Growing up on a dirt road has it’s perks. If you look past the constant dust drifting through the open doors and learn to dodge the potholes that could swallow a car whole, you’ll see the simple beauty of a country dirt road. I grew up just down the road from the Shetler’s dairy farm and each trip home is christened with a trip to “the farm” for their insanely delicious chocolate milk. It’s the bees knees, no joke. This trip I added a jug of Moocacino and have since plotted a thousand ways to talk them into shipping to Florida. It’s life changing stuff, that moocacino.

There is something simplistic, yet extravagant about walking onto a dairy farm that has been around longer than you can remember. About picking up those thick glass milk jugs and hearing them clink against the wire milk basket, all the while knowing how much these cows mean to the family who raises them. In a time when dairy farms have gone the way of factories, it’s comforting to know that there are honest farmers who still care for their cows by hand and give each and every one of them a name.

I don’t even drink cow milk. Our home made the switch to almond milk years ago, but when I’m at Shetler’s, I’m a dairy milk kind of girl. It’s something about knowing the cows and seeing for myself their all natural process that makes me comfortable with their goodness.

I could stare at this picture all day. Moooooo. 

Plus the farm is just fun. I smile and shake my head while watching Daniela attempt to feed the baby cows. Each time a wet nose gets close to her little hand, she jerks it back with a little jump, which of course startles the little cow and they both eye each other wearily.  My sweet beach girl, adorably scared of baby cows.

The memories we’re making warm my heart. This week spent with family, watching my daughter frolic around my childhood domain; it’s mind blowing. And like the dirt road that never changes, the sound of her laughter in the cool Northern Michigan wind never gets old.

Dreaming of garden fairies and enchanting summer sprites

I love my Florida home and wouldn’t live anywhere else, but Northern Michigan runs through my blood and will always be a deep rooted part of me. Watching it cast it’s mysterious spell on my own girl makes me feel complete in a very Pocahontas sort of way. Colors of the Wind, people.

Marco and I are 8 years into my first marriage — his second — and after a particularly exasperating row, we found ourselves talking about what makes us different than those couples who married around the same time we did, but have since divorced. Tooting our own horns? Maybe. But mostly it’s the conversation we have when we need to remember why we are so dedicated to each other.  What follows is a sort of open letter to myself. I’m writing as much for my benefit as I am for anyone else’s so take it with a grain of salt. I offer you the three things that could actually be hurting marriages.

Disclaimer: I am not suggesting you implement these strategies into your marriage. They work for us, for now, but maybe they won’t in a year. Marriages are sacred and private by nature, and require countless acts of selflessness and hard work. Only you know what your marriage needs.

3 Things Hurting Marriage

1. Rules

Now, obviously there are the understood rules like fidelity and respect, but in my quest to control everything around me, I often find myself strong-arming Marco into agreeing to abide by rules “for the benefit of our marriage”. Rules like Don’t leave mad, or Don’t go to sleep mad, or Take 20 minutes to cool off and then talk to me about every single thing each of us said.

Many “marriage weekends” offer rules of marriage, and I think the majority of them are bogus. I was recently privy to one set of marriage “commandments” which listed not eating at a restaurant with a member of the opposite sex and not riding in a car alone with a member of the opposite sex. That sounds exactly like the rules from my Christian college and you know what? Marco and I got a good chuckle out of checking off all the “commandments” we’d broken. Lunch with my ex-boyfriend? check. Marco driving a female friend to the auto parts store? check. The list goes on.

Here’s the problem with that: we’re setting ourselves up to fail. Eventually, (and probably sooner rather than later) those rules are going to get broken and when they do, it will compound the argument dramatically. Think of a suicide vest versus an atomic bomb. When one of us breaks our self inflicted rules, the tone of the argument shifts from the actual problem to the new infraction and words become debris in a bombing; high speed projectiles maiming and killing all in it’s path. Forget the rules. Let him walk away. Go to sleep mad. Stop talking. Time and space will do more good for a fight than you realize. When you’re ready, just smile and pick back up like nothing happened. Which brings me to #2.

2. Apologies

I’m quick to apologize when warranted and I expect the same from my husband. Except, we’re not the same. He’s Marco and I’m Christi and we are each two totally different individuals who value strikingly different things. I love to hear him say “I’m sorry”.  To me, it’s an important part of an argument that says “I acknowledge that I hurt you, and I don’t want to do it again”.  Though he’s gotten much better at it, Marco’s not one to wax an eloquent apology. He’d rather just go on with life and tweak what upset me in the first place. He is not dependent upon hearing or saying “I’m sorry” the way I am. I envy that of him. I need to remember that I married an exceptionally smart man who is fully capable of changing behaviors without me directing the change. That’s the apology that really matters anyway. Don’t get hung up on words, sometimes the best apologies are the ones you see and feel, not hear.

3. Counseling

I’m going to tread lightly here because it’s delicate ground. I am a full supporter of individual and marriage counseling. Having a qualified person to help you work through issues can be an invaluable support to your marriage. That being said, your best friend, coworker, and mother are not qualified people. Spouse trashing is ugly.

Moving on.

About once a year, Marco and I have an argument that leaves us considering marriage counseling. However, neither of us are very keen on opening up our marriage to a stranger and letting them analyze it; it seems horrendously invasive. Then we take a look at ourselves: I was 20 years old when we married. He was divorced with a toddler. We’d known each other for 3 months. Statistically speaking, we should have parted ways 7.5 years ago. We both agree that trying to explain us to a counselor would be impossible. So we don’t do it. But the conversations about counseling seem to be enough. They refocus our energies on the two of us and what makes us special. It makes us a team again, and that’s pretty much the point, right?

Counseling absolutely has it’s place and the conflict resolution strategies are superb, but you know your marriage better than anyone. Listen to your own heart.

Since we’re on the topic, I’m going to go ahead and pull the trigger on my suicide vest from earlier. The vast majority of the time, church based marriage counseling is a sham. I don’t care how long that couple has been married and how many secrets to success Jesus has personally shown them through visions and whatnot. Unless they are licensed by your state, stay far, far away.

• Pastors are not marriage counselors.

• Small group leaders are not marriage counselors.

• Even church counselors are often not actual counselors.

While I genuinely believe they have altruistic intentions and sincerely care about you and your marriage, the church is fraught with staff who “counsel” members on matters they have no business talking about. Take, for instance, this situation: An educated, knowledgeable pastor who knew the intimate details of a middle age man’s drug addiction, sent him to a fresh-out-of-college staff pastor for counseling within the church. This “counselor/pastor” had never even smoked a cigarette, let alone managed any addictions. He was raised in a Christian home, he attended a Christian college, and he was freshly hired onto the staff of this Christian church. He had no business counseling a drug addict and ended up doing more harm than good. This isn’t always the case, of course, and the church means well, but this “counseling” is becoming an epidemic. When seeking help for your marriage, insist on a state licensed counselor. Lots of state licensed counselors have religious affiliations if that’s your style.

There are things that we think will help us, that end up blowing up in our faces. Marriage is too important to watch it implode without a fight, so take the time to nurture your marriage. Nurture your friendship with your spouse. And remember, it’s going to be hard. When you re-align your expectations, things have a way of falling into place. Friedrich Nietzsche said “It’s not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages”. Smart man, that Friedrich.

 Kindergarten. She loved the color pink and Disney Princesses; Aurora was her favorite. She lived for “skirt weather” and despised pants. She learned to swim that year. Her favorite food was chicken noodle soup and she’d have rather colored or painted than watched television. She collected snails. She was, every inch, my beautiful, smart, loving little girl.

Yet here we are. One summer shy of middle school, watching my baby walk down an aisle to Pomp and Circumstance while I crane my neck to get the best picture possible, knowing full well that the lighting will distort it regardless. She walks so gracefully, and stands poised and confident with her class, though always in the front, my tiny little sprite of a thing.

 Fifth Grade. Her favorite color is purple or aqua, depending on her mood. She loves mermaids and spies. She wants to be a fashion designer when she gets older. She surfs like a pro. She draws like a pro. Her favorite food is Marco’s causa and she likes it as spicy as we do. She’s slightly addicted to White Collar and Boy Meets World. She knows all the words to Lady Marmalade and despises Justin Beiber and Taylor Swift. She has a crush on a fabulous boy. She is, every inch, my beautiful, smart, loving little girl.

Today marked a milestone in my little one’s life. A time for celebration and congratulations. Middle school lay ahead of us like a looming mountain range full of peaks and valleys. I fully expect the valleys will suck, but they will teach us so much more than the peaks. The most important wisdom I can impart to my nervous almost middle schooler is this: Close your eyes. This is the resting place. You’ve finished your race and you’ve run it well. Middle School is unavoidable, but now is not the time to think about that. Now is your time to burn the books, grab the swim suit, and just be a kid!

The After Party

Go ahead, ask for another picture. 

 Congratulations to the Fifth Grade class of The Tabernacle Christian School!

This past weekend was the last of the Star Wars weekends (thank you!) and I got strong armed into sporting a white Star Wars shirt with random black markings on the front which supposedly form some kind of clone. I don’t see it.

 We got to the park at the ungodly hour of 6:45am to get in line for tickets to see a girl who plays in one of the movies/cartoons/episodes/whatever. I’m not a morning person. I’m not a Star Wars person. At this point, I wasn’t even a Disney person. You can imagine my enthusiasm. It was worth it though. I don’t know what her movie character is, but her real name is Ashley Eckstein and she made my little girl’s day.

 Ashley asked Daniela if she was looking forward to middle school, to which Daniela replied timidly “not really”. Ashly looked her right in the eyes and said “It’s going to be just fine. I can tell that the force is strong within you.” Now, she gets paid to say that. The cynical adult in me sneers at the one liner, but Daniela? Whew! That girl was slain in the spirit. Ashley will probably never know how much that meant to Daniela, but I do — and I got up at the ungodly hour to get the tickets so that’s what matters.  Daniela believed Ashley’s words. Soaked them in. She must have re-told the story a thousand times, and each time she took it to heart a little bit more. Thank you Star Wars Ashley. You’ve done us a great kindness.

And without further ado, the rest of the photos :)

Look Mom, It’s a duck!

Their first time getting autographs :)

Waited in line  f o r e v e r  for this guy. Such a stud :)

It’s Not About the Nail from Jason Headley on Vimeo.

While watching the bustle of people around me, one mom in particular stood out. She was wiping tears from eyes, but they didn’t seem to be happy tears. She was sitting in a booth next to her son, may 9 or 10 years old. I watched her for a few minutes and felt compelled to do something, but I didn’t know what. She seemed so sad.

I sometimes have this habit of interjecting myself into people’s problems when really I should mind my own business, so I asked Marco what he thought about me going to talk to her. The other side of her booth was empty, so I could easily slip into her table. Marco smiled and told me to do what I felt was right, but before I could muster up the courage, a man sat down across from her. Presumably her husband.

Marco and I ordered and talked, but I couldn’t keep my mind (or eyes) off this woman. Her tears were steady, but quiet. My heart hurt for her. I asked our waitress for a pen and piece of paper and I wrote that sad Momma a note. I didn’t know her or her situation, but I knew she was sad on Mother’s Day. In an IHOP, no less.

I told her that she was a wonderful mom and that she was more than enough for her kids. I told her that she was strong and that she could do hard things. I told her she was loved.

I asked the hostess to deliver it to her for me, but the restaurant was busy, and the hostess had a line of people to seat. Her eyes darted around and her uncomfortableness was apparent, but she took the note over to the woman anyway. People are awesome.

Like the crazed stalker I probably am, I watched with anticipation while that woman read my note. The tears came, but this time they were happy. She smiled through the tears and even laughed a little bit. Though it seemed that her son and husband wanted to see it, she shook her head no and read it once again before folding it up and slipping it into her purse. It was hers. She smiled a lot after that. She still shed some tears and I’ll never know why, but she smiled. And you know what? I did too. I forgot about feeling sorry myself and just reveled in the joy that comes from helping another person. The Light felt good.

>>>>>>>

Happy Memorial Day. Last year Daniela and Marina made a special video for our military family, it’s really quite adorable. Follow the jump to watch it! Click here.

I wish.

In the wake of the theatre production, we’ve found ourselves with extra time at home after school. It’s been sooooo nice. Five o’s. That’s a lot of nice. We take our time, snack before dinner, lollygag around the house, and eventually work in homework.

Just for the record, I’m not a fan of homework. It’s ghastly to expect children to sit through 7 hours of school every day and then bring that shit home with them too. Big projects? Okay, let’s tackle it at home. Mundane grammar exercises? Hell no.

Daniela’s become increasingly independent with homework, but she struggles with grammar. Lucky for her, I diagram sentences for kicks. There is something OCD about diagramming that really tickles my fancy. I have to be very careful that I’m helping her learn instead of just doing it for her. Yesterday she was instructed to (among 3 other PAGES of grammar homework) identify each word in a series of sentences. Subjects, verbs, predicate nominatives, direct objects, the works. Not her favorite — she finds grammar abhorrent — but she usually does well. Ten minutes later, not a pencil mark to be found on her paper.

I get it. We’re 2 weeks away from the end of the year. School is basically over. But we still preserver to the bloody end, right? Try our best and all? Nope. She’d thrown in the towel and stopped trying. I sat down to help her through it, but she dazed off while I explained. She slumped her shoulders and mumbled until I basically did the first two sentences for her. She wasn’t cooperating and I was getting frustrated, so I took a time out. For me. With a Peruvian chocolate, but that’s neither here nor there. I was feeling all “Why is this so hard?? What am I not saying to make her understand?? Why isn’t she getting this???” That’s when it hit me; I’m a mother loving WRITER and I don’t use this stuff! I craft sentences out of words EVERY DAY and yet no one asks me if my predicate adjective is modifying the right noun or whatever. I walked back into the living room with a smile on my face and looked her straight in the eye and said “Screw language. We’ll deal with it later. Let’s move on to Science.” She giggled and grabbed her science book. Science, she gets. Blows my mind.

Five minutes later I looked up from making dinner and her normally excellent posture was slumped once again. I walked over and saw the tears threatening to fall. I moved her science book aside, scooped up my growing baby girl, and we laid in my bed and talked about the day and some things she mentioned earlier that had bothered her at school. Her soul is sensitive and compassionate and so easily wounded. It was all just a little too much for her right then. I told her that sometimes, we just need to distract ourselves from the frustrations. Friend frustrations, homework frustrations, all around LIFE frustrations, and asked her how she would like to do that. She chose to read. I kissed her forehead and left her looking so small, yet so grown, reading in my bed while I made dinner.

I’ll be honest, I missed her while I was in the kitchen. I thought of some things I could have said differently, and wanted to go talk again, but something told me she needed her space. It was hard. Everything in me wanted to fix the problem for her, but I know she has to feel these emotions and find her way through them. She read alone for about 10 minutes then brought her book out to the kitchen and read while I cooked. It was perfect. She took the time she needed, and then she joined me. We didn’t have to talk, we just had to be together. Sharing space. I had texted Marco earlier and debriefed him on her day and that beautiful man came home with flowers. Just for Daniela. Baby girl felt so special and I fell more in love with both of them. The rest of the night was golden.

We learned whats important yesterday. It wasn’t homework — although the perfectionist in her asked to be woken early today to finish. And you know what? Today she was ready to try again. With a fresh perspective. And she did great. But the real lesson was in handling the homework, not in differentiating between parts of speech. My lesson was thinking it through before I reacted. I know there’ve been times when I pushed her to finish homework and we both walked away resentful and unhappy. I’m learning to focus on the bigger, more important lessons and in turn, that teaches Daniela to do the same.

Happy Friday. Do some learning this weekend!

Some things I learned this weekend:

1. While watching a dance off between Star Wars characters during Star Wars Week at Disney, do not put a child on your shoulders in an attempt to help her see better. You will be swiftly castigated by die hard Star Wars fans who really need a life. I made the mistake of ignoring the first verbal affront. The crowd ripped her from my shoulders and demanded my death by light saber. It was brutal.

2. There are way too many Yodas. It’s an epidemic. Survival of the fittest needs to do it’s thing.

3. There is no food that Disney can’t shape into a light saber.

4. Chicken nugget light sabers do not look like anything that should be eaten by children. Don’t ask why. Use your imagination.

5. Chewbakka can dance. Like, he’s got serious moves! See minute 17:57 of the video below.

6. Star Wars dance offs are weird. Weirder that Sunday night’s Mad Men episode. No lie, they all do gangnam style. And some KKK looking dudes dance to Thrift Shop.

7. Star Wars fans don’t recognize the awkwardness of all of the above.

Happy Birthday Marco. I love you more than Star Wars peeps love a Yoda costume sale. *Spoiler Alert* The bad guys win the dance off.

Yes, let’s get our children’s picture taken with the high tech Nazi suit. That right there is sure to be a winner. 

Jen writes a post about the ugly side of adoption. The unscrupulous ways business people in 3rd world countries are meeting the US’s demand for adoptable babies and why this is abhorrent. I was going to just link the article to Facebook, but more people need to see this. It breaks my heart, but knowledge is power. Power to think, power to change, and power to BE. I have scores of friends who’ve recently adopted children and I love them all tremendously. Their littles are entirely blessed to be in their forever families and I could never, for even a moment, consider that there was something shifty in their adoptions.  But I see where opportunistic people can create supply for money and it makes my heart so sad.

Tara is a (real life!) friend of mine who blogs at MommyHaha. She posted an essay a while back about her adopted daughter’s first steps and how many mixed emotions were coursing through her. She said something to the effect of how proud she was of her daughter, but how sad she was that her birth mom was missing all these moments. That stopped me in my tracks. I’d never given any thought to what birth moms were missing. For obvious reasons, adoption PR has always focused on the child’s new life. Not the family that was left behind or the circumstances behind it. Tara’s compassion and love for her daughter’s birth mom speaks volumes of her heart and I thought of her immediately when I read Jen’s post. I also thought about how much a post like Jen’s could hurt adoptive parents’ hearts. No one wants to think that the beautiful child they prayed for and loved and brought home could have a mama far away who mourns her decision or ignorance. It’s too terrible to dwell on for long.

And of course I want to stress that this is not always the case. Diligent parents do their homework when adopting and bring home kids without a chance of reunification. But it’s scary to think of the why behind “no reunification”. Do me a favor and read the post. Be informed. Hold space for those coerced or misinformed mamas, and absolutely watch for the second part of Jen’s post.

Kelle Hampton of Enjoying the Small Things recently released the paperback copy of her endearing and cheeky book Bloom. Over on her Instagram feed, there were requests for the book from mamas who couldn’t afford to splurge on themselves at the moment. Mamas doing without for their babies always tugs at my heart and I quickly arranged to send some books. I ordered them, I packaged them, I addressed them, I even printed shipping labels. All that was left to do was drop them off at the post office and they would be spirited away to 5 different mamas in 4 different countries. Pretty magical when you think about it. Spreading love and Light and stories across the world! That was over a month ago.

I found the packages in my car this weekend. [head hung in shame]

I’m not sure how it happened, but I dropped the ball and now I feel embarrassed. In the midst of life, I shuffled those books to the back of the car and promptly forgot about them. I think the worst part about the whole thing is having to email those mamas and explain why they haven’t received their books. Believe it not, I still haven’t done that. Because you see, in a moment of self preservation, I came up 1,001 stretches of the truth that I could use to invoke sympathy and understanding. It wouldn’t be lying exactly, it would just be explanations other than “I plumb forgot”. Save face, you know? Of course I’m not going to do that. wink wink. 

We’re all human and sometimes we just forget. We get too many things going, too many balls juggling mid air, and something is bound to fall. How we handle those moments says a lot about us though. Do we make up excuses and paint ourselves as the victim of circumstances? It’s tempting, I know. Or do we own up to our mistakes and take whats coming? I don’t expect any of these mamas are going to be too terribly angry with me. The consequences of this mishap is really just my own pride, but how we handle the small things sets a pattern that will be repeated with the big things. Incorporate grace, love, and honesty  into the small moments of your life and that’s what you’ll have to draw on during the big moments of life.

Be always honest, upfront, and gracious. It’s quite becoming.