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Saturday, December 17, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Industrious
Names are a funny thing, really. They're really just a label, a title, a way to differentiate ourselves from others. Growing up, my mother told me that when I was born, "Emily" wasn't a very common name, and that their second choice for me was "Sarah." Well apparently a bunch of other people thought it was a good idea too, because when we moved to Bluffton there were two other girls my age named Emily, one of which shared the same birthday too!
When I was little, I was given an embroidered bookmark with my name at the top, and below, the meaning of my name: "Industrious." I remember asking my mom what that meant, amazed that my name could have any sort of meaning at all. After she explained it to me, I remember thinking about it, wondering if it was an accurate description, and if it wasn't, whether or not I should have been named Sarah after all.
Now thirty-one, and in my adult life, I'm realizing more and more how accurate that little bookmark was. The definition of Industrious, "Hardworking, persistent, diligent; working energetically and devotedly," is quite fitting. My closest friends know that I am a "List" person: I love writing lists just so that I can enjoy the satisfaction of crossing things off as I accomplish them. Most of my lists involve various projects I hope to finish around the house. In Nate's absence, I'm finding that the list seems much longer than normal, and growing, since I'm hoping to get more projects done before he gets home. But in the spirit of being industrious, I am checking things off it.
In all reality, I think I'm just adding to my "to do" list to keep myself busy, hoping to help the time pass by more quickly. Being alone has forced me to do everything on my own (I mean, if I don't do it, who will?): I've replaced the toilet seat, painted the doors on the house, scraped and re-painted the porch swing, landscaped, replaced windows, put together a toddler bed, installed mini-blinds, curtain tie-backs, an air conditioner, and mounted a towel hook, among other things. It's not that I couldn't normally accomplish these tasks, but at least if Nate were home, he would be the one to do them. But since he's gone, I have no other choice but to "just do it."
Soon Nate will hopefully be able to come home after almost nine months of being away. It's been a learning experience for me, one that has made me realize just how much I can handle, how much I can accomplish on my own. I doubt my name has anything to do with it, but who I am as a person does. Has my name pre-destined me to be someone who is a relentless list maker and project do-er? I'm not sure, but I do know that nine months of taking out the trash is over-rated, and I'm more than happy to give that one up again, sooner rather than later.
When I was little, I was given an embroidered bookmark with my name at the top, and below, the meaning of my name: "Industrious." I remember asking my mom what that meant, amazed that my name could have any sort of meaning at all. After she explained it to me, I remember thinking about it, wondering if it was an accurate description, and if it wasn't, whether or not I should have been named Sarah after all.
Now thirty-one, and in my adult life, I'm realizing more and more how accurate that little bookmark was. The definition of Industrious, "Hardworking, persistent, diligent; working energetically and devotedly," is quite fitting. My closest friends know that I am a "List" person: I love writing lists just so that I can enjoy the satisfaction of crossing things off as I accomplish them. Most of my lists involve various projects I hope to finish around the house. In Nate's absence, I'm finding that the list seems much longer than normal, and growing, since I'm hoping to get more projects done before he gets home. But in the spirit of being industrious, I am checking things off it.
In all reality, I think I'm just adding to my "to do" list to keep myself busy, hoping to help the time pass by more quickly. Being alone has forced me to do everything on my own (I mean, if I don't do it, who will?): I've replaced the toilet seat, painted the doors on the house, scraped and re-painted the porch swing, landscaped, replaced windows, put together a toddler bed, installed mini-blinds, curtain tie-backs, an air conditioner, and mounted a towel hook, among other things. It's not that I couldn't normally accomplish these tasks, but at least if Nate were home, he would be the one to do them. But since he's gone, I have no other choice but to "just do it."
Soon Nate will hopefully be able to come home after almost nine months of being away. It's been a learning experience for me, one that has made me realize just how much I can handle, how much I can accomplish on my own. I doubt my name has anything to do with it, but who I am as a person does. Has my name pre-destined me to be someone who is a relentless list maker and project do-er? I'm not sure, but I do know that nine months of taking out the trash is over-rated, and I'm more than happy to give that one up again, sooner rather than later.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Lost and Found
It's truly amazing how many people we come in contact with in our lives, the memories we share with them, and the ability to utilize today's technology to find those people we've lost touch with over the years. All I know, is that even five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to find people like I can today.
Most people who know me are aware of the fact that I grew up in Papua New Guinea as a small child. My father, a Lutheran minister, decided to become a missionary there in 1984, moving us to the other side of the world to experience a truly amazing kind of life. For our first few years there, my brother and I were home-schooled, then later attended Katherine Lehman School (aka K.L.S.) which was a boarding school that sadly closed five years after we left PNG. Having moved there when I was only four years old, I spent much of my childhood there, moving back to Ohio when I was about nine. I soon lost touch with my friends there, since many of them who were M.K.'s themselves, moved back to their home countries as well. I often thought of them, wondering where they were in the world, and wishing I could find them.
Twenty-two years have now passed by in the blind of an eye, and now thanks to modern technology, I've been able to find some of them through Facebook and networking sites. It's incredible how fast time can pass by and before you know it, you're all grown up with families, jobs, and vastly different life experiences. My memories are so vivid in my mind, and I can clearly remember my life back then. It seems like only yesterday that I was running barefoot, speaking Pigin, and being only one of two American kids at a boarding school on the other side of the world. Although the blonde haired little girl running barefoot and chewing buai has faded into a distant memory, finding these long lost friends has reminded me of her again, making me realize that our younger selves are always a part of us. Sometimes, that's a great thing to be reminded of.
Most people who know me are aware of the fact that I grew up in Papua New Guinea as a small child. My father, a Lutheran minister, decided to become a missionary there in 1984, moving us to the other side of the world to experience a truly amazing kind of life. For our first few years there, my brother and I were home-schooled, then later attended Katherine Lehman School (aka K.L.S.) which was a boarding school that sadly closed five years after we left PNG. Having moved there when I was only four years old, I spent much of my childhood there, moving back to Ohio when I was about nine. I soon lost touch with my friends there, since many of them who were M.K.'s themselves, moved back to their home countries as well. I often thought of them, wondering where they were in the world, and wishing I could find them.
Twenty-two years have now passed by in the blind of an eye, and now thanks to modern technology, I've been able to find some of them through Facebook and networking sites. It's incredible how fast time can pass by and before you know it, you're all grown up with families, jobs, and vastly different life experiences. My memories are so vivid in my mind, and I can clearly remember my life back then. It seems like only yesterday that I was running barefoot, speaking Pigin, and being only one of two American kids at a boarding school on the other side of the world. Although the blonde haired little girl running barefoot and chewing buai has faded into a distant memory, finding these long lost friends has reminded me of her again, making me realize that our younger selves are always a part of us. Sometimes, that's a great thing to be reminded of.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
A Light In the Darkness
It's funny how kids develop preferences for things as they grow up. Ice or no ice, crust on toast or no crust, diapers or pull-ups. Avery, now three, seems to have acquired several of these, one being that of having (or not having) a night light. I personally wasn't one to require one growing up, although that soft yellow glow was certainly comforting.
Avery can't seem to decide whether she likes it or not, so our daily bedtime routine involves the debate over whether or not to plug it in, and often results in her unplugging it and setting it on the windowsill. Eventually once all the other lights are off, she ends up plugging it back in anyway, apparently deciding that the comforting glow of the night light is far better than the darkness of night. Ainsley on the other hand hasn't seemed to need it at all and tends to sleep much better without one.
As an adult I've found that I have two night lights of my own, one being Avery, the other Ainsley. I love my girls. They are the brightest, funniest, most charming little souls I've ever known. Regardless of the whining, tantrums, and tears, they are still the lights of my life. In the darkest of times they shine brightly, warming my heart and comforting me when I feel lonely or tired. Much like a night light, they allow me to be reminded of all that is good and forget the darkness. I look forward to Nate's return home so he can see how much they've grown and changed, no longer babies, but little girls with huge personalities, and an endless supply of love and infectious laughter, shining brightly in our lives. No matter what darkness may come, I'm no longer afraid of the dark.
Avery can't seem to decide whether she likes it or not, so our daily bedtime routine involves the debate over whether or not to plug it in, and often results in her unplugging it and setting it on the windowsill. Eventually once all the other lights are off, she ends up plugging it back in anyway, apparently deciding that the comforting glow of the night light is far better than the darkness of night. Ainsley on the other hand hasn't seemed to need it at all and tends to sleep much better without one.
As an adult I've found that I have two night lights of my own, one being Avery, the other Ainsley. I love my girls. They are the brightest, funniest, most charming little souls I've ever known. Regardless of the whining, tantrums, and tears, they are still the lights of my life. In the darkest of times they shine brightly, warming my heart and comforting me when I feel lonely or tired. Much like a night light, they allow me to be reminded of all that is good and forget the darkness. I look forward to Nate's return home so he can see how much they've grown and changed, no longer babies, but little girls with huge personalities, and an endless supply of love and infectious laughter, shining brightly in our lives. No matter what darkness may come, I'm no longer afraid of the dark.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Blues
Blue is one of my favorite colors and always has been. It was also my grandmother Evelyn's favorite color as well. In fact, whenever I think of her, I always remember all of the various things she owned that were blue: a sofa, an old apron, a Sunday dress, even her carpet in her house was a pale powder blue shade that was soothing, comforting, familiar.
Blue is a color that has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was a child growing up in Papua New Guinea, I experienced the blue ocean of the pacific. As a teenager I owned a pale blue Toyota Celica, and later on, discovered that "blue" was a part of me as a person, in the form of depression. I've never really been able to escape the hold that blue has had on my life and circumstances. This time of the year is by far the worst for me, as my inner self experiences the annual "winter blues" as they're called.
Winter, by it's very definition is just that: cold, blue, and empty, void of any warmth. I noticed it today vividly, as I stood outside in the cold, attempting to appreciate the beauty of the snow and realizing I was distracted by how blue it looked. It literally seemed as though there were no place where the sky began, and the snow ended. After I stared at it for a few moments, I felt as though my eyes were being seared by the intensity of the electric blue reflection of the sky upon the snow. I was suddenly chilled beyond words, and felt the need to run inside to the yellow glow of my house, to the warmth that I would find inside.
Depression unfortunately, isn't always seasonal. For some of us it's a cold, empty feeling that is ever present, no matter what time of year. It's feeling alone in a room full of people, cold when you're near the warmest fire, and neglected when you're loved the most, going backwards when you're heading forward. As a young child I used to love winter, but nowadays I've come to despise it and the way it makes me feel. It's as though blue doesn't want me to forget about it's part in my life and portion of my being. Winter is it's chance to remind me of it's place in my life, and it's hold over me.
Despite my feelings this time of year, I've come to realize that blue, both in color and feeling, are a part of me, a part of my life. Without it, would I still be myself? If blue had never been a part of me, I would have never moved home from college and met my handsome blue-eyed husband, or given birth to my two beautiful blue-eyed little girls. This winter is especially hard in Nate's absence and I'm finding it hard to choke my way through the icy blue tears that fall when I think of all of the things he is missing: first steps, first words, bedtime stories, and budding dreams of little girls who are missing their father.
At the end of the day, despite my desire to run to the yellow warmth of my house, I find that I both love and hate the blue in my life and realize that it's never leaving, that it will always be a part of me. It's everywhere I look these days. It's in the deep navy hue of my husband's uniform, our pale blue living room walls, the crisp winter sky, and the sparking winter snow at dusk. Being able to feel the blueness has helped me appreciate the warmth, the goodness in my life. It's when I look into the blue eyes of my daughters, that I am able to see the good that blue has brought me and that with all the pain and tears, it has truly given me something wonderful...after all, it IS my favorite color.
Blue is a color that has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was a child growing up in Papua New Guinea, I experienced the blue ocean of the pacific. As a teenager I owned a pale blue Toyota Celica, and later on, discovered that "blue" was a part of me as a person, in the form of depression. I've never really been able to escape the hold that blue has had on my life and circumstances. This time of the year is by far the worst for me, as my inner self experiences the annual "winter blues" as they're called.
Winter, by it's very definition is just that: cold, blue, and empty, void of any warmth. I noticed it today vividly, as I stood outside in the cold, attempting to appreciate the beauty of the snow and realizing I was distracted by how blue it looked. It literally seemed as though there were no place where the sky began, and the snow ended. After I stared at it for a few moments, I felt as though my eyes were being seared by the intensity of the electric blue reflection of the sky upon the snow. I was suddenly chilled beyond words, and felt the need to run inside to the yellow glow of my house, to the warmth that I would find inside.
Depression unfortunately, isn't always seasonal. For some of us it's a cold, empty feeling that is ever present, no matter what time of year. It's feeling alone in a room full of people, cold when you're near the warmest fire, and neglected when you're loved the most, going backwards when you're heading forward. As a young child I used to love winter, but nowadays I've come to despise it and the way it makes me feel. It's as though blue doesn't want me to forget about it's part in my life and portion of my being. Winter is it's chance to remind me of it's place in my life, and it's hold over me.
Despite my feelings this time of year, I've come to realize that blue, both in color and feeling, are a part of me, a part of my life. Without it, would I still be myself? If blue had never been a part of me, I would have never moved home from college and met my handsome blue-eyed husband, or given birth to my two beautiful blue-eyed little girls. This winter is especially hard in Nate's absence and I'm finding it hard to choke my way through the icy blue tears that fall when I think of all of the things he is missing: first steps, first words, bedtime stories, and budding dreams of little girls who are missing their father.
At the end of the day, despite my desire to run to the yellow warmth of my house, I find that I both love and hate the blue in my life and realize that it's never leaving, that it will always be a part of me. It's everywhere I look these days. It's in the deep navy hue of my husband's uniform, our pale blue living room walls, the crisp winter sky, and the sparking winter snow at dusk. Being able to feel the blueness has helped me appreciate the warmth, the goodness in my life. It's when I look into the blue eyes of my daughters, that I am able to see the good that blue has brought me and that with all the pain and tears, it has truly given me something wonderful...after all, it IS my favorite color.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
A New Year...
The New Year has arrived and like all the previous new years before it, I find myself reflecting on the past while looking forward to the future, the year ahead. This new year ahead promises to be full of change and most of all, a fresh start.
I guess that's what we all love about a new year; it's a fresh start, a chance to make changes and improvements in ourselves and our lives...a "do-over" of sorts. I always have a hard time trying to decide on a new year's resolution, especially since it seems as though there are numerous things I have to improve on, or change about myself. The thing is, why should we pick only one? Shouldn't we choose to fix the multiple things about ourselves that we don't like, or should do differently?
This new year is almost the half-way point of Nate's deployment, as his estimated return is sometime in July. As much as the past few months have flown by, I find myself exhausted at the fact that I have another 6 months of single parenthood ahead of me filled with all of my responsibilities. Somehow, the thought of taking on a new year's resolution is quite overwhelming.
At the end of each year, news channels recap the events of the past twelve months, highlighting the trials and tribulations of the world, the triumphs and the disasters that have affected and influenced our history. I too have had the chance to reflect on not only the past year, but the past 7 years I've known my husband, and the course of our relationship, our marriage, and the growth of our family. As the end of this past year faded behind me, and the start of the new year neared, I realized all of the things I wish I had done differently and the various aspect of myself and my life that I want to make changes to, mostly myself. It's amazing how much time you have to think about things, when you're the only adult in the house (aside from watching endless hours of nick jr. with your kids). I found that without my husband to bicker with, or talk to, that I talk to myself, or find myself thinking out loud, as if to drown out the silence and loneliness.
Being alone has made me realize how much I despise it. Sayings such as "absence makes the heart grow fonder" or "you never know what you have 'till it's gone" seem to resound in my mind and hit home, not because it's so common, but because it's true.
Nate's absence has been devastatingly lonely and sometimes even sad, but also good. It's forced me to realize more about myself than I'd care to quite frankly. I realize that I wasn't the best wife, friend or confidant that he deserved, that I wasn't often enough as kind or loving as I should have been. I've had time to look at myself and who I am, and how the things I want to change have nothing to do with weight loss, or bad habits, but more with my own self and the person I want to be.
And so, my resolution(s) this year are multiple: I want to be a better wife, mother, friend and overall person. Because in truth, I AM that person underneath it all, I just lot myself along the way, and finally found myself again. In his absence, I've found that I AM independent, strong, capable, intelligent, loving, and wise. With this new year ahead of me, I know that I have the next six months to work on myself and my life, and hopefully welcome Nate home to the home he knows, and the wife and mother he loves....and I can't wait.
I guess that's what we all love about a new year; it's a fresh start, a chance to make changes and improvements in ourselves and our lives...a "do-over" of sorts. I always have a hard time trying to decide on a new year's resolution, especially since it seems as though there are numerous things I have to improve on, or change about myself. The thing is, why should we pick only one? Shouldn't we choose to fix the multiple things about ourselves that we don't like, or should do differently?
This new year is almost the half-way point of Nate's deployment, as his estimated return is sometime in July. As much as the past few months have flown by, I find myself exhausted at the fact that I have another 6 months of single parenthood ahead of me filled with all of my responsibilities. Somehow, the thought of taking on a new year's resolution is quite overwhelming.
At the end of each year, news channels recap the events of the past twelve months, highlighting the trials and tribulations of the world, the triumphs and the disasters that have affected and influenced our history. I too have had the chance to reflect on not only the past year, but the past 7 years I've known my husband, and the course of our relationship, our marriage, and the growth of our family. As the end of this past year faded behind me, and the start of the new year neared, I realized all of the things I wish I had done differently and the various aspect of myself and my life that I want to make changes to, mostly myself. It's amazing how much time you have to think about things, when you're the only adult in the house (aside from watching endless hours of nick jr. with your kids). I found that without my husband to bicker with, or talk to, that I talk to myself, or find myself thinking out loud, as if to drown out the silence and loneliness.
Being alone has made me realize how much I despise it. Sayings such as "absence makes the heart grow fonder" or "you never know what you have 'till it's gone" seem to resound in my mind and hit home, not because it's so common, but because it's true.
Nate's absence has been devastatingly lonely and sometimes even sad, but also good. It's forced me to realize more about myself than I'd care to quite frankly. I realize that I wasn't the best wife, friend or confidant that he deserved, that I wasn't often enough as kind or loving as I should have been. I've had time to look at myself and who I am, and how the things I want to change have nothing to do with weight loss, or bad habits, but more with my own self and the person I want to be.
And so, my resolution(s) this year are multiple: I want to be a better wife, mother, friend and overall person. Because in truth, I AM that person underneath it all, I just lot myself along the way, and finally found myself again. In his absence, I've found that I AM independent, strong, capable, intelligent, loving, and wise. With this new year ahead of me, I know that I have the next six months to work on myself and my life, and hopefully welcome Nate home to the home he knows, and the wife and mother he loves....and I can't wait.
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