Swimming Wading in the Water

During the summer in Texas, having access to a swimming pool is almost as essential as having access to oxygen. Almost. So, when one of our dear friends invited us over for a dip this afternoon, I jumped at the chance.

Ben's swimming experience so far has been limited to our bathtub, so I dug through his closet and found that the only swimsuits I have for him are 6-12 months. He was born on a Tuesday so that makes him... just over 9 weeks old. I reasoned, "Better too big than to small." I felt a little sad that Tim wouldn't be there to witness Ben's first time in the pool, but my translucent skin cried out, "Forget about Tim, these gams haven't seen the sun since last September!"

When I put Ben's little suit on him, my initial suspicions were confirmed. He can certainly grow into it.
Well, it's not like he was going to attempt the backstroke. So what if it was a little big?

We have had some crazy storms the last few nights, so the pool water was a little cooler than usual. Read: *really* cool. The instant I began dipping his little legs in, his eyes got really wide and he started shaking. Hint taken.

Basically, Ben's first swimming experience amounted to me holding him out of the water while I waded in the pool. I think his feet skimmed the surface a few times, so I'm sure that counts.

All was not lost. We didn't do lots of swimming, but we hung with some good friends, enjoyed a delicious lunch, and you can't see through the skin on my arms anymore. Still, I think Ben might feel as if I oversold the whole "swimming" thing.

Big Changes.

For the last four years, I've told anyone who asks that I have the best job in the world.

As a Special Event Coordinator for the USO, I have the unique privilege of spending every day with our troops and their families. As one of our volunteers always says, "America's bravest and best." So true. My job is to help the community connect with our troops. It is fun, fulfilling, important work.

If you ever need a little pick-me-up, go to the airport and shake hands with a soldier returning from a war zone. Few things in life will put things in perspective and renew your sense of gratitude faster than that hand shake. If you're feeling sorry for yourself, watch a wife put her husband on a plane headed to Iraq or Afghanistan. I have these opportunities every day, and my job allows me to extend them to others, as well. It's a job I don't think I could ever get tired of.

Above and beyond working with the military, I adore other aspects of this job. I get to work at the airport. I suppose some people might not get as much of a kick out of it as I do, but I appreciate it every day. I get to watch people run into the arms of their loved ones. I soak in the energy and the flurry of activity. This is a GREAT place for people-watching. On stressful days, I can step away for a few minutes and watch planes take-off and land. There are dozens of restaurants within a five minute walk from my desk. The airport is literally a city with its own zip code. It's not just about trips, journeys begin and end at the airport, and I love working in the middle of the chaos.

I work with fantastic people. Not just the troops, but more than 300 people who regularly give of their time and energy to serve the soldiers who pass through our city. They are the heart of the organization- USO Volunteers. Also, there are three other women on staff with me who put in way too many hours and get paid way too little and don't think much about it. They make me laugh and they inspire me, and they have become my family.

The best job in the world.

After Ben was born in April, I took my six weeks of maternity leave. It was hard to go back to work, but my mom was keeping Ben and my co-workers were so great. On my first day back, one of them was waiting outside to welcome me, one brought a cake, and one brought a gift for Ben. Still, it was so hard. It wasn't that I didn't want to be at work, it was that I wanted to be at home with Ben. As much as I love my job, I quickly realized my heart wasn’t there anymore. Ultimately, anyone can be the event coordinator for the USO, but only I can be Ben's mom, and I want to be home with him.

Last week, I resigned from the USO and gave up a job I love for a job I love even more. Not a bad deal.

Ben is pretty excited about the decision, too. See?

Tim and I talked and prayed over this decision quite a bit. Although nothing could be better than spending all day every day with our little guy, giving up an income is going to be a huge adjustment for us. We are trusting God to provide for us now, just as He always has. Things will be tight, but we aren't the first family to make this sacrifice, and we won't be the last. We are stepping out in faith to do what we feel is best for our family.

To everything there is a season, and I'm pretty excited about this one...

One Year Later

One year ago today, Tim and I were vacationing at Horseshoe Bay Resort, just outside of Austin. Some good friends of ours had planned to go down for a few days and invited us to join them on very little notice. We put in for a few days off work, made reservations at the resort, packed our beach bags, and hit the road. Ah, to be young, free… and have some disposable income.


On our last morning at Horseshoe Bay, we woke early and enjoyed breakfast, played a round of mini-golf (on a REALLY nice mini-golf course) and took a dip in the pool before heading back up to our rooms to shower, pack, and return home.

I had just gotten out of the shower when I saw that I’d missed a call from both my mom and dad. I returned mom’s call, and her shaky voice told me that my grandfather had passed away a few hours earlier.

Two days later, I was on a plane to Montana for Grandpa’s funeral. Our large family converged on the small town and begun gathering photos and memories, and despite all the activity, I did a lot of thinking. Experiencing any kind of loss makes one stop and take stock of things. The night before the funeral, I lay alone in the dark in the big bed at my grandparents’ house. I was sad, but only a little. More than anything, I felt really, really thankful.


I lived twenty five years of my life with all four of my grandparents. I don’t know if I know anyone else who can say that. My grandpa lived to be ninety three years old, and he was healthy both physically and mentally. And funny. He had a loving wife, seven children, nineteen grandchildren, and six great grandchildren (if I’m counting correctly). He died eating lunch. He said he felt tired, put his head down, and that was it. What more could a person ask for? And what more could we, his family, ask for? God had blessed us. My only wish was that Grandpa had lived long enough for my children to meet him.

I lay in bed, counting my blessings, but was also struck by the changing of seasons. Up until that point, every time I’d traveled home to Montana had been for vacation. Each July marked a fun trip to visit family, play in the mountain creeks, and soak in the fresh air and cool summer evenings. My soul is always buoyant as I board that plane home. This time, I packed my black dress and heels and had to face the fact that these summers in Montana will not last forever. My grandparents are getting older, and so am I.

Tim and I had enjoyed six years of marriage. We’d grown up a lot, done most of the things adults do, and mostly in the order you’re “supposed to” do them. Children were looming on our horizon, but we were enjoying our freedom. I should clarify, I was enjoying our freedom. Tim was ready for kids. I was holding out. Still, I had dreamed of my children meeting their great-grandparents some day. I lay in that bed and weighed things out. What mattered, what I wanted out of life, and what was at risk if I kept waiting and waiting, gambling on the idea that everything else in my life would be just where I wanted it when I decided I was “ready.” It was unavoidable: time wouldn’t stand still while I kept dipping my toes in that pool, flirting with the idea of taking the plunge. That night, I knew what God was calling me to do, and when I called Tim the next morning, I let him know.

Less than two months later, I took a positive pregnancy test. Today, on the first anniversary of my grandpa’s death, I look into the eyes of my sweet baby boy, who is seven weeks old and just starting to really smile at us. Again, I am struck by the truth in Romans 8:28, that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him. That God uses death to coax us to let go of trivial things and embrace life and the blessings He has waiting for us if we’ll just open our hands.

Summer Goals

This is the way to my heart:

This flavor, specifically, but also Chunky Monkey. This isn't a new love. It's deep, abiding, and enduring. I was blogging about this ice cream back in 2007.

I'm not going to say I "love, love, love" Ben and Jerry's ice cream, because I think the phrase "love, love, love" is becoming just about as over-used as the word "super," and no longer packs much of a punch. However, if I were going to repeat the word "love" in an effort to describe my feelings towards those creamy, frozen, pint-sized pieces of heaven, I would repeat the word "love" about two hundred times.

I know that both Ben and Jerry are flaming liberals, but I somehow manage to put politics aside and push that out of my head each time I plunge my spoon into the carton of bliss. I would have trouble passing it up if Hitler were selling it. I can't explain it. The heart wants what the heart wants.

There are only four "Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shops" in the DFW Metroplex. One is about an hour from my house. One is inside Six Flags (park pass required) and two are in the airport. Guess where my office is located?

Having an office at the airport means that I can enjoy a cone of this delightful confection as often as I decide I'm willing to spend $4.45 plus tax for it. OR, on Free Cone Day, which comes around once a year. Each year, I visit one B&J location, get a free cone, eat it while I walk to the second location, and get another free cone there. I don't think I'm breaking any rules. There aren't any posted signs, but if there were, I'm sure they would read something like, "Limit one cone per customer per day per location." Plus, I do it every year. It's tradition.

Imagine my glee when my dear husband purchased this for me a few birthdays ago:

Along with the book, my parents purchased me an ice cream maker attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer. Sadly, somewhere between the time I realized heavy cream costs about $13.99 per oz and our move into our new house, the book got put away and was mostly forgotten about.

Until last week.

I was standing in my pantry, trying to decide why we have three half-eaten bags of tortilla chips. I looked up and noticed it. Nestled between Rachel Ray's "Thirty Minute Meals" and a copy of "365 Ways to Cook Chicken" (copyright 1986) was Ben & Jerry's book.

Inspiration Struck.

I have a new goal.

This summer, I'm going to try to make at least one flavor of homemade ice cream each week. If the project goes well, maybe it will become an annual tradition. And if it doesn't go well, what's the worst that can happen?

I'll never lose my baby weight.

Still, if you're going to set goals, they might as well be fun.