Life is Funny

I walk along the coast, son at my side gathering rocks, shells, and feathers into a bucket. We weave in and out of the shallow waves, toes sinking in the sand. He stays close by my side, enjoying the water but not quite trusting it either.

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20150817_173054.jpegThis is how he will remember childhood–summer days at the lake or beside the ocean. The salty, tangy smell of water will remind and take him back to the sand and waves where he adventured from the time he could first walk.

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img_20160821_221843.jpgHow strange it seems that what will someday call my son to remember and reminisce remains a novelty to me. My childhood was red barns and cornfields, gravel roads and barn kittens. Though I love New England, My heart belongs to the Midwest prairie–and yet that is a place my son will barely know.

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img_20150830_100621.jpgThe Midwest will be a place he goes every once and a while to visit grandparents and family. He will hear me talk about it and perhaps he will always say “ya” like his Midwest momma–but it will probably never be a place he really knows or loves.

Life is a funny thing–the way it twists and turns and you never quite know for sure where you’ll end up. Every time I ride the train into Boston or watch the sun set over the water, I wonder how I got here. When we ride our bikes into the heart of our quaint New England town–past maple trees and shimmering lake, colonial homes and old, old, old cemeteries–I am struck by the foreign strangeness of it all.

DSC_0251And yet this place is becoming familiar too. After nearly nine years, Massachusetts is as much home to me as Missouri ever was. I’ve come to love the cities and beaches, the summers spent camping in Vermont or eating at all our favorite burger stands. I anticipate the gorgeous falls wading through colorful leaves, sipping apple cider, and chasing the sun through the last days of warmth before we descend into these unforgivable winters.

DSC_0530DSC_0527This is where my son was born, where I brought him home brand new and where I’ve learned to be his mother. This is where I’ve grown in love for my husband over the years–where we’ve gotten to know each other and learned to live life side by side through all the good and bad. This is where I’ve grown as a woman–from the girl I was when I moved here at 22, fresh out of college and newlywed.

This place has changed me, grown me, become a part of me. New England lives in my heart now. And though I’m still surprised every single summer to find myself standing beside the ocean, how thankful I am for all the unpredictable places life takes us and for the beautiful adventure this life in New England is.

 

Stop the Presses

Big news in the world of fried chicken everybody: Chick-Fil-A has come to town. That’s right, you heard me, Chick-Fil-A and all its glorious golden fried chickeness has landed just minutes from me and my life is finally, officially, complete. There are exactly two Chick-Fil-A’s in the great state of Massachusetts {which is clearly an atrocity} and one of them, as of today, is near me…be still my soul.

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Also, there are fries…crisp heavenly little bites of all that is good in the world.

And there is sweet tea. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a proper cup of sweet tea in New England? Hard my friends.

And there are biscuits. Biscuits! Flaky, buttery biscuits drizzled with honey…I can’t even take it…my mind is blown.

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The baby is pretty exited too. Actually, he won’t stop talking about this glorious manna with which he is now being fed and has humbly asked that I please feed him fried chicken every day; I wanting to be a good mother see no other way forward. I like Martin Luther must plant my feet and say, “Here I stand; I can do no other.” I’m almost certain Martin Luther liked sweet tea and fried chicken. It just makes sense, you know?