garden and canned hundreds of pounds of vegetables.  We learned about organics and changed everything about the way we eat.  We learned sign language to be able to communicate with our daughter.  And oh yeah, there's that--we raised her into a toddler too, which is no small feat.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes when you just don't know where to start and everything feels overwhelming, start at the beginning .  The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step (that's a Chinese proverb).  And if you just keep placing one foot in front of the other, you might not get to the end today or tomorrow, but you will be farther along on your journey than you were when you began.  Keep looking back and you will see how far you've come and one day, you just won't need to look back again.

August is signing "more, more" with Daddy.  At just 17 months, she has about 300 signs and understands concepts like seasons, colors, temperature, feelings, days of the week, foods and family relationships.  She also knows about 50-75 animals and can differentiate between a variety of categories such as different types of birds, monkeys, fish and other sea creatures, and mammals.  She isn't deaf, so we didn't need to teach her sing and at first, it felt overwhelming since she didn't sign back for a few months.  But now it's like we opened a portal to be able to communicate with a little girl who has so much to say, but didn't have the ability to communicate the words in her brain to do so.

Cheese and Ronis

When I started this blog, I envisioned it would be more than just words on a page telling you what the Kings are doing; I wanted it to be something those of you thousands of miles away could experience as well.  With all five senses, this is my promise to you: (angels are singing right now)--my cheese and macaroni.  In this house, it's called, "Cheese and Ronis."

Here is the recipe for the cheese and macaroni we make--dig it! Warning--this is not a diet dish and it's more addictive than crack.

6 TBSP butter (plus extra for the baking dish)
1 pound elbow macaroni (or spirals or corkscrew pasta--whatever is your favorite)
3 12-oz cans evaporated milk
4 c grated cheddar cheese
1/2 pound velveeta cut into cubes
1/2 c heavy cream
1 egg, lightly beating
1 c panko (Japanese bread crumbs)

Preheat the oven to 350. Spray or lightly butter a 9x13 baking dish. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the macaroni noodles until al dente. Drain and toss with 4 TBSP of butter. In a small saucepan over medium heat, bring the evaporated milk to a scald and add it to the macaroni. Add the cheddar--it will start to melt. Then add the velveeta and the cream and stir well. The macaroni should be swimming in sauce and chunks of velveeta. Stir in the beaten egg and mix well. Season mixture with salt and pepper to taste and stir again. Pour into the prepared baking dish, which should be placed on a sheet pan to catch spills since the dish will be full. Sprinkle with the panko and dot with remaining butter. Bake until golden and bubbly--about 25-30 minutes.

Break, More to Follow

Since we've moved to Seattle, people ask me what I love most about living here.  It's hard to choose just one defining thing.  When people think of Seattle, many things come to mind: granola, the Space Needle, grunge, Nirvana, Starbucks, a miserably bad baseball team, a bunch of tree-hugging barefoot hippies who want to save whales...

But it's not really like that, mostly.  Though Duane and I were shocked when we first moved here (as our fried-catfish-fed bodies heaved up the San Francisco-like hills and skinny no-body-fat runners clad in REI spandex jogged passed us while sipping lattes) to learn Seattle is actually a choose-your-own-adventure novel, if you can drown out chants from the Occupy movement, the high profile murders, people wanting to criminalize the use of disposable shopping bags and those wanting to decriminalize marijuana use.



Break.  More to follow.

I began this blog post months ago.  It was the last blog post I wrote after getting terribly frustrated with my computer because I couldn't post photos.  I've since found a workaround and am willing to tentatively see if I can blog again without losing my mind and wanting to go Office Space on my 2006 Dell dinosaur of the 2011 computer nightmare I have at work--as if I need more computer frustration in my life.  If it's one year for every seven in dog years, it's like one for every 100 in computer years.  My computer should be parting the Red Sea by now, but it's not.  It's just collecting dust and reminding me how badly I need a new computer.

I wanted to begin blogging again months ago and I was all set to, until I realized it was counterproductive.  With so little time to spare, blogging got the boot, thanks to my Dell, but maybe partly thanks to Pinterest as well.  Since I have found a workaround and I might be able to merge my Pinterest addiction with blogging, I figured now would be a good time to pick up where I left off.

The other problem I had with picking up blogging again is that I didn't know where to start; it's a little like working out in that you want to try and make up for lost time in just one workout session.  I know I can't do that.  So I will just fill you in on why I haven't blogged and let the rest come naturally.  I figure I'll get better with time.

I've been intrigued and somewhat pressured, albeit by myself, to blog again because the farm to which we subscribe, Whistling Train Farms, and other friends of mine have such great blogs that I love reading.  I'm always a bit insecure (and I don't know why) that when I write something it is just a bunch of words floating out there and that my suggesting people read my blog is a bit like those ladies at Sam's Club on a Saturday, "no I really don't want the toaster-oven-baked-chicken-cordon-blue, but I would love to take one from you because if I don't, it might hurt your feelings."  Maybe that is totally me being sensitive, but find me a writer that doesn't have thin skin.  We all profess to take criticism well, but deep down inside, we are all just hoping you are hanging by a thread, waiting to read the next thing we type.

If you are, pray it isn't months until I write again.  Each day I think of so many things I could just hammer out if it was just a bit more user friendly.  Every day is an adventure for us; let's see if it ends up in a blog.  By the way, July 1st is the day Seattle bans plastic shopping bags for good and legalizing marijuana is on the ballot for the November election.  Just thought you might like to know.

Break, More to Follow.

Here we go again

Part of me debated if I would write this post. It's been almost six months since we gave birth and it's been more than a year since we got our positive pregnancy test that lead us to that glorious moment when we became parents. For three years our worlds revolved around getting pregnant and staying pregnant. Finally on August 3, 2011, we were blessed with a baby. Our prayers were answered.

It might not seem like it took that long for those who haven't lived their life broken into manageable portions-- 36 months of wondering if I was pregnant. In each of those 36 months, spending fourteen days, count them with me--one, two three, waiting to ovulate, and then fourteen more days I waited to take a pregnancy test...do you know how much of our budget was spent on ovulation kits and pregnancy tests that didn't matter? I was literally pissing our money away. My life, our life, revolved around peeing on a stick. At some point, I remember Duane being so frustrated with me that he left me on the couch crying so he could go chop wood.

This is not because he is evil or mean, but at some point, my emotions got the best of both of us. Every month. Every month we would climb through those 14 days until we could try and get pregnant. Then we waited. Tapping our fingers through the next 14 days. We waited. And every month was the same. I would cry and look at facebook with a jealous eye, sometimes never telling Duane who was pregnant this month.

 We scoured babycenter.com for new ways to get pregnant. We tried it all, by the way--cough medicine, rituals, praying, clomid from Mexico, ovulation kits, you name it, we tried it. One fertility clinic and two miscarriages later and the Kings get their third positive pregnancy test. It worked.

The pregnancy was textbook. The birth was easy. Some might have thought we should be content with having our little sugarplum. Some might wonder why we are venturing down that road. Again.  Just let it happen. It will happen when you least expect it is what people who haven't been through all of this tell us.  And everyone knows the couple who tried and tried for years, and then adopted, and then got pregnant without even trying.  Just relax, they say.  If i had a nickel for every time I heard those things....

The other part of me isn't sure how to tell the world while trying to assure myself I shouldn't care. Every mom I know keeps telling me how tired I should be with an infant. A large part of me is ashamed that I'm ready for another baby--have I enjoyed August like I should? Am i trying to rush this?  I'm so used to women telling me how miserable I should be or should have been while pregnant. I never did feel miserable.  And I suspect it has something to do with the fact that everything we've been through makes all of this so much sweeter.

We want another baby. And not because August isn't enough. She's absolutely perfect in every way. She's beautiful, smart and funny. She's a strong little girl who can melt a million strangers' hearts. But we want more and we don't want to wait.  We want a big family.  Frankly, we don't have time to wait either.  I'll be 37 this year, so now it's a race against the clock in a way--no pressure or anything.  People also tell me that women are having babies in the forties and fifties.  It hit me the other day that if August waits until she is 35 to start having babies, we will be 70 before we meet our grandchild.  Being 40 having kids isn't how I imagined everything working out, but sometimes, life's plan doesn't always match our plan and in some ways, it's better that way.

This blog took a lot of courage for me to write because I was going to keep it to myself. But I can't. I can't spend the next three years crying, living life in 14-day cycles wondering when we will get pregnant again. We wanted to share again with you our journey of trying to build our family.  Your support meant more to us and kept us strong through the process.  We also learned that there were a lot, A LOT, of you out there who were going through the exact same thing.  I found a lot of support in knowing my words were helping other men and women feel a little less empty and hopeless.  Even the fact that Duane was so open about it helped a lot of men, because there is so much focus on what the woman is feeling and enduring, the man gets left out.

Now that we are in Seattle, we met with another fertility doctor. He assures us we are the quintessential case study for the 30-something who wants to get pregnant.  He has no fear that we will get pregnant right away and has no desire to change what worked for us in the past.

So, here's to starting the process over again.  Here's to hoping we get pregnant right away.  Here's to all the people in the world who have struggled with infertility and miscarriage silently.  Follow along with us again if you'd like.  We couldn't have done it without your support.  We thank you for your kind words and encouragement.  It's a difficult journey, one with which many men and women struggle.  I hope that a few of you will find the courage to heal, help others or the find the strength to keep trying if you too have struggled.  And for those who haven't, it is my hope that you will have a little more understanding about what it's like to be on this path since it's not one we choose, yet one we still have to navigate.  In the end, the journey has brought us closer and the reward has been sweeter.  It is through the pain that we have been able to fully enjoy what a tremendous miracle pregnancy, childbirth and parenting are.  We are so blessed and grateful for all of it--the good and the bad.

Leaving breadcrumbs

It's been three months since we arrived in Seattle.  When I started this blog a year and a half ago I had every intention of writing about being an insta-mom when we got our foreign exchange student Muro.  Now that I am a mom, I have no idea where the time went and there is this big abyss between this blog post and the last.  I suppose life is like that.  We spend our lives looking ahead, fixating on that end goal, where we want to be and at some point, we stop and have to connect the dots to figure out how we ended up where we are. Some of our living is deliberate while other times life just takes its course and Duane and I let it.  I wanted to start this blog up again for two reasons.  One is to give myself a roadmap to talk about the goals we set for ourselves as a family, as parents, as spouses, as friends, as workers, as Airmen, as humans.  The other reason is to give us a place to reflect on where we find ourselves when life takes its course and there is no trail of breadcrumbs to get us back to where things are comfortable and familiar.  In the end, it's all about the journey, the trail of breadcrumbs we leave along the way and the things we see and experience while leaving them, not the destination.  This blog is my trail of breadcrumbs.

I recently created a book for our families that took them back to our beginning.  It got me thinking about all the places we've been and how far we've come in just a short time.  

All those images and memories dance in my head and they emerge when something triggers them.  Big fluffy snowflakes make me think of Duane's smiling face when he was in Iraq.  I was living day to day then, each day waking up hoping it wouldn't be the day I had to leave him, yet wanting to leave Iraq and get home to Japan.  Then I spent the next nine months wishing time away so we could be together again.

Last night Duane and I watched the movie Click where the character in the movie, played by Adam Sandler, spends his days with a magical remote fast forwarding through life, hoping he will hurry and get to the good part only to find that the little moments in between where he finds himself is the good part.  It isn't until he is on his deathbed that he realizes he's inadvertently wished away all the good stuff.  Looking back over the whirlwind of the past five years, I want to make sure those moments in our lives find a home that will always be there.  I was able to capture some of that when I made that book, but I realized I've been a terrible keeper of our memories.  This fueled my decision to blog again.

Five years later, here we are.  How did we get here?

I'm not really sure, but it sure was nice to go back and connect the dots.  I realized in the process I hadn't left myself any breadcrumbs and trying to make sense of our journey was harder than I'd thought--we'd done a lot!  All of those memories in between might one day fade away.  At the same time, here we are in Seattle, making new memories, and we are here alone.  Our friends have to live vicariously through our facebook posts and our families cling tight to their email inboxes, hoping for another photo of August.  Whatever we do, whoever we tell, one things for sure: wherever we go, there we are.  Time will continue to pass and I don't want to forget what happens in the middle.  So come along with us on this journey and we'll get lost together.  At least we know there's a trail of breadcrumbs to get us back to the comfortable and familiar.