I saw Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear, by Elizabeth Gilbert, featured on the shelves near the checkout counter of our library, the literary equivalent of the candy that lines the checkout aisles of the supermarket. I will be honest – the beautiful cover is what first pulled me in, and after I read a few pages, I was interested enough in the content to check it out.
When I found it, I was in the thick of marriage stuff. I’ve found that for most things self care-related, I struggle to do things just for me if there is no other person who will directly benefit (although that is False Thinking, because when I take good care of myself, there are always 8 other people who will benefit from my better state of mind and body.)
I was reading relationship and marriage books, which was self care, but also marriage care, but I couldn’t make myself read Big Magic, which would have just been for me. Not me and the Chaplain, not me and the kids. I was a little afraid it would inspire me to do or make something, which would further use time I didn’t feel I had.
I’m leaving for the Netherlands in about a month. I’ve already started packing. I recognize I will never have enough time all at once to pack as I’d like to. Instead, a few minutes here, 20 minutes there, is what is going to leave me feeling relaxed and ready the afternoon I hop onto my train headed to New York and the airport.
I’m packing a carry-on for the trip. The cost of checking a bag was obscene, and I like a challenge. Now I have two challenges: what to bring, and how to fit it all in my hiking backpack.
After doing a little internet research about what Europeans wear, one article advised not to bring a backpack. I am traveling alone and will be doing a lot of walking. I’m not doing it with a dinky wheeled suitcase, and I have a really nice hiking backpack from my 2014 Mt. Hood Trip. The backpack is German-made, so that has to count for something, right?
I haven’t been to Europe since I went on a missions/sightseeing trip to Austria, Hungary, and Romania between my sophomore and junior years in college. The trip was amazing, but, as one young man who came with us said with annoyance, “This is a missions trip! Not a musical.” And indeed, the group would burst into song at any time, on public transit, or just walking along the street.
Where do I start with this kid?
Four was my first rainbow baby, coming after two miscarriages. He was the first kid we had to “try” for. He was born with not one, but TWO nuchal hands.
This is a true middle child, with three older sibs, and three younger ones. He has proven to be a teammate, a friend, and a thoughtful comrade. He was One’s first brother after two sisters.
When I was trying to help him scrape out a condiment bottle one recent afternoon to get the rest, he stopped me. He didn’t want to take it all and leave none for his sister.
He moves seamlessly between the older kids and the younger ones. He learned how to ride a bike at age four with encouragement and help from his older sibs. So far, he’s the only kid who’s taking after the Chaplain and learning to play the piano.
This sweet boy is always “hummy” as he used to say, learning how to read, and endlessly thoughtful and diligent. He wears two hairbands on his wrist because one time in his hip hop class last year, his teacher needed a hairband and didn’t have one, and he wanted to be prepared if that ever happened again. He was wearing hairbands on his wrist for months before I found out the reason behind them. It reminded me of this story.
If you’re wondering what a Saga Boy is, according to the Urban Dictionary, it’s “A guy who likes to dress up nice. ” It’s a Tobagonian turn of phrase. In American English, I’m not aware of any words that describe a guy who is a classy dresser without having any negative implications (I kept coming up with “dandy,” which is definitely NOT Four. “Dapper” didn’t seem quite right, either.) The way my sister-in-law described it when she told me, a saga boy is a guy who always looks nice and dresses well no matter where he’s going. And while Four has his little boy moments with camo and t-shirts with sports slogans, he is the guy who can generally be relied upon to look good when we are going somewhere, with no direction from me. He has a great sense of style. And the true joy he gets from hanging out with his family makes his face shine and completes the look.
These characteristics – his style, his kind heart and professional sibling status, and his bottomless stomach – are unique parts of him that make him such a precious soul. We love him and are privileged to have him in our brood. Happy Birthday, Young Man.
This is Two in the upstairs bathroom, early in its journey. And the seat is up! But, embracing imperfection, I’m keeping this feature photo. The internet needs a little Real Life Living once in a while.
One of the first rooms I wanted to tackle when we moved into our house was the upstairs bathroom. It’s tucked in at the end of a hallway away at the opposite end of the upstairs bedrooms, and we primarily use it only at night. It wasn’t super important that it be functional at the beginning because there were only four of us.
Here’s what it looked like when we did our first walk-through:
After I read The Brontë Plot, I started The Austen Escape, by Katherine Reay. I thought my mom had recommended both, but when I mentioned the second book to her, she said she hadn’t read it. She’d read two titles by this author, and I misremembered* them when I looked the author up later to request books from the library.
But no matter! Because while I enjoyed The Brontë Plot, The Austen Escape was even better.
