It Is For Freedom...

There are no words to express what the last three months have been like in our family. Rather than share the details, I'll just say a quick and heartfelt thank you to those who were praying and supporting us through this very difficult, sad time in our life.

The Lord has used this time in tremendous ways to grow my husband and I individually and as a couple, drawing us ever nearer to Him. I wish I could say that I've taken every opportunity to build my faith or 'do the right thing', but that's just not reality. I am imperfect, totally.

But this time has been one of change and growth, as I said, and in a conversation with a close friend recently, the question was asked (I paraphrase here), "Why is it exactly that you haven't done anything with your life?" Said friend proceeded to say, "You're a treasure! You're freakin' brilliant and I want to know why you're wasting yourself doing laundry when you have something to say to the world!"

The answer S., is captivity. Which is what got me thinking. What am I captive to? What am I a slave to? From what do I need independence?

This brings me right back around to Proverbs 31, which I talked about last time, because while so many women interpret Proverbs 31 as a beautiful picture of what a woman can be, there are plenty of women, such as myself, who read it as an impossible list of qualities we can never hope to fully attain no matter how hard we try.

My captivity, in spite of my new understanding of this one scripture, stemmed from this same manner of thinking. I have been captive to my own expectations of what my life is supposed to look like, captive to a deep need to meet the expectations of others,

captive to an ideal, captive to a standard, captive to imagined perfection, captive to the approval of others.

And what I find now, is that I have backed myself into a prison cell of self-criticism and self-doubt, knowing that I can never become the impossible ideal I had created in my own mind.
I've spoken before about non-conformity, about my desire to 'take off the hats' of all the personas I was trying to portray, 'perfect wife', 'perfect mother', etc, but clearly this process is more long term than I previously thought and is a journey which must be made with the God who designed me in the first place, pre all my ridiculous interference in the process.

I have since asked myself the question, What if I were free? What if I no longer needed to prove myself to everyone around me? What if I could forgive people? And truly love people? And have a soft heart full of compassion and mercy and the ability to use my gifts without a debilitating fear of failure? What then?

Well then I would write. And I would love fully, expecting nothing. And I could dream impossible dreams without fear of them never coming true. I could cry when I was hurt and laugh when I was filled with joy and release all the painted and wild hopes that have been corralled within me for all these years, waiting and watching for liberty to dawn.
I have spent most of my adult life trying to become something I was never meant to be, trying to conform to an unspoken standard, trying desperately to make everyone proud by attempting to become a quiet-spirited, humble, sweet 'lady' or else meet some specific guideline of perfection for the group that I was in.

But beneath all of my clamoring for perfection and admiration, there was a frustratingly loud voice that would start singing at the most inappropriate times. It sang of courage and love, dignity and hope and honor. It sang in the night when, as a little girl, I listened to my parents fighting. It sang as I wept in the recovery room of an abortion clinic in '98. It sang and sang and sang as I said my wedding vows and held my children in my arms for the first time. And the song that it sang was freedom.

I've said before that my number one rule is Love God and Love Others. Can I be free to do that if I'm trapped in a debilitating cycle of trying to please the people around me, trying to avoid failure and in the process failing utterly? What else holds me captive? To what am I a slave? What keeps me from reaching for the dreams that He has placed in me? He came that I might have life, and life abundantly, so...why don't I?

Because I have never fully understood my value. Not the value in who I would someday be when He was done changing me, the value in my potential; but the value in the person that I am right this minute with no make up on and yesterday's mousse still in my hair. I have been so easily able to see it in everyone but myself and this must be the day when that begins to change because all those wild and painted hopes crave freedom, and so do I.

I can, even now, hear that voice rising up, singing it's song of freedom- and the voice that sings is His.

"The Lord, your God, is with you, He is mighty to save, He takes great delight in you, He will quiet you with his Love, He will rejoice over you with singing... ." Zeph 3:17

Proverbs 31

I found it very interesting that there would be such vibrant viewpoints regarding this scripture on one of my previous posts and so I'm hoping to dig a little deeper and add some fact to what, to me, has always been perception only.

I have to be honest and say first, I've always hated this scripture. It brought to mind a few women I've known or counseled with over the years who took it to a very extreme place. A place of timidity, rigidity of opinion, lack of thought and creativity and moreover, a place where freedom and strength, also known as feminism in some circles, were shunned. As someone who takes great delight in the freedoms of women, the strength that we can and do exhibit so often and with such greatness, the beauty and power that women like Maya Angelou have embraced with such grace, I have often been quite offput by this scripture and it's detailed and exhausting description of what I 'should' be doing at every given interval of my day.
Knowing that only truly remarkable fakes could pull off even a vague impersonation of this 'ideal woman', I gave up entirely, a surrender to failure which is undoubtedly more common than the lovely ladies in the church pews would admit. I also quietly allowed a large and imposing CANYON to spread between myself and the God who inspired such ridiculous and impossible instruction to be penned as a 'gift' for women. This is obviously not something we can agree on, God, so let's just not talk about it, shall we?
Having discovered relatively recently that in fact there IS a God, and knowing that He is wholly loving, failed to make a difference in my mind for this controversial passage. There are things I can never understand and never be, lets just leave it at that. In other words, 'Look, God, we just started speaking again. Let's not dredge up all that old stuff again, hm?'
But He has a way of doing just that, bringing up all those old things that we've tucked away to be dealt with later. So this is my later.
Here's the way I, and so many other women around the world, read Proverbs 31. And please note here- this is not the actual passage, but one woman's interpretation- and before you judge, understand also, that I know this isn't REALLY what it says.

"A wife of perfect character and form, who can find? God values her the most because she's better than you. Her marriage is completely happy 100% of the time and her husband is proud of her perfection. She never says or does anything against his will or opinion and is a bright blessing to his life because of it. She labors constantly within her home and never sits down to read a book or take a bubble bath or smoke a cigarette. She is wealthy enough to have servants and she's nice enough to treat them well. In spite of this wealth and service, she still makes all her own clothes, cooks all her own meals and never actually sleeps because she's made of sterner stuff than that. She is so industrious that she has enough for her family and the family next door as well, clothing and feeding all their kids too.
Her husband is a hunk and spends his considerable free time on currency trading. He has a lot of friends and they're all jealous of him.
She is a seamstress, a merchant, a trader and a vintner all at once and makes a considerable fortune on each vocation.
On top of all of this, she is also incredibly wise and intelligent and many come from far and wide to hear her speak. She is completely secure in the future because she knows how amazingly capable she is and because they're wealthy after all, so what's to be afraid of?
She never sits, never sleeps, never worries, never weeps, never yells or spanks or fails to read all the labels on her groceries to make certain they're all organic and don't contain red 25. And of course, because of all of this, her teen children, who are pimple free and full of peace, love and harmony, rise up and tell her what a bang up job she's done on every darn thing. Her husband never has an affair with a coworker, develops an addiction to pornography or beer or is ever late for dinner because this wise, beautiful, intelligent, smoldering woman is waiting at home with a meal made from scratch on a table she carved from the oak out back.
Many women do good things, but only the one who matches this description is worthy of love and due respect.

I imagine that for those of you who love Proverbs 31, seeing it butchered this way is a bit annoying. But you have to understand, there are those women out there who read it just this way, as a judgment on us, a hopeless task that we can never fulfill and one that would change us, mold us, into a cookie cutter Christian female without personality, practically without personhood at all. This verse is not beautiful to us, but damning, depressing and frankly, boring.

I came across a piece recently, which puts some of the actual proverb (not my parody) into a clearer perspective, at least for me. This is a character sketch of the proverbs 31 woman, taken from the Woman of Faith Study Bible


" Ahh, the noble wife. Busy, Busy Busy! How does one woman find time for so much?
That's it! She is not one woman. She's all of us- and none of us. In a time when most women were not taken very seriously apart from childbearing, the writer of this proverb dared to present a picture of a woman as a glorious, vibrant, competent and intelligent creation of God. The imagery is as relevant today as the day he wrote it. As we put some of the noble wife's talents into a modern context, we recognize her in ourselves and in our sisters.
Some women might go after quality clothing for their families and shop at several supermarkets to find the best buys. They fill their houses with plants. Their pantries are well stocked, their bathrooms are laden with plenty of toilet paper and fresh towels.
Some women contribute clean used clothing and food to the poor. They give birthday parties for disadvantaged children and tutor slow learners. They rock newborn babies at the hospital, wash windows for the elderly and take in foster children. Their homes are gathering places for neighborhood kids.
There are women for whom no job is too challenging or too niggling. They chop wood for the fireplace, mow the lawn and shovel snow. They repair the toaster, put up shelving, balance the budget and debug the computer. They also dress attractively, quilt and sew and sell homemade gifts on consignment.
A Godly wife may impress her workplace with her good judgment and reliability. She plans the weeks activities to make sure the important things come first, both at home and at work. She prays and sets family goals with her husband. She encourages him, asks about his day and shares her insight. On special occasions she may invite friends from his or her work to dinner.
A wife of noble character wears many faces and fills many roles- roles that can change with the seasons of her life. In essence, she draws her strength from The Lord to lay down her life for those she loves. Her creative industry may fill her day with countless activities or only one or two to which she gives herself deeply. Her reward? Her children adore her. Her husband cherishes her company, trusts her judgment and brags about her to all of his friends. She will be remembered- long after she is gone- not as a woman who beautifully knit a sweater or successfully balanced a budget, but as a woman who sought the Lord first of all."

Reading Proverbs 31, I have to assume that it isn't a to-do list of virtues or I'd be overwhelmed before I even began. It simply isn't possible to be all those things at once, or even a fraction of all those things, really. But as is often the case with God, quite often when I believe He's speaking judgment on me, He's actually speaking Mercy.
This passage needs to be exclaimed in every church, from every pulpit and spoken to every woman we meet. And it needs to be spoken in this way; not as an impossible task or a divining rod of spirituality, not as a measuring stick to gauge our failures and successes- but this; as an endless list of possibilities for who we are and who we can be.
This is not a passage of condemnation- or at least I've found a way to read it so it no longer strikes me as such- but one of limitless possibilities for freedom in who we are as women, to be whatever we're gifted to be in whatever way we're able. It isn't describing one single woman who miraculously accomplishes so many tasks, but describing all of us, living such vastly different lives, using our myriad talents and loving within our own individual marriages/ relationships. We are each of us so different, so purposefully different, that it would be a cosmic waste to conform to one rigid standard or tradition of living.
I believe this passage is a great and wise instruction on how to use our talents to make a way for ourselves in this world, and also a reminder that we aren't all the same, but are each so valuable to Him for those differences. Where one can sew, another might build, and still another write or sing or bake or rockclimb or sail or play drums. And all are 'worth far more than rubies' to the One who formed us, who gave us our gifts and who is always so faithful to provide ways of using them.
I've come to discover that these verses are not a means of separating the wheat from the chaff, the spiritual giants from the poor losers, as I have often seen myself, who can't get their act together in the wife/mother role- but rather a celebration of all of our differences and the beautiful tapestry we can become if we choose to love one another beyond those differences, and actually, love because of those differences. In terms of a 'to-do' list for my spiritual life? My number one rule of 'Love God and Love Others' still stands firm.

What Summer?

On reclaimed Weekends

It seems that about every 6 months I pass by my calendar in the dining room- look at the mess of appointments, playdates, church obligations, BBQ's, small group nights, volunteer stuff- and then, in a frenzy of rebellion, I cross out about half of what's on there, cancel appointments, drop off comittee's, refuse to attend one more BBQ no matter how fun it might be. My friends have most certainly been the victim's of these schedule clearing shinanigans and while I hate to disappoint people, I also have to go " STOP!!! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!" Which is where I find myself today.
And without fail, liberating my schedule always leaves me feeling FREE and able to breathe. I have a friend who shall remain nameless, and she's the worlds-best-multitasker. She cooks for potlucks, plays in the worship team, has a bazillion friends that she makes time for regularly, works part time, has two kids and one on the way...and she's still nice!! Give me 1/2 of that schedule and I'd be climbing the walls or running naked through the woods. So, I ask you, HOW does she do it?? If you're out there C., I'll just ask you- HOW DO YOU DO IT!?
Here's a brief recap of our life since March:
T-ball Tues and Thurs with games on Fri and sometimes Sat, gymnastics on Mondays, ladies bible study on Monday nights, small group with some friends on Wednesday nights, church on Sunday during which Ryan does sound, back to church Sunday night to help with sound and set up for the dinner they did for those who came for the Sunday night service, Ryan's truck's clutch goes out...two days later the tranny is discovered to be 'siezed up' and needs replacing also, too expensive, scrap the truck, borrow the Honda from Father in Law, air conditioning goes out, temps climp to the high 90's (of course they do), school's getting out, 2 parent's nights which Ryan and I split up for because they're also t-ball nights, gymnastics performance night, engine on my new-to-me Subaru goes out and needs to be replaced, put new engine in, IT goes out...ahem, right...put NEW new engine in car, all of this resulting in 3 weeks with only one pimpy Honda to drive the family around in...I score a landscaping job, do another pro bono for a pal and get another one from those two, Subaru goes back to the shop, I do a 4th landscaping job free of charge (it was for my mother)- all of this while; planning a trip to Mexico for August 1st, caring for 9 Scottish Terrier pups, cleaning up after a city sewer main breaks outside our house and floods our basement with poo, dealing with a refrigerator and washing machine which go out within a week of one another.....the list goes on. Seriously, it does.

All of this to say, I WANT MY WEEKENDS BACK. Starting Saturday. You're all my witnesses. I vow to pack a picnic and head to the zoo with my family. I will stroll, not run, through the exhibits and make time to stop and see the primates AND the bears. I will eat lunch on the grass with my husband of 9 years and watch the kids play unhurried. I will. I will. I will.
I will not forego the zoo trip to 'squeeze in' a coffee date with friends, a quick shopping trip or a bit of work on someones yard. I will not look at C.'s life and wonder why I don't have her energy and spunk and niceness, because realistically, it doesn't matter. I need more down time than the average person and this last 6 months proves it because I'm half crazy, I can feel it. *sigh*

Except for that appointment with the optometrist, I really should do that on Saturday. But I bet I can sqeeze it in in the morning...

On prayer

Alright, I have to tell you- I thought I knew this and perhaps you did too- which is why I'm announcing it like this. Because it hit me like a baseball bat a few weeks back and has radically changed my life, this unparalleled discovery, this unbelievable happening.
Did you know...get ready for this, people. You may want to sit down here...Did you know that

God is Actually REAL?

Wait, wait- don't hang up...this isn't preachy, I promise.

I'm not playing around here, honestly. And I certainly don't want to get 'religious' because as most of you know- that's really not what I'm about. But apparently I'd been going along thus far in my life really thinking that I knew this, when in fact, I did not. Not really. My prayer life sucked, to be frank. I just didn't do it unless I had to. Big investments, big problems, enemies that I wanted God to smite...or is it smote?...whatever, the point is that I approached prayer with the same hopeful, yet doubting regard, that I used to approach my magic eight ball when I was a kid.
Does Bobby like me???? *pleaseohpleaseohplease* shake the fabulous eight and wah lah! Yes, Bobby does like you and you will live happilyeverafter in a condo in Malibu.
Enter religion and the system changes to...
God, please keep the kids safe at school today and protect Ryan as he travels and pleaseohpleaseohplease let us be able to support our family this month... *shake the magic eight translates to 'say the magical phrase 'in Jesus name' at the end* and wah lah! Sometimes yes...sometimes no...sometimes wait. Just like the ball. And your odds are just about as good in prayer as they are with the little floaty triangle that HOLDS YOUR ENTIRE LIFE IN ITS INANIMATE HANDS!
I am reminded of our trip to Reno a few years back and my brief stint on the penny machines. I prayed more on that trip than ever. Put in my crisp one dollar bill and, you guessed it, *ohpleaeohpleaseohplease*...push the button and...darn it. Another dollar, another button push...disappointed again.
My prayers were EXACTLY like this with the same warning going through my head- 'prayers are based on chance and are for entertainment only. They are not intended for investment purposes." And do you know why? Because my belief in God was about as authentic as my belief in the floaty thing in the magic eight ball. I wanted to believe. But I just couldn't. I didn't know how to make myself believe in something that sounded too good to be true. so-
I asked God to introduce himself to me, to prove his reality if He was willing. And I went on with my life as if nothing was different, just waiting for the moment when He'd speak or one of the shrubs in my yard would catch fire...something, anything...that would tell me that he heard me.
In the meantime, I cared for my children, cleaned my house, went on playdates, did the laundry and I spent a week house sitting for my mom. It was during this time that I accidentally spilled a bottle of bubble bath in her jacuzzi tub. Everyone knows what happens when you do that right?

So there I am, bubbles literally over my head thinking it's awesome and laughing so hard I can hardly stand up. Ryan hears the laughter and comes to investigate. Bubbles everywhere...over the bath edge, all over the floor, up to the windows. We had to scoop them up and pile them in the shower to wash them down. Clean up was horrible- but the experience was so FUN, so full of innocent delight.
You think I'm getting off track, don't you? I'm not. Keep reading.

The following week my friend Holly suggests a prayer time with she and her friend Shelly. This particular time would be spent focusing on my 'original design', my internal makeup as God intended it when he created me. Skeptical? I was too. Because how do they know, right? Supposedly they ask God and He tells them. Even more skeptical? Me too. Because they could easily make something up. But I love Holly and I trust her in spite of her weird prayer life in which she actually believes she can hear from God. Shelly I don't know as well, but that worked out in my favor as I was about to conduct a very unprofessional scientific experiment.
I asked myself what I hoped to receive from this process and the answer was simple. Undeniable PROOF that God exists. Didn't have to be real to anyone else, but it needed to be absolutely clear to me. And it had to come from Shelly. I didn't know her as well, she didn't know me or my life- so I reasoned that if something personal, something she had no way of knowing, came about in this prayer meeting and came only from her, then that would be enough for me.

I began the time with my usual humor, cracking jokes, making fun- but trying to be as sincere and humble as I possibly could. This seemed silly to me, but I was willing to listen because who knows, right?

We're in the middle of praying, Shelly and Holly are saying words like jovial, spoken for, ingenious, justice, imperial.... All supposedly from God as He speaks it to them...words that were for me, my design as He intended it...sounds pretty good huh? and then Shelly stops and says "Lord, don't make me say it. Please don't make me say it."
uh oh. What does that mean? I'm getting pretty concerned and Shelly's holding her head in her hands....this is bad, I can feel it.
"ok, Melissa. I don't know what this means. And it sounds totally silly and I really don't want to say it, but I'm going to anyway."
Holly and I are looking at her suspiciously, looking at one another...and Shelly says,
"Bubbles." Long pause and we both ask simultaneously, "Bubbles??"
"yep. That's it. I don't know what it means, but that's it. Bubbles. Oh, and He delights in you."

I'll be honest people. I didn't get it. It wasn't until a day or so later, making a bath for my kids, pouring their bubble bath into our tub at home and watching the bubbles spread over the water, that I remembered that incident when we were housesitting. The spill, the laughter, that delighted, indulgent experience and in that moment I knew....undeniably, without a doubt, that HE had spoken to me. I sat there on the edge of my bathtub and laughed with joy. It caused me to draw all my wondering and exploration and questions into one reasonable conclusion; yes, people, there is a God. And he can see you in the bathtub. He delights in your laughter and finds joy in our play.

There is a God. This is HUGE. This is why they call it the good news. You know that feeling that you get when you're looking at your life and saying, "There's GOT to be more than this." Well, I'm here to tell you, yes, there is. We were designed to search for that, created to wonder if there wasn't more to it than just our own for-the-moment happiness. We were designed to search so that we could find what we ultimately need.

I've begun to pray about EVERYTHING. I prayed for strawberries the other day. I'm not kidding. I don't even know why I did it. I just had a craving for strawberry shortcake and right in the middle of the very brief, random prayer I get a knock on the back door. I was expecting my mom, so no surprise there- what WAS surprising was the giant bowl of garden grown strawberries in her arms. THIS KIND OF THING KEEPS HAPPENING TO ME! It's unnerving and cool at the same time.

So I'm just telling you- that if you have doubts or are just one of those people who says, No way- I'm not buying into the whole organized religion thing...that's ok. But I'd recommend this simple test. As sincerely as you can, ask God to prove his reality to you, to make himself known to you, to make it undeniable (if only for you). Think of it as an experiment. If nothing happens, you've lost nothing. If something happens, you've gained everything. These are much better odds than the penny machines in Reno or the magic eight ball. God is not silent, he is not absent, he is not an uncaring entity removed from humanities suffering and pain. He is real. He is real. I have to keep saying that over and over because it's so amazing, so life changing, so incredibly beautiful; this good news. He is not an inanimate object who's answers to our prayers are at His every dictatorial whim or which are so carelessly random that they have no impact on our lives.

And finally, in light of this, I have found one thing to be absolutely true; there is no trial so great, no pain so disabling, no wound so deep that His great love, his mercy and his ultimate realness are not more powerful and beautiful than those things which we encounter day to day. Why did it take me so long to get this??

"I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip- He who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you- The Lord is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm, He will watch over your life;
The Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forever more."
Psalm 121

She's at it again...

Summer seems to be the one in our family who is always saying things that crack the rest of us up. There's one in every bunch.
Here's a recent conversation that took place in the car on our way across town:

Summer: "Mommy! Look at that bird in the road!!"
- I see it as it flies up onto a telephone wire above us-
Me: "Ooh! Summer, that's a dove. Isn't it pretty?"
Megan: "I thought Dove's were white."
Me: "Not all the time. I had a dove when I was a kid."
At this announcement, all the kids say in varying ways with equal amazement (As if I've just told them that I previously owned a water buffalo), "YOU DID?!"
Me: "Yeah. And mine was grey with a pretty brown band on its neck. But I hated it."
kids: "Why?!"
Me: " Because it cooed ALL the time! Constantly! It never stopped!! It was horrible!!" I start imitating the cooing noises of the bird in question with exaggerated enthusiasm. I hated that bird. Thinking about it still irks me...but anyway...so, I say "It was like a cooing alarm clock going off day and night! It was terrible!"
And Summer says...

" Well, maybe he wanted you to take the band off!"

Making Cupcakes and Singing Opera

Making Cupcakes and Singing Opera

When I look back over my marriage it seems impossible that nine years have passed. Just crazy. And to have been able to stay home rather than working, care for my kids, homeschool them when necessary, have coffee dates with friends or just read a book when I felt like being quiet- has always felt like somehow I was cheating the system. I won't lie to you- there have been moments of guilt.

Now, one could argue that raising children is work and I agree. But in my case, I actually like my children quite a lot and would rather hang out with them than just about anyone. They're funny, respectful, sweet tempered little people and I can honestly say that I enjoy my role in their lives. It is one of very little difficulty, to be honest.
So when Ryan called the other day at two in the afternoon and asked what I was up to, it seemed totally natural to respond, "I'm making cupcakes and singing opera." But you know- it got me thinking. Aside from the literal work it takes to hit those high notes in Pie Jesu, I live a pretty charmed life. I garden. I read. I go to the river and sit in the sand whenever the mood strikes me. I bake cupcakes and sing opera and have coffee with girlfriends and play the piano. I go to the zoo and the movies and...and...and...
Now, thrown in there are several thousand loads of laundry, household organization, cooking (which doesn't count because I'd rather be cooking than just about anything- so that has to go in the 'playtime' column), PTA meetings, Book Club meetings (Megan's, not mine), menu plans, grocery shopping on an increasingly tight budget, sick kids occasionally, more laundry, dishes, vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing toilets and coping with children whose natural tendencies are to be little teeny sinners. But still, even with the majority of my day taken up with those mundane tasks, I can't help but think I'm wonderfully blessed not to have a nine to five to worry about.
I won't say that I wake up every day thinking that I'm the luckiest person on the face of the earth, because typically I hit the alarm and am running the moment my feet hit the floor, making sandwiches, packing lunches, brushing hair, inspecting clothes and teeth and attitude before shoving the kid's in the car and hustling them off to school. But there are moments, like tonight as I fussed with plants in the garden or this afternoon when I sat reading in the sun or Wednesday when I baked cupcakes and sang Pie Jesu in my kitchen, that I think of the marvelous ways that The Lord has blessed my life and taken me from the literal homelessness/familylessness of my past and given me the world on a postage stamp lot in a tiny orchard town. These things bear consideration and contemplation and it would be wise, but probably unlikely, to remember these rich and colorful blessings as the years go on. So, this post is meant to honor those blessings, to show my thanks to a God who has an eye for detail and never fails to bring things full circle, and to let everyone in on what we've been up to lately...just as an added bonus;)

Our school's spring performance

One of our pretty girls

Summer's 7th Birthday



coupla cute chicks, if I do say so myself...




aria-inspired creations



sharing a dance

a picture from last summer just to mix things up



It's my ever increasing prayer that God will teach me to "Number my days correctly, that I might gain a heart of wisdom", to see them for the fleeting breezes that they are and fill them with all the things that are most important.

“Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”.
-Frederick Beuchner

Batter Up!!!

I'm still catching up to the fact that my baby's five year's old...and now suddenly I find myself in the role of a t-ball mom; helping with concessions, calling teeny tiny kids(whose helmets seem too big for their small heads) up to bat, cheering wildly for a game that isn't scored. I am repeatedly shocked by how quickly time has flown by and occasionally I long for the days of bottles and pacifiers and blankets. And then I come to my senses and hear myself yelling, "RUN, NOAH!! TAG THAT KID OUUUTTT!!!"
It's exciting, I tell ya. Just thrilling. I'm a pretty competitive person by nature and I really have to watch myself at his games so that I don't get TOO obnoxious while still being loud and supportive, which he is still young enough to think is wonderful. In the process, I am learning about baseball, something I had ZERO interest in previously.

*team pictures*

*Coach Josh and Noah having a 'man to man' moment*

Ryan's an assistant coach whenever he's able to get off of work in time for games and practices and is really enjoying the involvement and Noah's having a blast and really likes his coach. It's a great family activity and so fun to get out in the community and see folks we know!
I never thought I'd say this, but there's NOTHING like a warm evening, the smell of hot dogs from the concession stands and a ball game going on...seriously, NOTHING like it....

Megan's 8th birthday

Megan turned 8 a few weeks ago and it's taken me this long to post the pictures from the famed event. She'd been planning her birthday party since September (not kidding) and had invited every girl in her class.





They had so much fun and were actually quite manageable. Her friend A. was having a party later that afternoon celebrating Spring Break, so after the birthday party wound down, the girls packed up and headed over to A.'s for facials, mani's and pedi's...Megan then got to come home for her 'evening party' as she called it, which is when grandma and grandpa come over and bring more presents and we all eat cake AGAIN. So we partied, partied, partied and then I took her BACK to A.'s for the slumber part of her party during which the girls made their own Sundae's and watched High School Musical 3. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. Three party's in one day may have been too much. She came home and slept almost all afternoon the next day. I wanted to join her. ;)
This is just preliminary partying as she's looking forward to a Paris trip for her 10th. I can't imagine how tiring THAT'S going to be! Good grief!

Home Improvement

The Kitchen.

I have a problem. Ok, I have many problems. But the one that applies to this post is my problem with GOING OVERBOARD on anything I'm involved in. I am a woman of extremes apparently. I had the idea one sunny Saturday afternoon to paint my kitchen. For those of you who know me, you know that the kitchen is my 'center', as in, the place that I relax, create, plan, entertain, etc. I spend 95% of my time in my kitchen and after looking at this one for 2 years, it was time to spruce it up a bit...so, off to Home Depot we went... several hours and many, many dollars later- our 'I-look-like-I'm-owned-by-a-70-year-old' kitchen began it's transformation. (see below)... ignore the mess...







Has anyone ever heard of Venetian plaster??? I'd seen something in a magazine once and decided to try it for myself....thus the saga began. The stuff is applied with a trowel in random patterns...then you wait several hours for the 1st coat to dry, sand it smooth and then applying the second coat. The process is repeated 4 times and then the burnishing begins. So, to burnish you take the trowel and press it flat against the wall surface and rub REALLY hard. I hadn't gotten very far (relatively speaking) when I stood back, looked at the wall, looked at the paint sample I gave to the paint guy, and went, "this is NOT the right color." I'd put so much work into it at that point that I actually considered just living with the weird terra cotta color- but eventually I decided that if I was putting this much effort into something, I should get what I wanted out of it....so back to Home Depot I went.
Back again a few hours later, I started the process all over again. About 3 days had passed since that sunny Saturday. This picture was taken near the end of the process actually...so it's out of sequence, but this way you can see what venetian plaster looks like BEFORE it's done.

scary huh? It's part of the process. Just wait.

So, I couldn't just paint the stupid kitchen. Of course not. No, I had to go 'fancy'. And after days and days of plastering, sanding, burnishing and repeating and then falling into bed, I said to myself, "Why, that backsplash looks horrendous. It's gotta go." And proceeded to rip it off. I forgot to mention that 'painting the kitchen' also involved Ryan and his buddy Andrew tearing out a weird interior window and the weird look-through into my dining room and arching both of those to match the rest of the doorways in the house. Thus construction began. Just look at what a GREAT job those guys did though.

No more weird interior window.

SO- we got the walls done, stood back and went..."eww." The walls were great. Really amazing. Never seen walls like that anywhere, honestly. But now the cabinets looked horrible. They looked horrible before we started any of this, admittedly, but now, against the backdrop of beautiful walls, those thing looked even worse, if that's possible. So, back to Home Depot for oil based paint in the color of my favorite coffee mug, which is off-white. Home again, paint a few cabinets and I go..."No, no, nope...still not right..." Back to Home Depot for bead board and moulding. For those of you who are feeling compassionate for my husband right now- I won't tell you not to feel that way, because hey, he's a great guy- but I will tell you that it was me alone who plastered, sanded and burnished until I literally had a breakdown at our small group one night and burst into tears while discussing the project. So you can feel sorry for him if you want- but I don't.
He did joyfully accept my request for new cabinets and built them himself. They're still in progress in this photo.

Here's a pic of the GORGEOUS reflective shine of the plaster once it's burnished.

So, while the guys were busy drinking beer and tearing things out of my house, Andrew and I came up with the idea of a breakfast bar in the dining room...heh heh heh...

So they built one... :)

I am proud to say that we are no longer the owner of a geriatric kitchen- but are currently enjoying a very 'old-world', tuscan look.

So, do I have an after photo for you to enjoy? Of course not. Because once I looked at the beautiful cabinets, walls and breakfast bar I said, "That faucet has gotta go!" and promptly got on the internet and ordered a new one. It's due to arrive this afternoon ;) And when it gets here and my perfect husband installs it, I will take a stunning 'after' pic for all of you. I'm also waiting on the barstools I ordered...that could take awhile- but I'll try to post some very glossy, magazine like pictures very very soon. Perhaps once the new lighting is in...and the area rug purchased....

You discover a great deal about yourself when you remodel a house...I am a woman of extremes as I have said. We also discovered that Ryan is a man of great talant when it comes to cabinetry, construction, tile work and, well, all sorts of things.
Did I mention that while we were working on all of this, we discovered that our stair case was suffering from dry rot and had to rip that whole thing out too? Ryan and Andrew rebuilt it one afternoon while I went to IKEA. Then they put in a new slate landing, sheet rock and redid the structural support for the north side of our house...

I am making a list of things for my very talanted man to do over the summer >:)

Kendall excursion 2009

Well, I'm totally stoked to say that I have officially booked the '09 trip. This years destination, after much debate and lively discussion, will be taking us to the Riviera Maya on the eastern coast of Mexico on the Caribbean Sea. The trip began as a way to celebrate the 20th wedding anniversary of some friends, then morphed when the guys dropped out and has turned into a GIRLS TRIP. So, my friends Holly, Jennifer, Leigha and myself will be hopping a plane south of the border for a week in August! There's nothing like some time away with other girls!

This ought to be good blog material too since Mexico is the #1 place NOT to go right now due to fighting war lords or something. Ah well, how amazing would that blog entry be? That's what I would like to know.
"Dear Diary, kidnapped by gun toting pirates while snorkeling this afternoon. Have made friends with one who calls himself 'Taco de la luna' and am attempting to negotiate a trade for Greg Oden. I am also offering to pay them 50,000 pesos to balance the loss in the trade deal. Here's a few pics of Taco and me on the jetski. More tomorrow."

Oh, sheesh, this is going to be so fun ;p

The Great Destination Debate

Our adventures in the Yucatan ended peacably, thank goodness, with no troubles on the return trip. We were exhausted and hungry, but had such a great time- and were relatively true to our promise not to go over budget.
But I have to say, I am an adventure traveler. Everyone knows by now that I can't just lay around by the pool. I want to see things and experience the local culture and treasures of the places I visit. So next time, I'd really like to be a bit more off the beaten path. Did you know that there's a route to Machu Picchu which takes four days on foot and for which you have to hire a porter to pack your belongings over the steep mountain paths?? You also get to spend the night at the last inhabited Incan village on the trail...you're camping, but still, that's cool. Machu Picchu is in the top 5 of things to do before I die...so when some friends announced a trip to Peru to work in a small Medical clinic in Lima, I thought, sweet! I can hop a flight over to Cusco, take the train to Agua Calientes and grab the tour up the hill to the ruins. Can't do a long hike by myself in Peru- I'm just too safety minded for that. But I could do the regular, run of the mill tour, absolutely! But it's not going to happen. I couldn't convince anyone else to go with me and Ryan couldn't go at that time of year...so, I'm being safe. And I HATE losing out because I'm safe, but that's the way it is this time...
but you know what? It gave me the bug. The travel bug. Here's what happened:
We looked at our calendar this year. And we looked at our bathroom which needs an update, and our basement which needs to be finished and my kitchen which needs new countertops and would look great with a breakfast bar. And we thought, We should really stay home this year. No trips for us in '09. This will be the year of finishing the house...or at least starting on the house.
However... after the Peru sadness and a trip to Venice with a buddy didn't pan out because said buddy got pregnant!! and decided not to go galavanting off in Italy with a big belly...I thought- that's it! I've got the bug. I've gotta go somewhere.
In travel discussions with friends we discovered that our good friends Steve and Holly were celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary this summer. And of course, we said, "Reeeaaally???" and thus conversations about destinations ensued. Cancun was discussed, Jamaica was discussed, Cabo was discussed... AND THEN....Steve decides his motorcycle bug was bigger than his travel bug and Ryan decides his home improvement is more important than a trip and Holly and I are left going WHAT?!
Heh, heh...so we're going without them. And the destinations are pretty open at this point, which is where you come in...if, in fact, anyone reads this...and if you're just passing through and don't actually know me...go ahead and comment anyway- I like to hear peoples opinions.
So the question is: What are the places you want to see/experience before you die? Whats on your list?

Here's another one of mine:
http://www.sacred-destinations.com/ireland/skellig-michael.htm

It's a monastic outpost off the southern coast of Ireland. You can read all about it if you click the link. The pictures are incredible and it's just about as 'off the beaten path' as you can get. This also holds a draw for me as I just found out this year that I'm Irish. I had no idea. Apparently my great grandparents were imigrants during the potato famine. You learn something new every day, I guess, and frankly that explains a lot.

ok, so let me know what you think..

Yucatan Wednesday's...America vs. The British

For those of you who've bothered to read Baja Tuesday's, my previous foray into travel blogging, you may remember our evening dinner cruise with Pepe The Hunky Boat Captain and my LOVE of watercraft...except cruise ships which I think are creepy for some inexplicable reason. After searching through our tour brochures and spending a good amount of time in argument about the decision, we found one we could agree on; me, because I love really fast boats- and Ryan, because I agreed to let him drive. So it was a speed boat jungle tour through the mangrove tree's that we embarked on that final morning.
Our tour was leaving from the dock at a sister hotel and we were early. We got our equipment (snorkel gear) from the woman at the beach shack and, with an hour to kill, plopped ourselves down on the sugar sand beach to wait. As you can imagine, that didn't last long and we were soon out in the water. One thing we didn't realize was that we were occupying a stretch of nude beach in front of the Temptation Resort... That was made abundantly clear to both of us soon enough when a woman walked by wearing only her Mp3. Don't ask me where she clipped that thing. I couldn't say.

* no, that's not the naked lady.*

The tour guides arrived shortly after, thank goodness, and we were taken to our boats...they were the aquatic version of 1960 Volkswagen beetles. Lightweight bodies, no shocks, a dental bill waiting to happen at the first encounter with a pothole. We stood on the dock with our guide waiting for the rest of the folks who were scheduled on this tour to arrive.
We heard them before we saw them, loud, laughing voices echoing from somewhere behind the beach shack and beyond our vision. They all had the same East-London, Cockney ring to them.
They came into sight a moment later and I watched our guide roll his eyes. At 18, 19, maybe 20 years old, cigarettes dangling from still talking mouths, they were a group of noisy, squawking, giggling young people. I braced myself, but was pleasantly surprised when they smiled warmly and greeted us. We chose our boats and listened to the simple operating instructions from the guide, the Londoners laughing through the rundown and requiring several repeats. Ryan and I, feeling old, sat there waiting.
We left the small dock and putted slowly away from the other boats. Ryan sat behind the wheel for now, my concession to not having to speed through the mosquito infested jungle on a zip line. The guide led our group, with Ryan and I in the lead, along the short coast line. The Britt's were somewhere behind and I kept turning around to make sure they were still with us. The girls had looked nervous and the guys overconfident...I wondered how this was going to work and wasn't surprised to turn to check at one point and see that they'd all disappeared.
Our guide had set a pretty fast pace, racing through the water, the engine of the small boat whining and humming and the spray soaking our faces and hair and Ryan's glasses with salt water and foam until he was driving with one hand and constantly wiping his lenses with the other. We slow to a stop and maneuver up beside the guides boat. He's shielding his eyes from the bright sun and peering over the water to where two TINY specks are hovering on the horizon, slowly, slowly making their way in our direction. We wait several minutes until the Britt's are within earshot.
"Hey!" Our guide yells. "You want to go that slow, then you don't have time to snorkel! What's the problem?" He's flapping his hands at his sides, frustrated, but trying to be nice.
"Well, the girls were scared to go that fast." It sounded like this; 'The gulls weh skehd to go that fahst.'
"Well,"Our guide says again. "ok. But you won't be able to snorkel."
"We want to snorkel!!" Ryan and I shout in unison like two kindergartener's. The guide spares us a glance.
"Really sorry, we'll hurry." Says the guy with the cigarette, presumably the same one as before which is by now, soaked with sea water, still hanging out the corner of his mouth. It sounded like this...keep in mind only one corner of his mouth is able to move... 'relly sohrie, we'll hahrie.'
Off again now, we move away from the hotel infested coast line and enter a grove of Mangrove tree's. Egret's are standing at the edges of the narrow waterways and the tree's are hung with vines. A quiet comes over our group, one which I wish would happen when I take my children to the Library...and like those experiences, a loud, irreverent voice breaks the silence,
"Well, by god- this is something, isn't it? Harry do you see this?" The one with the Cigarette calls to the guy in the other boat. The two girls, one breezy brunette and the other a red head with a mass of curling hair which looked almost painful, sat by their men, silently, frowning, the cruise over the bay obviously not sitting well with them.
Cigarette boy is lean and pale and tall with an expression of general 'niceness' about him that I just cannot appreciate at the moment. His pal is about a hundred pounds heavier and covered with violent looking tattoo's, sports a bald head and seems to be completely unable to handle the boat he's driving.
We slow as we enter the smaller waterways of the Mangrove tree's, but tattoo man can't adjust his speed fast enough and rams into the back of cigarette boys' boat. The girls scream, the boys laugh and our saint-like guide looks nervously over his shoulder, the company attorney's phone number running through his mind on a ticker tape perhaps.
Ryan and I eyeball each other. Our expression says,
"For the love of all things holy, don't let those idiots get close to our boat. Did you see that?"
"Yes, I saw that. I know how to drive thankyouverymuch. You don't need to tell me."
I roll my eyes, we all know what I said in doing that, and go back to studying the jungle around us. I don't like the fact that there are a bunch of men driving boats they have no idea how to operate and feel very martyred. My fingers are itching for the wheel, but I say nothing. We had an agreement after all...
We wind and twine our way through the small rivers of sea water, watch the egret's fishing on from the sides, and begin to build speed before we explode out of the jungle and into an open bay. The water is currulean and extremely choppy. My teeth, broken bracket clanging, smash together as our boat slaps against the surf, hitting the crest of one wave, launching us into the air only to crash down into the belly of it the next. I look at Ryan...
"Can you say 'spinal compression?!" I shout.
"I can't help it! This water is so choppy!"
"You have to slolemn through it! Ride the rise of the wave, along the edge!!"
"What??!"
He can't hear me. Ugh. The launching off the waves part was pretty amazing, like a roller coaster- but hitting bottom was merciless and painful and it appeared by our guides direction, that we had a long ways to go.
Ten or eleven hours passed before we slowed and came to a grouping of other boats and a large cordoned off area that was obviously for snorkeling.
"Now, what are we doing here?" Cigarette boy asks in his thick accent.
"You snorkel if you want." The guide says, and pulls on his fins and mask.
Ryan and I have turned off the engine in our small boat and are doing the same, pulling on our gear and climbing onto the bow. The Britt's sit there and look at each other.
"I don't know. I'm not a good swimmer." Says the big guy. Sounds like, 'I dunnoh- Oim notuhgood swimmuh.'
"Me neither." From the red head who's seated next to him.
They debate amongst themselves long enough for Ryan, the guide and I to drop off our bows and into the water.
"Guys? Are you coming??" Says the guide. Two of the Britt's splash off the end of their boat, Cigarette boy and the brunette. The guide looks at us. We look at him.
"See this area here?" He asks Ryan and I and motions to the roped off section.
"Yeah." We both say.
"Stay inside it. And have fun." So much for our guided tour of the worlds second largest barrier reef. But we'd rather explore on our own than hang with England's finest, so we pull our masks down and move away. The guide is off to deal with the Britt's and we spend the next hour exploring one of the worlds most amazing ecological treasures and discover later that two of the four vacationing Londoner's hadn't even gotten out of their boat. The redhead didn't want to snorkel for some reason and Tattoo really couldn't swim apparently.
"Did you enjoy it then?" Ask the Cigarette boy to Ryan when we're all hungry, tired and climbing back into our boats.
"Yeah, we love it. How about you?"
"I really didn't, to tell you the truth. I found it quite difficult actually." *you have to imagine the Cockney accent and the hoity expression to fully appreciate the humor here.*
"Is that right?"
"Yes. It was quite difficult. I don't think I ever want to do that again."
Ryan nods his head in understanding as we stow our gear at our feet. The brunette nods her head in agreement with her companion.
"How do you feel about the boats then?" He asks Ryan.
"Oh, they're pretty basic, but they're fine. "
"Not hard for you to maneuver then?"
"Nope." Ryan's looking at this guy with a bit of concern now. It's a steering wheel and a throttle. How hard can it be? The guy only says, "Hm." and adjusts his sunglasses.
Our guide shouts for us to follow him and takes off in a spray of water. Big Guy With Tattoo's shoots across the water after him with a short shriek coming from his red headed boating buddy.
Ryan and I are next with cigarette boy bringing up the rear. Our throttle is as far forward as it would go and the tiny, lightweight boat with the big V8 engine was often literally flying over the water, touching down from time to time and with gut wrenching impact. Ryan is still driving...
I wait several minutes...remember it's a long, long way. I'm not sure I can endure another bone-cracking jolt into the wake of tattoo guy and I finally shove up my Paris Hilton Like sunglasses, (which embarrass me slightly, but not enough to stop wearing them.)
"Ok. You have to let me drive!"
"What?!" We were screaming over the open water with the engine in our ears- but he heard me just fine.
"You have to let me drive! You're killing me!!!"
"What, like a Chinese Fire Drill?! Are you serious?"
"Yes!"



He looks at me with a combination of fear and admiration, "Ok..." *It's the opiate look again.
In a move that was both courageous and probably not that smart he lifts himself up (not easy in the cramped space with our legs out in front of us.) and I scoot quickly under him, so that he's essentially on my lap in the tiny, screaming boat.
"Ok! I have it!" I say, after reaching to his right and grabbing the wheel. We can hear yelling behind us and assume the Britt's are watching and don't really approve of our behavior. He lets go and pulls himself over to the passenger side. We've barely missed a beat and the boat is still in line with tattoo boy and the cowering red head.
"Alright, Smartie. Let's see you do better!" Ryan says, but his grin softened the remark.
I careen to the right and line up with the ridge of Tattoo's wake, ride it to a softer break in the waves and jet across to the left to repeat the process with that side. The wake breaks up the choppy waves and I'm able to avoid them for the most part, though in Ryan's defense, it still wasn't seamless. His grin is so wide you could sink a putt in it now. Memories of my youth are racing back and the boat feels natural, like so many days on the lake as a kid. I'm rusty and out of practice, but I get the hang of it quickly and Ryan leans back, enjoying the ride.
We wind our way back through the mangrove tree's, startle a couple of Egret's who take flight in front of us, their white wings flashing in the afternoon light, and make our way along the coastline where a giant flag of Mexico waves against the blue Caribbean sky.


We approach the dock by the *lovely* Temptation resort...it was pretty nice actually.... and the guide quickly tethers our boat. The cigarette smoking Britt is looking at me with a grin.
"That was unbelievable! You were better than I was!" He's pretty amazed by this. I'm not sure if it was because I was a 'girl' or because I was an American.
"Well, she's done this kind of thing before..." explains Ryan. I shoot him a glare.
"Really?! That's amazing." He's looking at me with the weirdest expression and for some reason I felt really proud for American women right then. His girlfriend was not my biggest fan at the moment and made her comments, but we largely ignored her. We climbed out of the boat and stood now on the old wooden dock.
"Yes," I say, "We American women do this kind of thing all the time." My chin is up and hands are clasped behind my back like a proud five year old.
"Well." He nods approval at me as his girlfriend sends a withering look in my direction and I want to do a happy dance around the beach shack, but I don't. I also now have a strange compulsion to high-five everyone I see who seems not to have a foreign accent.
We return our gear and saunter around the Temptations pool area on our way to the lobby to phone for a shuttle. We'd already forgotten about the 'nekid' lady on the beach and are startled by the number of women in bikini bottoms on lounge chairs...startling because they were all missing tops.
"We should stay..." Ryan begins.
"Don't even think about it." There's no way I'll be staying at a hotel where five million gorgeous, big busted women vacation topless. Forget it, pal, I think.
Our shuttle arrives and we climb in. It's late afternoon now, but there's still plenty of sun and we make plans to lay on the beach at the hotel when we get back.
Our week in Cancun is over, or almost, and we're very satisfied. A few glitches, an unbelievable rain storm, some difficulty with flights...but all in all, a really wonderful vacation.
We enjoy a quiet afternoon on the beach and dinner at the fancy a la carte restaurant. We'll be taken to the airport tomorrow morning and must make the trek home.
That night, we lie in bed staring at the ceiling together, thinking about the trip, our mutual sunburns aching against the cool sheets.
"Do you know what I'm doing the MINUTE we get back?" I ask Ryan.
And in his mind he lists the probabilities; hugging the kids, hugging the dumb dogs, eating something substantial...but we're not on our honeymoon and he know's me better than to suggest those things.
"Calling the orthodontist?" He says. And I smile.
"You know it."

With that, we sleep.

Notice of Editing

so my post, 'Y.W. A golf cart, a Goddess and a Mexican who soaked me for twenty five bucks' has been edited in a few places, folks. I clearly should not write at four in the morning and have learned my lesson. All apologies.
You can scroll down and read it newly edited if you wish :)

enjoy!

Yucatan Wednesday's...The Lagoon

Yucatan Wednesday's...The Lagoon

We had returned from our time on the island refreshed and relaxed. It had been an easy day, one of quiet adventure and peace on a remote and quaint island. I'll remember that afternoon for the rest of my life. Those images are imprinted on my mind; turquoise waters, crashing white waves, powdery beaches and beautiful shells, turtles. So far removed were they, from the everyday images of our western culture with our rush hour and grocery shopping and Macy's Department Store and so different from my typical mid week schedule of hustle and bustle and kids homework, that that afternoon stood out like a bright and lovely stamp against the backdrop of my American life.
And so, happy, tan and finally no longer starving after a filling and entertaining dinner in the hotels ballroom where they do weekly performances of various kinds...(this week was a moving rendition of The Lion King, which we tolerated in order to be able to eat. It wasn't that bad actually and there were some amazing acrobatics involved which made my thighs ache just to watch. The gentleman next to me at our table of 10 felt the show was deserving of repeated standing ovations...and repeated glasses of wine, which ordinarily would be fine with me, except that he was vacationing alone and kept asking me for a date, which also might have been flattering if he'd seen seventy any time in the last ten years. But he hadn't.) ...we retreated back to our suite and collapsed. But then, and you'll learn this if you ever vacation with us, the question is always, now what???
My husband and I CANNOT just sit around. It's taken us three trips together to figure this out. We've got to be MOVING, exploring, talking with people, driving, laughing, whatever...but we can't just sit around. So, in our lovely suite at ten at night, we pull out all our brochures and pick one randomly.
By seven o'clock the next morning we had been bustled into a waiting van and were speeding down the highway to meet a tour bus that would take us an hour and a half south of Cancun city to Xel-Ha, a natural system of connecting lagoons and waterways complete with resort, restaurants, spa, wildlife preserve, botanical gardens, innertubes for the cenote's (underground rivers that take you through a system of caves), etc. The plan was to snorkel and explore and then meet up with the tour bus again at 2 in the afternoon for a secondary excursion to Tulum, a Mayan ruins site overlooking the ocean. Notice I say, "The plan WAS..." heh heh heh...whoops. But we'll get to that.
We ate a quick lunch at one of the restaurants and headed to the snorkel shack to pick up our gear.

Oh, yeah. That's flattering, eh? Here. This is a better one.


Well, sort of... Anyway, this was my first time snorkeling, and the idea of putting my face underwater was extremely stressful. You'd have to really know me to understand this, but I HATE water in my face. I hate it so much, I can't even tell you. Seriously, it's a thing. And I'm a bit claustrophobic as the technician who gives me MRI's can tell you. I get weird. So there I am, in mask, snorkel, life jacket, about to immerse my face in the water. Hmmm. We might have thought this one through more thoroughly. But we didn't. And there we were, having paid a huge sum of money to torture me with this experience. Deep breathes. Remember, I'm cheap. I want my money's worth.
After a few attempts and failures and a brief episode of hyperventilation, my patient hubby, who's snorkeled and SCUBA'ed before, comes to my aid and gives me a few tips. He also makes the mistake of holding my hand, which then becomes my magic feather and somehow allows me to breathe underwater without spitting out my mouthpiece and drowning tragically and pointlessly in four feet of water. This calm ability to breathe just because he was holding my hand would have been nice during childbirth when instead, I wanted to KILL him and all who came near me...but alas, apparently it's just a snorkeling trick.
I did get the hang of it eventually and within a few minutes was hooked. For those of you who've snorkeled in the Carribbean, you understand. It's like being in the aquarium at the dentist's office. I'm not kidding. Glistening white sand, Nemo and Dori, manta rays that float around you, beautiful parrot fish. It was incredible. Before we knew it, ten minutes passed into an hour and one hour into two. We slowly worked our way out to the mouth of the lagoon where the water became increasingly dark and murky and the sand dropped away beneath us as depth increased. We were on a quest, searching for the thrill of seeing the big fish. Baracuda, small shark, Giant Tuna. I scanned the water around me and could see nothing.
Hubby and I still held hands, maybe especially now that the waters were choppy and cold and the visibility low. Feeling disappointed that we weren't able to get a glimpse of anything really big, like the tour guide said we might at this end of the lagoon, we turned to go back, and suddenly my arm got a hard jerk. I peered over at Ryan through my goggles, but he wasn't looking at me. I had spent the last twenty minutes or so looking directly down below me hoping for a sight of something 'big'- apparently I should have been looking ahead of me as Ryan had done in that moment when he realized we were right in the middle of what we were looking for. I followed his gaze. There had to have been twenty of them and they were GIANTS. Yellow-fin tuna. And, in spite of my awe at their size, these were probably babies. Sport fisherman have been known to catch yellow fin that weigh up to two tons and are longer than their fishing boats.
We floated there on the surface with the giant fish swimming around us. They were probably waiting for a handout and kept skimming by our legs and bumping against us and we let them, holding perfectly still so as not to frighten them away. Much later, smiling through our mouthpieces and freezing cold from being still in that ocean water, we paddled back into the lagoon. We spent the next hour or so exploring the waterways and inlets, doing some cliff jumping into the lagoon and watching the dolphins. Here they are:


Needless to say, we lost track of time and didn't make it back for the Tulum tour. They'd be back in two hours to pick us up, so we weren't too worried. But there's that question again: What now?
We'd snorkeled, watched the dolphins and manatee's and fed the fish. We could spring for massages at the spa- but really, why pay for relaxation when you can get it for nothing?


Since they had beautiful 'hammock gardens' throughout the park, we decided to make good use of them.
By five o'clock, relaxed, happy and still holding hands in spite of the fact that I no longer needed it to breathe, we climbed back on board the bus and made the long drive north to Cancun City and Puerto Juarez. If Dave and Eileen were with us, they'd have made fast friends with the tour guide and 25 of our traveling companions by now and would also probably be regaling the entire company with cowboy songs from the 1940's. But tonight, the bus is quiet and dark and it's occupants exhausted.
We're dropped off at our hotel and make our way to our suite. I have the song 'cool water' stuck in my head since I was thinking about Dave on the way back. An interesting side note is that Bob Nolan, the guy who wrote that song and many others, including 'Tumbling Tumbleweeds', which everyone knows- is my great uncle. I didn't actually know this until a few years ago, so can't take any credit for having a 'famous' relative. Dave is quite sure that this fact is further proof that I was meant to be in the K. family and was meant to marry his son.
His theory is tested later in the week, but we'll get to that. I'm sure you all remember the Great Muffin Conflict experienced in Cabo.
We fall into bed. We'd already made plans for the following day, thinking ahead to when we would inevitably ask, what next? The rains have stopped for good and the forecast has predicted highs in the 90's for the following day. We could go back to the island, but we dismiss the idea. We're thinking of something a bit faster than a golf cart, something with some horsepower. Ryan is smiling just thinking about it. Reminiscent of Cabo, you say? Oh no- this is totally different. We will be in my territory this time and I guarantee I won't be sitting quietly in the passenger seat... I smirk to myself as we drift off. What surprises I have in store...

Please stay tuned for the next episode of Yucatan Wednesdays... America vs. The Brittish, A Surprising Victory at Sea