Once upon a time...

...there was a boy named Nathan.

Who met a girl named Emaline.

They were in the same FHE group. After some eyebrow raising and face-making at each other from a safe distance, they finally started talking to each other. They discovered right away their mutual love of Nacho Libre, puns, the Lord, ice cream, and finally--each other.

They got married.

And some might say, that they lived happily ever after.
But that's not always quite accurate.
Sometimes it's happily, sometimes it's not so happily. Sometimes it's beyond happily and sometimes it's anything but happily.
I like to think that they lived togetherly ever after.
Hand in hand.
Step by step.
Because that's what marriage is: tag teaming life with your best friend.

Guys.

My heart belongs with the Dutch artists during the seventeenth century.

Truly.

"I'm happy as a duck in the world's biggest pond with you." --Nathan, to me

October

It's that time of year again, folks: October.

This is my favorite month. The fact that it coincides with my birthday only plays a minimal part, I promise.

October is full of apples and pumpkins and all sorts of yummy squashes.
The leaves change color, and the world is bathed in a splendor of browns, reds, yellows, oranges, and purples.
Fall fashion is simply wonderful and classy.
All sorts of recipes emerge that are made with pumpkin! Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread...there's just so much, and I want to make it all.
The weather: it's moderate, and there's this smell in the air that lets you breathe in autumn.
Sometimes people remember me, because my birthday happens mid-month. That's always nice!

So that's why.

Nephews

I'm an Auntie Em! And I love it.

Why?

Their names: Oliver and Lyall. Charming, old-fashioned, and quaint. Just so perfect.
Because babies are cute and chubby, and I love it when they make concerned faces full of curiosity.
I get to snuggle with them, hold them when they cry, and they sometimes fall asleep in my arms. That last part is my absolute favorite.
I get to make funny faces at them, and they just stare at me in a nonjugdmental way.
And the best part: I get to spend time with them, and at the end of the day, their parents take them home. I love babies, but goodness they are exhausting. I think for now I'm content with taking them in small doses.

When I was a little girl...

I watched Little Women and dreamt of naming my future daughter Josephine. "Oh! what a lovely name," I would think to myself.

I wanted to be a cashier. As I put away the groceries at home, I would pretend to ring up each item.

I couldn't wait to grow up. I wanted to wear make-up, shave my legs, wear high heels and long fancy dresses to parties where we would poke our little pinkies out while we drank tea and ate little cookies. As I sat in Sunday school, I would pull out a little mirror and apply my plastic tube of lipstick.

I thought the noblest thing was to be a fireman.

I wanted to be a horse trainer. I dreamed of horses day in and day out. I read about them, I collected the figurines. I yearned for the day I would own a Bashkir Curly or a Lipizzaner.

I read The Land by Mildred Taylor and cried. A half-black child was whipped, and the whole situation was so unjust, it really affected me.

I was obsessed with "go-together" outfits and being independent. In many ways, that last part has not changed at all.

I was constantly living in a world that was not my own. I wanted to play restaurant and be the waitress. I played "house" with my sisters and declared myself as the mom, the person in charge who got to boss everyone else around. I played with my dolls and Barbies, creating another world full of homemaking that I would submerse myself into. I read books and longed to go back in time.

My hero was Harriet Tubman.

And the best part about it all? My mother indulged me.

When I wanted to play restaurant, she would tell me what was on the menu for dinner or lunch that day and send me into the dining room with my note-pad and pencil to take orders. (Once, after serving my father and brothers lunch, my dad tipped me with a stack of quarters, and I was elated.) When I wanted to be a dog, she would place a bowl with water on the ground and let me enjoy my world of make-believe. When I wanted to plan a party, whether it was a birthday party or an end-of-school party, she let me. When I stubbornly refused to let my mother pick out my outfits or do my hair, she shrugged her shoulders (albeit after many attempts to convince me otherwise) and let me be. When I wanted to play dress-up, she gave me access to her high heels. When I wanted to curl my hair, she would tie my hair up in rags the night before, untie them in the morning, then arrange the mess of curls in a neat manner. She encouraged my love of books and contemplation. She watched Little Women and Pride and Prejudice with me, and we bonded.
She loved me throughout all my stubbornness, awkwardness, crazy plans, independence, and even those inexplicable teenage years, and she's never stopped.

"Oh the comfort ... The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with another person. Having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together. Certain that a faithful hand will take and sift; keep what is worth keeping and, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away."


A line of poetry as quoted to me by my mother. 

I absolutely love it.