We stole away for the weekend, just the two of us. The last two years of work travels and graduate school and general Swiss confusion falling away with every turn of the train wheels. Before we left, I told him I had a good, long think. I pulled up the covers on every quiet corner of my heart and made sure there wasn't anything lurking there, anything that might rise to the surface and ruin an otherwise lovely day. He replied with an 'Oh, good', bearing just a hint of sarcasm. There have been a few unfortunate incidents in which my husband believes he is taking me away for rest and relaxation, and I view it as more of a therapy session. Minus the level headed therapist and unbiased opinions.

He asked me if I had any expectations; what I needed out of our time together. I didn't hesitate saying, 'I just want you'. And so we had each other, hand in hand, by the lake, in the sun. We sat on a green metal bench and stared across at the mountains reflecting in the water. I squinted my eyes really tight and imagined I could see our future.


We could be here or there. With a lake and some handholding. The details were fuzzy, but I could see the shape of the future. Him and me, sitting on a bench, dreaming together through gray hair and knotty hands and grown children and grand babies. Maybe there will even be a room with a view.


It was altogether wonderful. As we sat across from each other on the way home, the soft rumble of train wheels underneath and the shadow of white capped peaks above, I knew that I'd gotten exactly what I asked for, and then some.

No therapist required.

On Friday, I wrote for a few minutes on the word prompt: Brave. For days, the word has rolled around inside me, gathering dirt and moss along the way. Brave gets dirty if we let it hang around for a while. I'm no trail blazer, friend. I find people who are doing big things and I hitch a ride. My husband is one of these people. Nearly every exciting thing that has happened to me, has been a direct result of placing my feet in his footsteps, on a path he paves. For a season, that was enough. While mothering my littles, it was enough for me to take his hand and let him lead because I was too scared and too bone tired to do anything else.

I spent countless hours reading to my littles back then. A favorite with my girls was The Very Lazy Ladybird. The story follows the ladybird as she decides to look for a new place to sleep, but first, she needs to find a comfortable way to travel. She latches on to all manner of animals, but none are a perfect fit for the journey. The tiger is too loud, the kangaroo too jumpy, the tortoise too slow. Each one is busy living life in the best way they know how, but none of their methods suit the ladybirds delicate sensibilities. Her final attempt to find the perfect place was on the trunk of a sneezing elephant. With an emphatic 'Achoo', he finally sent her flying to freedom and the realization that her wings were made for flight.

Following people who live brave is a good practice. I learned valuable lessons in the following, like how to take risks and live with passion. I learned how to chase dreams and what courage looks like up close. But there comes a time when practice is not enough, when we realize that following forged paths will not get us where we want to go. Brave beckons from an altogether new place, from behind thickets and hedgerows and thorny vines. Brave forces us to see that our fragile wings will bear our own weight, and they will make us fly. I still follow my husband because sometimes courage can be caught, but I've started to look for the new places too. The ones where I trample on vines and beat the air blue with my wings. And slowly, I am finding them.

Do you think about bravery too? What kind of path do you find yourself following? I just signed up for my first writer's conference, which will require a certain amount of courage that I'm not sure I possess. How about you?

My husband is home. He is home, and the littlest smiles and retires Daddy's shirt cum little girl nightgown until he is gone again. I made chocolate chip cookies and we laughed over Phil and Claire Dunphy and I complained about my sore backside. He rubbed my shoulders and we held hands in the dark.  I tried not to be annoyed when he sent me to the mountain without him again this weekend. Some things just aren't worth the fight. Some things are, but not this. This week we received news unexpected, and it spun us around until all we could do was hold on tight. To faith, to hope, and to each other in the dark.

If life were predictable, it would be too much to bear. Sometimes life surprises us with wonderful, and sometimes with grim. And sometimes life's real surprise is that you're left standing when you feel the weight of impossible on one shoulder and despair on the other. It's been one of those weeks. Our shoulders are sagging under the weight of some stuff and some things. But, and this is a huge but, we build our lives on hope. On grace. On Words that say 'Fear not'. And when everything in us wants to rebel and place our feet on fear, we stand fast in hope. We are mired in it. Not in a fairytale, happily ever after kind of way, but in the hope that God's grace is sufficient to keep us standing and shouldering the burdens.  What unexpected things are you trying to shoulder? How can I pray for you?

Six weeks ago, I ran 26.2 miles. It was an intense, exciting, life-altering experience.

Then I took a nice long break in which I refused to even look at my running shoes. And it felt good, real good. That is until I realized that I was losing the ground that had taken 16 weeks of hard training to gain. Two weeks ago, I began the process of taking back what I'd lost. The runs are slow and short, and sometimes they're great and often they're not. But, I'm forcing myself to push past the resistance and get out there and do it. I run because I have to, and also because I love chocolate chip cookies. Doing the work, means getting to enjoy the benefits. It doesn't mean the work is easy, or that I like it every day, or that I don't occasionally dream of throwing heavy objects at the treadmill.



My husband and I are celebrating fifteen years of marriage today. To be sure there have been highlights, those wonderful experiences that stand as hallmarks for the years we've spent together. But mostly, there's been the day to day. The working hard not to lose ground. The building on what has taken days, months, years to produce.

Have we had setbacks? Sure. Have there been days where we have wanted to give up, to sit around and eat cookies, and forget about doing the hard work? Absolutely. I'll even admit to throwing things a time or two. But, marriage isn't about the huge life events. It's about the daily exercise of keeping one's promise. It's lacing up, and being committed to the exercise because you know the payoff is worth it.



So worth it.

Kimberly

Michael has been steadily trying to convince me that I should go to the apple store in Zurich today in order to queue for the release of the ipad2.

Please.

He can not be serious.

Tomorrow is my last very long run (22mi.) before the marathon in 4weeks. I am dreading it enough as it is, and to attempt to do it on legs that have been waiting for hours on end for an ipad? I think not.

He suggested I bring a lawn chair.

I suggested he run 22 miles.

He suggested that maybe I don't actually run on Saturdays, but instead head off for a coffee at Starbucks for three hours then splash myself with water to appear sweaty.

I suggested (under my breath) something that does not bear repeating here.

Aaaahhh, the final weeks of training. They do require a mental fortitude that I'm not sure I possess.

In other news, E has been away on a three day snowboarding trip to Davos. He arrives home this evening, and I can't wait to get my arms around that boy's neck.

Happy weekending!

Kimberly

This week Michael and I are celebrating fourteen years of marriage, and eighteen years as a couple.  I've been asked the secret to our success.  The secret?  There isn't one.  It's persistence.  It's consistency.  It's deciding that we are "for" each other, no matter what. It's an awful lot of hard work.  It's forgiving and starting over, again and again.  It's knowing there is no way out, the only way is forward.

It is making a promise and keeping it.

We mentored an engaged couple a few years back who, when confronted with this reality, said with some anguish "If marriage is so hard, then why get married?".  And we laughed, because the real secret of marriage is this; it is worth it.  It's knowing and being known.  It's a faith builder, a heart healer, a hope bringer.  It's a living, breathing reflection of Christ's love for us.  It's doubled over, clutching your stomach laughter.  It's companionship and affection and secret smiles across the room.  It's phone calls home at the end of a long day, just to chat.  And it is deeper and deeper with every year.  Even the bad ones.

It is what I thank God for every day.

Kimberly

When I'm not picking up supplies or documenting Michael's work in agonizing detail, I am usually called on to "give him a hand".  Oh, how I hate that phrase.  It usually ends with me lifting something twice my body weight or getting paint in my hair.  There are times when I refuse to help (see below).  I draw the line at extension ladders.  Also, I may have been deterred by Michael's statement that he "might die", and if he was electrocuted I should "kick him away from the ladder".  (So as not to continue to conduct the electrical current.)  I clearly know too much.

I am woefully behind in my wrapping, baking and general merry making.  Michael has been sick and in bed for days, and I have been head nurse to this cursed illness.  My poor man.  I don't make a very patient nurse.  The irony that I used to make a living at nursing does not escape me here.

Michael and I are in a constant battle of one-upmanship when it comes to who has felt the sickest, the longest, with the most pain.  Yesterday he suggested that his stomach pain was what he expected labor pains feel like.  I think even Santa's Merry Elves in the North Pole could hear my laughter.

Wishing you a healthy and labor free Christmas!

Kimberly



 

First Snow of the season today.  Big, beautiful flakes sticking just enough to make me happy.  I suppose I will have to get used to the idea of all snow all the time when we move to Switzerland.  Michael was there this week for the first big snowfall of their winter season.  He was warned not to tell me about the bitter cold, but decided to do so by sending this photo.


He further softened the arctic blow with bags of Swiss chocolate.  Well played, Michael.  Well played.

As the snow fell outside this afternoon, we warmed to the stage lights at Rachel's annual Christmas performance.  This show, her last before our move, was bittersweet.  When we return, she will be too old to participate.  If we return...

Much of the deck progress was slowed due to rain, rain and more rain. We're now having some lovely sunny days, so Michael has been working hard on the deck after work each evening. While he's busy building and sanding, I've been making a great show of cooking dinner every single night. Yes, Dave Ramsey, that is for you. Not only are my shopping habits greatly altered, but I have to cook too. Did I mention I hate Financial Peace University? I digress, back to the deck....

Remember this?




Remember how I was somewhat fearful of falling down into a pit of snakes below? Not to worry. My slithery friends have now moved to the front of the house. Even better. I think the neighbors are now used to my occasional screams upon my return home and seeing this curled up in the catmint:


Again, I digress. But, I feel you must all share in my pain seeing as my children think it's "cute", and my husband has nerves of steel. On to the deck:


Built with no plans, just a vision in his head. Impressive, no?


I'm off now to begin sanding and prepping the deck for stain. I guess I don't get time off for good cooking behavior.

Tomorrow I'm traveling to PA for my sister's baby shower. Cute photos to follow. Have a great weekend!

Kimberly

Day two of summer vacation. We have had numerous sibling fights break out, quite a few punishments received, and more rain. But, hey, on the upside Michael is in Rome on business (she says with words heavily layered in sarcasm).

Speaking of fighting and Rome, Michael and I had a less than romantic getaway there a few years back. Have you ever experienced that? Once you finally have some alone time with your spouse, everything you've been holding in for months comes flooding out? Every undiscussed issue rears its head and now you have the time to talk about it. No? You have no idea what I'm talking about? Maybe it's just me. I like to wait until Michael has no where to run before I decide we need to "talk".









We took a short break from the fighting at the Colosseum. It didn't seem right to fight over petty things when we were in a place where our brothers and sisters in Christ were tortured for their faith. I'm sure God was so pleased.



That was short lived and by the time we reached Vatican city, I had lost my religion and we fought the entire way through the experience. Apparently, the Pope doesn't bring out the best in me.


There was a great deal of crying, screaming and stomping about. Fortunately, this is nothing new for the Italians. I fit right in.

Someday we'll go back and do it all over again. Until then, Michael is eating caprese salad in the shadow of the Pantheon, while I eat chicken nuggets and reminisce about one of the few non "talking" moments of our trip....


Kimberly

This is the sort of thing that Michael does for fun. "This" is thirty cubic yards of mulch. This looks a lot more like work than fun in my opinion. Michael likes to fool me into believing we are "gardening" when what we are really doing is hard core landscaping. He lures me in with the promise of a trip to the greenhouse, but then sucker punches me with the mulch pile.




May I point out the size of our SUV in comparison to the size of the mulch pile? Yes. It really is that much mulch. Do you see Michael's head barely visible above the pile here? He is six two. I had to count the kids after it was delivered to be sure that none of them were buried alive beneath it. They weren't, but even if they had been, we would have found them by day's end.



This was the biggest part of our project. Cutting beds around the swingset that my man built by hand last year. (Another thing I was suckered into helping with). Those wood posts don't sand themselves. Don't you love the fact that Sophie still swings, oblivious to the fact that Michael and I are killing ourselves trying to get the fabric staked? Oh, to be four and not know the joys of a high functioning husband.




The end result after cutting the beds, laying the landscaping fabric, and mulching was pretty impressive.



We worked our way from the back to the front of the house, alternately cutting beds and laying mulch. Moving a shrub here and there, and laying a watering system beneath the front beds. By day's end, the entire pile of mulch was gone, everything was in it's rightful place, and I was rewarded with a trip to Friendly's. I think I need to raise my hourly rate.



Kimberly

PS So as not to fool you all into believing that we are superhuman (although the verdict is still out on Michael), we did have the assistance of two other fellas. There is no way we could have done it all in one day without their help. Even I'm not that good.

Michael has the endearing quality of starting home improvement projects and then leaving for a week. We've decided to find it amusing instead of annoying. Here is the latest project/death trap.



This is our deck. This is our deck missing 1/3 of the wood that keeps my children from accidentally hurling themselves down below.




This is the view from down below. Just under that portion of the deck is where we've found more than one garden snake. This small fact is one of the things that keeps me awake at night. I have a totally healthy and rational fear of snakes. My kids have a totally absurd and unhealthy desire to catch one.

In Michael's defense, we are in the process of readying the house for sale. I don't know if we will actually follow through on it, but it does mean that the few remaining projects are likely to be finished this summer. If this means that I have to live in fear of falling off my deck into a nest of snakes then so be it. (I can't believe I just wrote that sentence.)

I will leave you with a photo of our spring yard. It's almost enough to make me want to stay in this house. Almost.



Kimberly

It appears I took a wee break from the blog this week. It was such a busy week, but I really can't say definitively what I have accomplished. I can tell you I went to see Star Trek on Thursday evening. Please don't judge me. I am not a fan, but any excuse to get out of the house is a good one in my book.

Speaking of books (aren't I always?), I must recommend to you The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing. I'm not going to lie, it was a bit tough to get through in terms of keeping my interest, but the writing itself was fantastic. Sometimes it's worth it to read a book purely for the writing, and this author has a tremendous command of the written word. Excellent.

I have to be honest I'm having an incredibly difficult time focusing on this post. Michael is singing karaoke in the background, which is not conducive to writing. So far, I've been serenaded to musical gems by Cyndi Lauper, White Snake, and Tone Loc. He just told me that this is "Good times, Baby". I've yet to see the "good" in the karaoke times, but I may be reliving post traumatic stress disorder from my previous experience with it. Michael sang Def Leppard's "Pour some sugar on me" to me in a smoky, backwoods karaoke bar populated by bikers and scantily clad women. You have not lived until you have heard this song sung as a duet accompanied by hand motions. The duet was with another man. Need I say more?

And on that note, I will sign off. My kids are now singing to Hannah Montana. Ok, I lied. It's still Michael singing. Hopefully, there are no hand motions this time.

Kimberly