Blog a la Cart

For Ashley

Dear Ashley,

We were married 5 years ago today.

Holy shit.

It’s easy to recap the highlights: cross-country moves, the purple valley, buying a house, gaining 2 dogs, losing one, and of course two incredible daughters. But when we get into the nitty gritty, therein lies the meat of us.

The morning: The slightly less exhausted of the two of us (i.e. the loser) gets out of bed and heads downstairs to make a pot of life giving coffee, to let the dogs out, and to feed them. It’s different with only one… If we’re really motivated this is when we let the chickens out, maybe give them some water. The short walk to the coop provides a calm reminder of Cartwheel Farm’s beauty. I appreciate it. I know you do, too. When we come back inside, surely a child is awake. We clean up the poop, literally, that comes with it and welcome the smiles of a happy Kaki before she starts pulling Sunny’s hair, or dumping her clothes on the ground, or putting shoes in the toilet. The morning routine continues with childish fits, and choosing outfits. The bathroom door never closes as everyone is in and out for their various needs. A single bathroom family knows so much more about one another, I wonder how the girls will do in middle school. Kaki cries to not wear that sweater, Sunny mopes to the kitchen. Lists of things that needed to be packed for the day have been forgotten, so there’s a somewhat frantic search for a nap sheet, diapers, or one of our wallets… ok, you’re not the one who misplaces a wallet. Somehow we pile in the car and roll down the dirt road. The windows may or may not work but we’re together… how great that we’re together.

Lunch time: Or should I say Nap Preparation Time, because by the time lunch time rolls around I’m ready for a nap, and I’m REALLY ready for the kids to nap. We grab dinner’s leftovers, get the kids to eat them, at least partially, and then force nap time. Damn do we love nap time. Oh lord help us if one of them naps any earlier. Somehow even a 3 minute car nap ruins any chances of what would otherwise be 1-2 hours respite. The utter devastation that comes with looking in the backseat at 11:15am and seeing a sleeping Kaki…

Dinner time: One entertains the kids, while the other piles something together. Mac and Cheese is always a temptation, and those nights where it takes 10 minutes to make dinner and 10 to clean it up are special. But usually, it’s the better part of an hour and it’s a 50/50 shot that making dinner will be easier than watching the munchkins. They draw, they play, they giggle, they pretend that they’re on airplanes, and  jump on pillows, before they throw, bite, pull, and cry. Right about when we’re ready to lock them in their rooms is when the food comes off the stove. We’d probably save some time if we just put Kaki’s food directly on the  floor. In the very least we’d save some dishes (and we both LOVE doing dishes), but for whatever reason we serve the food the way you’re supposed to. With plates and silverware. Juice or milk is usually spilled. The food isn’t quite how we wanted, but it’ll do and mostly we just want to sit for a minute… which is nice but that’s about all we get before bed time.

Bed time: Baths are great. The kids are happy, clean, and generally easy when they’re in the tub, but after they’re out, terrorist negotiations begin. Which PJs to wear. Where’s the right toothpaste, the right floss, please share the stool (again, the bathroom door never closes), rub my back, play with my hair. Read a story. Not that story… it just keeps going. By 10:30 they’re usually both asleep, which is good because we need to sleep too… since they’ll be waking up at 2. and 4:30. I spend just as many nights on their beds, as I do on ours.

And yet, it’s the stuff dreams are made of. And not just the hallucinations we suffer in sleep deprivation — no, no. I mean that in the cheesiest most sincere way possible: Our life is so awesome that “livin’ the dream” is often used by others to describe our setup.

When we lost Ursa, the void was – and continues to be – bigger than we anticipated and oh how I know it will be huge as the kids learn to take more and better care of themselves. Will I miss wiping ass? Probably not, but I will miss Kaki’s sad face and her two full fists clenching her crotch, as she declares “diaper wet” – of course. I already do.

These 5 years have been exhausting. The days are long, and the years short. I know our future will be just as full of day to day bullshit (though, hopefully less actual fecal matter) and you’re the one I want to shovel with. Together we’ll tackle school, adolescence, dating, more chickens, dogs, and maybe llamas. Together we’ll fix up this old house, build more crafts, care for dependents, and photograph it all. Together we’ll laugh, cry, and play as we teach our children to do the same while respecting one another and themselves. And together we’ll overcome the challenges we know about, and those we don’t – because together we can. Together we will.

And nature willing, when we reach our 50th anniversary we can look back on those sleepless nights, those bedtime routines, those nap times, those mornings, as the times that define us. We’ll see them clearly as the days we guided our children into adulthood, as the days that forced us to put others before ourselves, and as the days that put the meat on the body of our lives.

Having a family is nothing novel, but having the strength, luck, and love to keep it together is our life and experiencing it with you is a dream come true.

Love,

James

On The Speaking of Names

The most eloquent, thoughtful human being I know married me and James on top of that Williamstown mountain five years ago. This morning, I revisited that ceremony and couldn’t resist posting this particular piece of what he shared on that magical, wondrous day:

When someone speaks your name, it has the power to turn you toward them – to turn your head, or your attention, or your steps, or sometimes your life.  Just the sound itself has that power – even before you consider what the sound means, before you start to remember all the stories and take account of all the synapses of relationship that are submerged in the meaning of such a simple thing as a single name.

The discovery of the true meanings of our names takes most of us a lifetime.  By the time most of us are adults, it’s as though a name has walked through the deep woods in all the ripest seasons, picking up meanings and memories that cling to it like burrs and milkweed fluff and the smells of life.  And when you speak such a pungent name as that, it not only turns the head of the person who bears it; it conjures something of the truth of the person you name.  The old, middle-English language of the wedding covenant had it exactly right, I think: this is the moment for the plighting of troth, for the pledging of truth – the moment for placing your name with all its pungent, accumulated truth in the hands of your beloved, for safe-keeping.

Ashley.  James.  This is a day for the richest speaking of your names – a day for the turning of heads, for the reorientation of steps.

You know much of the meanings dissolved into the letters of those names.

Ashley – the ball of energy, the passionate and outspoken teller of truths, the wearer of the heart on the sleeve.  Your cheer props up the people lucky enough to know you; when they have trouble believing in themselves, you believe for them until their faith returns.  The touch of your friendship makes people feel magnificent.  To James you are a compass – a visionary, a dreamer-come-true.  Your leap of faith – into this relationship, into life in California, into your effervescent future – is, so characteristically of you, both an act of impulse and an utterly predictable gift of your hallmark generosity.

James – the careful and deliberate, the thoughtful – the country boy in the city, lover of trees who sometimes struggles to see the forest, yet who considers each leaf, each decision or choice, as though it mattered as much to you as – as it does.  Your days are marinated in calm thoughtfulness.  For Ashley you are balance; you are anchor; you are foundation.  Your unassuming but utterly reliable presence on the other end of the seesaw enables her to play.  You say that you enjoy being one of the few people who can calm her down.  The solid walls of your love form the space for the freedom of her passion.

Your history in this very place – five years old practically to the minute – showed you what might end up being possible in your future.  You made being a JA survivable; you brought focus to a time that needed it.  You say that you hope to offer us all an example of love that works hard.  You plan to love “fiercely,” you said, you hope that the energy of this commitment of yours will send its ripples outward.

This world which waits to receive the energy of your commitment has not yet learned the meaning of its own name – has not yet learned to turn, to redirect its steps, when it hears its own name as we give voice to our hopes for peace, justice, hope.

But we will all bring that turning closer – we will help teach the world the truth of its name – by learning, with the two of you, how to place our precious names, in all their unfinished truth and mystery, in each other’s hands, for safekeeping – as now you do.

Custom painting by Tiggy, gifted to us by our dear friends Amy & Ben.

09.06.13

These priceless images were taken just hours before James and I met. Ten years ago.

James may or may not have worn those same red shorts yesterday to his birthday dinner.

So it may or may not be false advertising if I made the claim that we’ve matured since that day a decade ago.

Five years later this happened. So clearly we managed to find something appealing in those mardi gras beads and that ski hat.

As someone commented yesterday, we’re crazy people. But somehow, it works. 

Here’s to many many more decades of crazy.

For James

Dear James,

Welcome to 30! It’s a lovely place to be, promise.

The amount of shit you’ve accomplished in just three decades is astounding. Exactly one week ago today we said goodbye to our Ursa. That’s a milestone, an experience, neither of us wanted to confront. Learning the grace and strength to let life go was your final brave act as a 20-something, and it left me humbled and grateful that I get to be the person to face these milestones, challenges, and experiences with you. I will never forget our hands linked together as Ursa took her final breath. The way we saw new pieces of ourselves and our relationship play out in those moments. The vulnerability, the sadness, the relief, the devastation, the fear, the comfort, the sorrow, and the love, above all else the love, that happened in the exhale of one last breath. I’m laid bare reliving it.

I don’t think either of us was prepared for the lasting impact of this loss. The way we still reach for the jar of peanut butter each morning for daily medicine distribution. The way we look up at that spot on the hill expecting that furry black blob to be lounging on its crest. The way we listen for grunts of contentment and whinnies of delight. The way we throw a tennis ball expecting its return.

I especially don’t think either of us expected to be so desperately, one hundred percent certain that we wanted, needed, the ebullient, exhausting, joyful spirit of our Ursa to be a part of our family so soon after her departure. We find our home too quiet. Too lonely. Too empty. Too easy without our Ursa.

Boy do we ever thrive on needy dependents, eh?

The fact that we both independently began searching for another Flat-Coated Retriever to join life on the farm speaks volumes to our mutual readiness. I know we were both worried that that kind of yearning might be too soon. That it might feel like we’re trying to replace Ursa and bury our grief. But the truth is, we both know that no dog could ever ever ever replace our Bear. No dog could ever fill the nooks and crannies of our hearts that she’s come to inhabit. But we do know how capable of love and joy our hearts can be. We know how to make room, and welcome new love in, to live in bittersweet juxtaposition to our loss of sweet Ursa.

I love that about you. About us.

Neither of us expected to want another Flat-Coat. Not with the elevated cancer risk. Not with the baggage of a purebred. Not with our championing of rescue animals.

And yet, both of us knew right away that there was no other option for us. For our family. We have fallen stupidly, irrevocably in love with the FCR spirit, and we want that to be a part of our lives, of our children’s lives.

The challenge of course being that Flatties are hard to come by given that they are more rare than other kinds of retrievers.

Well, little did you know that I’ve already found our little girl. Our next adventure. Our newest family member.

She won’t be ready to join our home until mid-October, just as our hearts wouldn’t be quite ready for her any sooner given the grief that we know we need to face and bear in order to be ready for this new phase. For this little bundle of energy and light.

Sure, we’ve had three uninterrupted nights of sleep for the first time since Addison was born. Sure, we’re well-rested and our routine feels manageable and easy. But fuck easy. Let’s bring on the crazy and the love and the laughs and the bodily fluids and the sleep deprivation and the puppy snuggles.

There’s no one in the world I’d rather do this with than you.

Happy Birthday, bebe! I love being a family with you.
143 Ash

Viking

Auntie Kimmy spent the summer living on an old fishing boat with her beau off the coast of Woods Hole, MA. While vacationing on Cape Cod, we took a visit out to the Viking to see her up close and personal.

Yeah, Auntie Kimmy is pretty badass.

A Girl and Her Dog

Her: Mommy, I went up and said goodnight to Ursa and I told her that I had a playdate at Esmé’s house tonight. But you know what? Ursa already knew that. Because I carry her in my heart, so she came and played at Esmé’s, too! And I ate hot dogs for dinner, so Ursa ate hot dogs, too! That’s pretty silly.

Thank goodness for the wisdom of children.

Cape Cod // 2013

I have drafts of posts sitting to be shared. Life before we lost our dear Ursa. It feels so strange to publish them given the emptiness that we are currently feeling, but they are a reminder of sunnier days. And give us hope for those feelings to find us once again. This experience has been devastatingly difficult. Thank you for your kindness, and for bearing with me as I mourn a loss that is taking such a toll.

Here’s a look at our all-too-brief time on the Cape this summer. Time by the sea always feels right.

My Mother’s Attic // 8

August’s My Mother’s Attic can be found here on New Dress a Day. A twirly party skirt for the celebrations to come this September. Trying to find the joy in the face of such loss.

35/52

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

Sunny, Kaki, Ash, James & Hanna: With Ursa
Ursa: We miss you. Terribly.

More details about The 52 Project here. To view all the portraits in the series visit here.

September 2013

I am so ready for a new season. This summer was challenging, in so many ways. September is my favorite month of the year, so I am hoping that it brings healing and happier days. It helps that we will celebrate James’ 30th birthday this week, and then our 5th wedding anniversary (10 years from the day we first met) the next day. Here’s wishing everyone a beautiful start to autumn! And many thanks to Chloe for this month’s desktop design! Click on the calendar above to grab the full res version for your computer.