Two crazy boys: Check.
One light saber
Two swords
One sling shot
One gun that shoots lightning
And a rocket launching airplane
Check.
The two best babysitters in the whole. entire. world.
Check.
Sneaking a kiss in was loudly protested by the imps in the back
Check ;]
We pack our things and run away to wide open spaces. We zip along from Massachusetts to Vermont. The people grow fewer and the trees multiply in number and variety and I always think it looks like God poured a packet of mixed seeds along the landscape and now trees and wild flowers pop up in colorful abundance.
We set up camp and sleep outdoors and it feels good to be close to the earth.
We sit under the trees and the sky and breathe in the outside air. The campfire smoke swirls around in our lungs and we are alive in this wild, outdoor space.
We gather around campfires and relax in the warmth of the mesmerizing flames.
We swim in the cold mountain water and tip toe along the river bed filling our pockets with river glass.
We ride bikes and stretch our legs and souls—shaking off the dust of life lived away from the woods.
I caught these sneaky little ninjas poking around my tent…
…And I couldn’t seem to shake the little savages….but as it turns out—I really, really love them.
God kissed the sky and it blushed pink at his touch.
And the sun set on our outdoor adventure for one more year and we all fell asleep under the starlit sky that seemed poked through with the light from another world.
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
Thoreau, Walden Pond
“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”
“If you’d never been born, then you might be an Isn’t!
An Isn’t has no fun at all. No, he disn’t.”
“To the world you may be one person; but to one person you may be the world.”
“You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting,
So… get on your way!”
All quotes by the fabulous Dr. Seuss
My mother—thank you God for giving her to me.
We are asked to rejoice with those who rejoice and to weep with those who weep; easier said than done.
It’s difficult to relate to people who are going through vastly different circumstances than we are. It’s hard to know exactly what to say or do when everything in my life is good and someone I care about is just trying to keep their head above the deep waters. It’s difficult to be happy for other people when our own hearts are breaking.
How can I connect and relate when my life is so different? Does someone struggling even want to talk to someone who’s breezing by? I know from times of struggle just how annoying and patronizing it can be to have someone who’s doing just fine stop by and say, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I know what you’re going through.”
Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Either way, looking at your pretty little life doesn’t make me want to tell you about my problems.
And yet that is exactly what we’re asked to do: We’re asked to enter into each other’s lives—bright and beautiful, dark and ugly—all of it without regard to what’s going down in our own lives at the time.
We’re asked to rejoice with those who rejoice—even when our heart are bleak and weary.
We’re asked to weep with those weep—even when we have great joy we want to share.
We’re asked to go beyond ourselves and find our way into the beautiful mess of each other’s lives. We’re asked to be there for each other when everything is right and when everything is wrong. We’re asked to empathize and understand the joy and sorrow all around us in the lives of those we love.
I’m trying to learn how to do this, how to set my own life and circumstances aside and enter into the array of beauty and sorrow that paints each of our stories.
For the last four years I have lived in Massachusetts—a thousand miles from my family, friends, and the place where I grew up—1,367 miles to be exact. I love it and I hate it here and it seems the divide in my heart spans wider and wider each year.
New England is beautiful and filled with culture and history. There is always something new to see and do. I love being close to the ocean and the mountains and all the beautiful old cities. I love living close to Darren’s brother and his family. I love the friends I have made here. But I miss my family and my home. I miss the Midwest prairies and lazy afternoons spent with family doing nothing but just being together.
Truth be told, and it isn’t easy for me to say, I am very lonely here. I’m lonely without my family and friends and that place called home—nothing fills that void in my heart because nothing and no one else can.
This week I thought a lot about being lonely. Probably because it was Thanksgiving and we were up with all of Darren’s family for the holiday and I was missing being with my family.
I thought about why I am so lonely here even after four years. I thought about why I haven’t built more friendships and community. Why am I so alone in this place even after all this time?
In thinking through all these things, I realized something about myself. I realized I don’t ever want to need other people. I already knew I’m hard to get to know—I’ve been told that many times. But I never realized the reason I’m so hard to get to know is because I don’t want to need other people or let them in. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I don’t want to look like I’m not all put together. I don’t want to look like I need help with anything or need to learn anything. I want to be in control and be fine all by myself.
Only I’m not.
I’m lonely. And I’m tired. And I’m tired of being alone and trying to look like I don’t need any help.
I need friendship, I need community, I need other people to help me find my way and grow.
I think about when Darren and I start a family and the thought of raising children in this place by myself scares me. I won’t have my mom. I won’t have my grandma or my sister-in-laws (except for the one wonderful sister-in-law I do have here on Darren’s side). I don’t know anything about babies or children. I don’t know when they’re supposed to eat or sleep or how to tell when they’re sick. And I don’t want to figure any of these things out by myself. I want—and need–friendship and community. I need moms and mentors who can help me learn the things I don’t know.
I need other people.
Like it or not, I’m not all put together and I can’t do everything on my own. And if I keep chasing people away by pretending that I’m fine by myself, then I will never be able to build the friendships and community I need.
So I’m learning.
I’m learning to let people in. Learning to admit that I am tired, and lonely, and I need other people.
I have this quiet prayer in my heart right now—that God would give me moms and mentors and that I would have the humility to accept their love and help when they come.
Because I need help, and I need people, and I’m tired of pretending I can do all of this on my own.
I spent Labor Day weekend up in Maine with Darren’s family. My brother and sister-in-law, their two little boys, and Darren and I decided to go for a walk through the woods and pastures. The hot sun was showing off its power for the last days of summer but as soon as we ducked into the woods under the canopy of trees, the heat broke and the cool Maine air gave us hope of fall coming soon enough.
I love the woods.
I felt like Lucy stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia—welcomed by a whole world of sights and sounds just beyond us as we live our lives among cities and highways. How can the woods be so quiet even as they bubble over with the sound of bird’s song, crickets, streams, and the rustle of leaves? How can they smell so good? The sod mingles with the moss, wild flowers, and evergreens filling the air with a sweet, earthy aroma. The light filters through the leaves and everything feels soft and hushed, calm and quiet.
It makes me happy :]
We walked the muddy path hopping around to avoid puddles, crossed the broken little bridge over the stream, balanced along a fallen tree, and popped out of the woods into the open pasture drenched in sunshine. I told my sister-in-law that between the shadowy woods and pasture covered in wild flowers, I felt like we were in Twilight together…only we’re not vampires and we’re not in love…because that would be weird.
We all trekked across the pasture together through the knee-high prairie grass and milk weed. The boys took off in search of blueberries. The sun was hot and I didn’t feel like trekking anymore. Maya and I sat in the grass talking.
I sat there thinking that I would probably remember this simple moment forever.
It was just an ordinary day. Just a walk in the woods. But it was all so magical. The blue mountain peaks sticking up behind the trees. The smell of evergreens. The grass up over our heads as we sat talking. The yellow wild flowers drenched in the yellow sunshine as far as we could see.
It was ordinary and extraordinary all at once.
Maya and I noticed we had settled right next to a big fat yellow and black garden spider and we were very pleased with our bravery for sitting there beside him, letting him listen in on our conversation, without panicking or running for our lives…that’s what I usually do around spiders…panic. kill. run for life.
The boys came back without any berries and I was a little sad they didn’t take longer; I was enjoying that moment…sitting in the grass over my head, talking with Maya and taking in the magic of the wild Maine mountain side.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said to “Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea, drink the wild air.” I think he was on to something, that Emerson.
{Darren is always getting into trouble with the littles…I love him for that}
{The End}
You named me what?
It’s not a big secret; just a little baby one. Huddle up. My name isn’t really Kari. I mean, it is Kari, but it’s really Carrie. I changed the spelling when I was 13 for no reason at all. It’s not my fault though. My dad started things off right by spelling it Carry on my birth certificate. Carry is a verb not a name, in case we aren’t clear on that. It’s fine though. One daughter out of six children and you make her a verb—no biggie. High five for the effort there dad.
My dad (who believes himself never to be wrong) claims he spelled it Carry on purpose so he could tell ask me to carry things for him. Good one, dad. I heard that joke about every two minutes growing up— “Carrie will you carry this” hardee, har, har. Of course my dad will deny all of this. I can hear him now– “I never said that!” Sure dad. I just hallucinated all the way through my childhood, that’s it.
Actually, when I heard “Carrie will you carry this” is the only time I ever heard myself called Carrie because my dad always just called me “girl.” I guess when you’re the only female running around it works but I still have a complex about it. My mom and my brothers just called me “sis” and still do. The boys (my brothers) were just “the boys”…although none of them were ever verbs. To level the playing field I would like to announce all their real names: Robert, William, Michael, Bradford, and Christopher. Shall we do middle names too? Yes, I think so: Robert Lee (the 2nd, mind you), William Eugene, Michael Harold, Bradford Neal, and Christopher Thomas. Bam. It’s on the internet. That’s what “the boys” get for not reading this—no say whatsoever when their full names are revealed on the ol internet. Wahahahaha <———————– Laugh of power and conniving. It’s okay, none of their real names are even that bad so we can all move on.
You mess with me, I mess with you
Changing the spelling of my name was fun until it was confusing. When I went to college, I had to list my legal name on everything but then when I turned in exams and such I would spell it the super awesome way with a K. Some of my teachers seriously started to question whether I even knew how to spell my name.
After college came work and marriage and the confusion continued. Everything legal has to have it spelled with a C. This always goes down the same way: I’m at the bank, new job, wherever filling out paperwork. I sign my name first with a K and then realize it doesn’t match my license and such and won’t fly. So I, blushing, try to explain that, oh actually, I spelled my name wrong on that…I’ll just ex that out and try again. This is of course not the best way to open a bank account or start a new job. The people at the bank always look at me like I’m a criminal trying to steal someone’s identity.
After I got married and changed my last time, I tried to legally change the spelling of my first name to end the confusion once and for all. They wouldn’t let me do it. Can you believe that? Geez. It’s my name isn’t it. Well, at least that’s what I told my parents in junior high when refusing to spell it the “right way” as they call it.
Oh, and to rub it in that I spell my name the “wrong way” my parents started spelling everything the wrong way. My dad spells daddy “dadi.” Are you kidding me? My parents have always called me Ladybug. I have no idea why. You would think if you had a nickname your whole life you would remember some story or reason as to why. Nope. No idea. Anyway, now my parents spell it Ladibug. Funny aren’t they? It wasn’t that bad until I started blogging and my mother decided to go ahead and call me Ladibug in all of her comments. Oh good, she’s using my childhood nickname…spelled wrong 8/
It’s okay. I get my vengeance by telling stories about them on the internet. Who knows what I’ll decide to talk about next. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it though…it’s just your whole life spelled out on the World Wide Web :]
Call me Ladybug one more time…
Today we went to the air show at Westover AFB. Here are a few pictures of our day:
Rocking uncle Darren’s glasses :]
My cutie pie nephews
We build parts for this helicopter at work. It’s cool seeing the final product all those hours go into.
People were crowded under the plane wings to escape the sun. I laughed at them for a while and then decided they were on to something :]
Caleb likes making faces and seeing his reflection in uncle Darren’s glasses…and well, just terrorizing uncle Darren in general :]
I really love this guy…and all the faces he makes for me and my camera 8]
Ethan just gave up on life. I don’t blame him, it really was so ridiculously hot.
Ethan with Maya (mom, his mom I mean, not my mom…never mind)
You know how the sun hates me? This is what it did to me today:
I give up.
Have a nice weekend, kids :]
Sometimes I want to go home.
I want to chase the sunset on its way to the west.
I want to take in the vast, sweeping Plains rolling flat for miles into the horizon.
I want to lie in the tall, stiff prairie grass and tromp through the corn fields prickly and magical as they are.
I want to feel the heat and humidity on my skin. I want to feel the dirt between my toes.
I want to hear the thunder rumble, feel the wind blow threatening and uncertain.
I talked to my little brother on the phone the other day. I asked him if he wanted to come for dinner. He asked what I was making. We talked like he would bring the bread for my butter. He is 1,000 miles away—or a million—it makes no difference, the distance is all the same.
Sometimes I want to go home.
I want to stop by my parent’s house on the way home from work just to say hi and I love you.
I want to meet my best friend in a coffee shop and talk over each other loud and fast like we always do.
I want to chase my nephews and kiss my nieces.
I want to fight with my brothers and shop with my sister-in-laws.
I want to gather around the table for Sunday dinner.
I left after college as fast as I could get away. I always knew what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be: Anywhere but there.
I ran fast and hard—and I got away.
I didn’t know then, when I was 22, how hard it would be to go back, how far I was from home.
I didn’t know when I was 22 how quickly life would change, how fast the babies would grow.
I didn’t know when I was 22 that I would ever want to hug my brothers, my stupid annoying brothers.
I didn’t know when I was 22 that the flat boring Plains were quietly magical, that home is a magic all its own.
I didn’t know until I was too far away, that distance could hurt so much. I didn’t know the place you call home is a part of your soul, woven into your very being.
I didn’t know when I was 22 that I would ever want to go home.
Outside Air 