Hurricane 2013: Mickey, 13.1 Miles & the Flu

The last two months have (insert cliche about time flying here). In a Rip Van Winkle kinda way, I feel as though I took a quick nap mid-January and woke up browsing for Easter baskets. If only I felt as if I'd gotten that much sleep...

Instead, we've been either in "fast forward" or "full stop" mode all year long. SO much has happened!

The survivor in the top left was my coach!

On January 12th, Bradley and I joined Greenville's Team in Training to run the Walt Disney World Half Marathon. Yes, that's right! We raised a total of $2500 to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society;  it was an unspeakably empowering, surprisingly fun and absolutely enjoyable experience - start to finish.

I worried so much about the 2:30am wake-up call that I couldn't sleep past 1:00!

For a couch potato, nap-loving supporter of the Great Indoors, running 13.1 miles at the crack of dawn and living to tell the tale was enough of an accomplishment for all of 2013. I should start writing "run a half marathon" at the top of each day's to do list, just so I can cross one big, fat item off without breaking a sweat.

B and I in our corral, just minutes before he left me in the dust.

After the trauma and craziness of 2012, I needed to channel my energy into something positive, something outside myself. In August I began training with TNT, and despite an injury in December, I was able to cross the finish line upright and proud.

Cue tears.

The support of onlookers and other runners meant so much during those long miles, especially the miles eight through ten, which felt interminable!

And more tears.

Wearing my purple Team in Training jersey got me a lot of attention - coaches, participants, supporters and survivors from across the country called out, cheered, gave high fives and even ran alongside me for a time. It was invigorating and just what I needed to get me to the finish line.

So ready to be done!

I ran the last half-mile of the race listening to Mary Brooks' laugh over and over again. My feet hurt, my ankle was killing me, and I was ready for a plate full o' carbs. Her angelic little giggle, though, saw me through.

She taught me a lot about what it means to fight, and I was proud to feel like I'd made a difference in cancer patients' lives (through our fundraising) as so many people poured into our family last year. 

B and I walked off the effects of our (very early) morning "jog" by spending the next day and a half in WDW's parks. It was a refreshing little break from our everyday lives, and a very welcome one.

I was achy and tired on the way home, but after 13.1 miles, another 15 or so over two days in the parks, and an eight-hour car ride, it was to be expected.

Not 24 hours after we made it home, though, I started feeling much, much worse. The achiness grew into a full body hurt; I felt like I'd been on the losing end of a bar fight with a raging cold, to boot. I woke up the next morning and dragged my unhappy derriere to the doctor, The diagnosis: flu.

Both babies had gotten the flu vaccine, thank goodness, but we sent them to their grandparents' nonetheless. After a weekend in Orlando and the most contagious days of the flu quarantined, I spent three hours in direct contact with my children over the course of eight days; it was wretched.

After a full week of bedrest, I felt human enough to venture out into the world and, a day or so later, to have Mac and Mary Brooks come back home. It was a joy to see their sweet faces, change little diapers, fill hungry mouths, and hear their noises in the house again.

The energy to shower, if not apply mascara, was something to celebrate.

Turns out "they" are quite serious about the importance of getting your flu vaccine, peeps. And the muscle soreness that typically follows a 13.1 mile stroll can mask the early achiness of flu symptoms. Who knew?

With any luck, this will be my first and only run in with the flu - there aren't enough words to describe the un-fun-ness of that experience.

Just as soon as I got rid of my feverish flu symptoms, it was time to plan Mary Brooks' birthday party at last. It was late January, and my "V Day is D Day" motto had finally come to life. No more time for denial...

I promise to catch up more soon, but this online scrapbook doesn't do me much good if I don't use it. Many of you may have caught up with me via Instagram, the Twitter of 2013, but I'm going to prove to myself that blogging is not an outdated mode of communication chez Smith. Promise.

Hope each of you are well and keeping up with the real world a bit better than I am! Go get that flu shot, y'all - it's worth your time, trust me.

xoxo

Starting Anew: A Long Time Coming

No more apologies or false starts: we're back. I'm back.

I wanted to say so much the last two months of 2012; I didn't stay away for lack of things to discuss. (You know that's never the case.) My fear was that my words made me a broken record. Hadn't I already said those things before, in some form or another?

I spent most of 2012 grieving and, worse yet, denying I was doing so. What's there to grieve when you're home and holding your baby again? Somehow I was doing both.

I grieved in tears, in sleepless nights, in visions and nightmares, in hives and panic attacks, in headaches and laughter that turned back into bawling. I grieved in silence and in exhaustion and in the midst of powerful, endless gratitude.

I grieved in months and months deleted by the wide-eyed, glazed over, "just shuffling my feet" kind of living recovery required. I grieved in conversations I'll never remember and days that went by without my noticing.

I grieved my expectations, what I thought our life would look like. What Mary Brooks' blissful baby days would be filled with, easy and sweet as they had started. How my life would continue as I'd always known it, focused on daily concerns and only occasional, manageable roadblocks.

I grieved my innocence. The 'floating through life' feeling I had for 30 years, coasting along on a whim.

I grieved the pulling back of some unknown veil, showing me what the depths of hurt looked and felt like. And how the world was filled with more of it than I'd ever realized, busy as I was with my floating.

I was an unwilling beekeeper, scrambling to pull that life-saving veil back down and keep everything out. I wanted to take the world in through that gauzy cheesecloth again, blissful in ignorance.

I had my dukes up most of the year, bracing for another impact. I felt the constant rush of adrenaline you get after a near-miss car accident; every tiny thing made me jump, left me wanting to crawl out of my skin.

I hadn't known unbridled pain like that existed, what I felt when I came face-first into my inability to protect Mary Brooks. My inability to run the world and care for everyone I love who lives in it.

I peered into a limitless well of hurt - and panicked. Once the immediate danger was over, I couldn't pinpoint the continuing source of my grief. Then it came to me: I had made it through "this," but knew that if there was anything worse out there in the universe, deep down in that well, I couldn't survive it. I wouldn't.

I thought I really might have died from the sheer awfulness, from the consuming ache. In the hospital it welled up and burned in my chest, leaving me tearless, wordless - scarred.

In the months afterward the pain came and went - when I thought I was out of the woods (and trumpeted the news widely), it swooped in to prove me wrong.

But I couldn't let myself say the words, let myself admit that, despite the joy I wanted to exude, there was a gaping puddle of sorrow.

I know now they can coexist, grief and thankfulness. And the more you admit you're hurting, the less it aches.

I'm sorry for not telling you. For being more concerned about sounding boring or self-absorbed than I was about being authentic. For not shepherding even one person who might come across these pages in a similarly difficult moment.

I feel tremendous relief in the starting of a new year, the rolling over of a calendar and a fresh era for our family. I feel it all rising.

The upside to losing six months of memories is that we'll celebrate a second "first" Easter, Mother's Day, Fourth of July, beach trip, start of the school year.

At the end of the summer Bradley left his job, the one that kept him from us more than 100 hours in his final week, and a weight was lifted immediately. (And another one added, but I'll get to that.)

I was able to fall asleep before 4:00 am for the first time in ages, to share the daily duties of running our life, to start forming memories that lasted more than an hour or two. We began the real, slow work of recovery then.

It might sound crazy, particularly to people who aren't believers, but we felt his decision was in obedience to what our family was being called to do. Who leaves a job with nothing else lined up, not knowing what's next? After trusting the Lord with the very life of our child, you'd imagine it'd be difficult to put up a fight on something as (seemingly) small as a job. And yet we did.

It took months of prayer and discussion and weary conversations (mostly dead-eyed stares over our dining room table, sleepless as we were) to make the leap. I'm so proud of him, the hard worker and constant provider, for making this big transition. For putting aside what makes sense to the rest of the world and setting a tremendous example of obedience and faith.

So here we are, five months later, and the future is unclear in that arena. Better hours will require a career shift of sorts, and we're praying about the details (tiny things like insurance, resumes, interviews, encouragement, provision) as we go. For a planner like me, it can be unnerving - but I'm making a moment by moment commitment to surrender.

My prayer is that the Lord tells a big, wonderful story through our family, just as He did last year, despite my temper tantrums doubts and without my help.

We have seen so much confirmation of our decision, and God has richly blessed us with gifts I can't begin to name. (Being able to string words together without crying, for instance, and growing my business in ways that both excite me and help our family.)

Bradley has been busy, though not in the way he first expected, with a side project that I look forward to sharing with you, too.

For now, just know I'm back. I can't wait to discuss what matters with you - and to discuss royal babies, Downton Abbey, and every other mindless diversion I've missed.

Thank you for keeping me busy on Instagram (heaven help the folks who don't enjoy seeing pictures of my kids), Twitter and in real life. For being patient and prayerful. For emailing and calling and texting. For wading through all this.

I feel a weight off and a light at the end of this tunnel. Welcome, 2013!

 

The Lord has done great things for us, 
and we are filled with joy.
-Psalms 126:3

Day 31: A Sweet Halloween

Tonight was our first Halloween as a family of four, and possibly the first holiday of Mary Brooks' that I can actually remember.

She was born on Valentine's Day, which was an absolute blur, but a delightful one. I can't recall a single thing (besides what I captured on this blog) about Easter, Mother's Day or the Fourth of July; they came on the heels of MB's surgery and the shock-induced amnesia that kicked off this spring and lasted 'til fall. It's the oddest thing.

I feel like I'm getting my wits back about me - as much as I ever had them, that is - and I enjoyed trick or treating with my favorite fireman and our baby dalmatian.

 

Our friends invited us to join them trick or treating, and we couldn't refuse a quiet street with great company and a host of other flashlight-wielding little people carrying jack-o-lantern buckets. Such fun!

Mac was high on life (no sugar required), whooping in the street and squealing, "Happy Halloween! Let's go!"

Upon ringing each doorbell, though, he became tremendously shy, barely managing a "thank you" after getting his candy. Once his little feet hit the curb again, he morphed back into our little extrovert, giddy as, well, a three-year-old on Halloween.

Macky struggled a bit with the bulky fireman boots, but his costume was recognized everywhere we went and the reflective stripes served a purpose beyond looking extra fireman-ly. I call that a win!

Bradley had the difficult duty of holding Mary Brooks, wearing the softest hoodie of all time, as we walked down the block. Not a bad gig.

I hope y'all had a fabulous evening, too! The pics of dressed up dogs and candy crazy kids have made my night on Facebook and Instagram. Keep 'em coming!

*This post is day 31 in my 31 Days of What Matters. And just like that - it's November.

Day 12: A Quick Squeeze

We're in Atlanta visiting our best friends and their darling one-year-old daughter; I'm also here to do a little work.

Bradley is playing Mr. Mom like none other. He's hands-down the best guy a girl could ask for, playing chauffeur, caterer, kid-wrangler and encourager. I'm so thankful for him, especially during this crazy week.

I didn't get to see Mac and MB too much yesterday, but I did get to give my best girl a big squeeze. I'm taking her with me this morning to get a little mama-and-me time; she's such an angel that she's better behaved than I am on chaotic days.

She smells like butter and coconut (courtesy of the fattening coconut oil mixed into her food these days) and lets you kiss her all day long. I can't find a reason not to carry her any and everywhere!

I mean, look at that face. Could you put her down?

*This post is day 12 in my 31 Days of What Matters.

GIFs Make Me Giggle: Part Deux

We've already established my affection for GIFs. Instead of spelling out how my life has been these last few radio silent weeks, I thought we'd try GIFfing it out.

(I just made that verb up to describe what you're about to see - go ahead and make note of it, as I'm sure GIFfing is the next big thing. Kinda like "fetch.")

This pup doesn't think "fetch" is gonna happen either, but I'm still holding out hope for GIF as a verb.

Yesterday I procrastinated so long on a "must do" item that I ran out of things to Google and blogs to read. I had writers' block and was in near-panic mode. After suddenly finding it 100% necessary to clean my bathroom counters intensely, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought:

While that line of thinking whipped the procrastination right out of me, I felt a little like:

 

"Tough love feels a lot like mean." - Brittany S. Pierce

Summer's over and somehow autumn has landed; I adore the cool weather!  It's given me no excuse not to run outside or have 100% commitment to my new diet, fueled by the end-cap displays in every drugstore on Earth:

I'm going to be Heidi Klum for Halloween at this (candy-eating) rate.

October brings with it another big holiday in the Smith household - Mac's third birthday! He's become a no-holds-barred, full-on boy in the last few months. He's every inch a three-year-old already.

No matter how he's dressed at the start of the day, you're bound to find him shirtless, pantless or both at any given moment. Post-potty redressing is a bear, evidently - and I've just surrendered to the nudity. I figure we'll cure him of it by kindergarten, surely.

Half the time I don't even ask where his clothes went - until someone calls me out on it via Instagram (eep!) or when guests come over. Then I'm all:

Along with the imagination, hilarity, affection, curiosity and silliness of this new age comes a fresh wave of independence and a few (dare I say it) tantrums. One minute he's professing his undying love for his mama and the next he's stomping in his "fireman boots" down the hall muttering about how wretched his life is.

When B is home and the meltdowns get really bad (as in, Mac would rather skip supper to continue crying), I have half a mind to bow out of parenting for the evening and let my even-keeled husband handle the drama. I have enough emotions of my own!

Sometimes I think Mac's a bit confused about who runs the show; it must be temporary amnesia. If only we'd listen to his infinite wisdom and never-wrong ways of thinking, his life would be a dream. He undoubtedly lies awake pondering how he can shape his parents up and get the rule-the-roost respect he deserves. Poor, adorable little Mac-face. 

 

Some of the antics are so ridiculous as to be downright laughable; it's all I can do to keep a straight face. Bradley, on the other, hand, is masterful. His poker face is remarkable, and he tends to nip Mac's less-stellar moments in the bud with a simple "really?!" look.


I need to get a "look" of my own, I suppose.

One thing I have been working on is keeping my calendar, and our life in general, as simple and uncluttered as possible. This means saying "no" a lot more than I am used to, but it's been relaxing to prioritize and focus my attention on my work, home, family and friends.

Wouldn't it be refreshing to have the openness just to say:

Ahh. Something to aspire to, right?

What have y'all been up to? Any fabulous GIFs I've missed, or am I the only gal who GIFs 'til her abs are sore from laughing?

The Friday before Five Years

Last July 21st I was newly pregnant and Bradley was, as usual, working up a summer storm on our actual anniversary.

Days later we toasted four years of marriage at the spot where we'd dined before he proposed; I clinked with a glass of sweet tea (caffeine!) because I'm wild like that.

This weekend will be even calmer than that, as there will be no kids to hurry back to at home; we're child-free. The house is empty, still and silent - it feels a bit like the Twilight Zone.

This morning I kissed my precious little people goodbye for two days. It was especially tough to see Mary Brooks leave for her first weekend away.

Mac hurls himself at my parents' car the moment they pull in our driveway, but I'm not used to MB joining him for the ride out of town. Thankfully they're in good hands; I just hope they're as angelic as can be for Mimi and Grandpa.

Being baby-less means we have all the free time two and a half days can give - now what?!

So far I've lunched with a friend, returned some library books, found out a beloved alterations lady closed up shop (the hard way) and stopped by the post office. My craziness knows no bounds.

Who knows what comes next - a child-free run at the Y? Bringing Blue, our 'first' baby, to the dog park? Strolling downtown? Taking a twenty-minute shower and actually drying my hair?

The lame, tame and totally grown-up possibilities are endless. I can tell you one thing: there will be some glorious sleeping going on up in here this weekend.

That's right. To those of you who find my plans a little too homebound, I say:

Don't hate; I'll have some sweet dreams for you - and perhaps my favorite celebratory combo - gelato and white wine. I'm nothing if not classy, folks.

So happy, happy anniversary to my favorite Bradley on Earth. The last five years have been the best of my life, and even the terrible moments were better because you were in them. I couldn't make it without you, and I sure wouldn't want to try.

There have been enough emotions this year to last you for a lifetime, and I know feelings aren't your favorite thing. (Ha!) The best gift I could give you is foregoing a flowery ramble, so consider this my present wrapped up with a bow.

Happy 5th anniversary, silver Jacks

Also, happy anniversary to my silver Jack Rogers, the best dancin' shoes a bride could ask for. I may have a wardrobe of other colors, but you'll always be a sentimental favorite.

I told B the day before our wedding that you were a worthwhile last-minute investment, and five years later you have proved my point. (I'm going to baby you by not wearing your tender soles out in the rain tonight. A lifetime together requires sacrifice.)

Here's to many more years of dancing, marriage, cute shoes and (once in a blue moon) sleeping in. No better way to celebrate than right beside my B, wondering how on Earth five years have gone by in a blink. If I still feel 25, can we start the clock over?

Happy Friday, friends! xoxo

Ob-la-di

Life goes on.

Cupcake face - he gets it from his mama.

Two months after we brought Mary Brooks home (again), life is going on. Cupcakes and crying and collective fits of giggles are going on.

Some days moments I feel like I'm treading water, but for the most part I am soaking in what our new normal looks like: grateful, messy, mindful, sweet and a little crazy.

Date night at Zac Brown. Watch out, world!

And also covered in hair - mine, Blue's and Mary Brooks'. The dark hair just keeps on a-fallin'. Two of the three of us are practically balding at this point; the other is just shedding his winter coat. I think we're about to see Baby Bangs: Part Deux, so get excited for that little sequel.

Mac wraps up school this week, taking a much-needed three-month hiatus from the rigorous academic schedule that is preschool. He has learned so much and grown by leaps and bounds this year; it breaks my heart to look back at the "first day" pics from last fall.

Two-thirds eyeball, one-third cheek. Love her.

But time marches on even if my brain still thinks it's mid-February. (The temperatures are sweltering and Labor Day-like, which you'd imagine would remind me it's no longer winter, but alas...)

Mary Brooks is cooing and smiling so infectiously that I morph into an unrecognizable caricature of myself when she beams in my general direction. Bon Jovi must have been watching his newborn grin when he scribbled his "shot through the heart" line, because this little bean sure knows how to get to us.

This fool is plum crazy.

(Actually, I'm playing the rest of that song in my head and I'm quite confident he wrote it about someone decidedly NOT a newborn.)

In feeling a lot more like myself, my brain has returned to its usual deep pursuits: celebrity gossip, mindless internet browsing and avoiding chores like a pro. Case in point: I've watched this trailer for the upcoming Great Gatsby remake more than a few times. How will we wait 'til Christmas to see it on the big screen?

I am currently working on a proposal that has me like:



My ability to laugh at myself has emerged unscathed, and I've found middle school humor never goes out of style. B doesn't share my enthusiasm for the Tumblrs that share these images, but I could amuse myself for hours there. Hello, procrastination!

And Kate Middleton FTW is back en force, too, which makes me giddy.

In other news, we had a little celebration last Saturday to thank some of the friends who took such wonderful care of us, both near and from afar, when MB was in the hospital. We have a few more of these to throw, as the number of people who carried us through that time couldn't fit into our house and onto our patio at once, much less find room to eat barbecue.

And we really want time to thank every last friend, hug them and make non-hospital-based conversation. To truly, fully transition back into post-trauma life.

I was so 'busy' hosting last Saturday that I took no pictures. Not a SINGLE one. It's a crying shame! Thankfully our friend Erin took one and posted it on her blog today.

My best bloggers: Lyndsey, Megan and Erin

We're hosting our small group early next month (I believe the date I quoted in an email to everyone was the @th, further proof I've "done lost my mind") and I promise to take pictures then. I want to remember all of this, for our sake and for Mary Brooks'.



This is the first song we heard after returning to church with a healed MB a while back. Tell me that's a coincidence; it's my life mantra. I'm okay, but I'm not okay. More than anything, I am not the same.

I still can't sing it without choking up, but this version is on constant repeat nonetheless chez Smith.

I have so much to tell you and a lot of news to share in the coming week or two. Once I get into a summer groove, I hope to be posting regularly and reminding myself through these written words that I'm still me. Different, but still me. And although I'd take back what happened in a heartbeat, I wouldn't change how we've grown.

It hurt like all my thousands of words could never say. And it still hurts.

But we're here, breathing and happy. May I never stop singing His praises for it. We've been called to tell this story and to live out our lives in a way that puts this pain to good use. I can't wait to tell you what that looks like and ask you for help in doing it!

Thank you for being here, sweet friends. xoxo

My Everyday Valentine

In the ten or so years I've known Bradley Smith, I've gone from admiring him at a distance to knowing him better than anyone else - and I still find things to be impressed by in him. As Mary Poppins would say, the boy is "practically perfect in every way."

Our first years as friends were spent mostly on back decks and side porches, eating, drinking, laughing, talking, watching Clemson football and occasionally testing his turn-out ability when I felt discouraged after a particularly embarrassing grad school ballet class.

There were also a few hellos exchanged in underground computer labs or as we passed each other on campus, but nothing that changed our lives.

Looking back, there were a million times Bradley and I could have gotten together. And even more opportunities for us never to have paired up. My goodness am I thankful there's a bigger plan at work...

When I met him, B and I were both college students. Oddly, we have no memory of first meeting; as best we can tell it was late 2001 or early 2002.

(I'd like to think angels sang and the Earth stood still when he first laid eyes upon me, but evidently that's not the case. Or he's just too embarrassed to tell me. Let's go with that explanation.)

I remember him in the background now and then - always friendly, always funny, always there. He says I was wearing a white t-shirt the first time he saw me; he may or may not be making this up, but it doesn't narrow things down either way.

Flash forward a few years and we were in Columbia for work and grad school, respectively. He was still friendly, adorable, quietly hilarious and absolutely date-worthy, so I did what any girl in her right mind would do: I set him up with someone else.

Say what? Yes, I know. We spent our first Valentine's Day together on opposite sides of the table on a double date with other people. What a different story I'd be telling today had either of those relationships worked out.

2005, via a disposable underwater camera because I'm classy like that

A year later we dined on Valentine's 2005 as friends who did so much together - movies, church, house hunting, tailgate prep, weekend cookouts, dog walking, inside joking and story swapping.

We were friends. Really good, oblivious friends. (Except I was madly in love with him, but that's another story for another day.) Whatever the circumstances, he paid for my dinner that Valentine's Day and didn't roll his eyes when I ordered dessert. Better than any first date I've ever had!

In 2006, by the time we got the memo everyone else had seen for some time, the future Smiths had our first "official" Valentine's Day and became engaged nine months later.

By Valentine's Day 2007 we had each moved to Greenville and started new jobs. We were busy planning a summer wedding and picking out things for the house Bradley had purchased.

In 2008 we enjoyed our first married Valentine's Day. I got an iPod that now plays white noise ("ocean music") in Mac's room - clearly a great choice on Bradley's behalf even if it is used for a slightly unforeseen purpose.

2009

The week of Valentine's Day 2009, Bradley came down with the flu and I was prescribed medicine to ward it off. Before taking it, the pharmacist and doctor each recommended that I take a pregnancy test to be certain it was safe to take the drug preventatively.

Knowing I was not pregnant, I joked about it to my mom as I rang up the $752 digital test. Sure enough, Cupid brought us a "positive" on that little stick. (After an "error" on the first one. Who knew there was a wrong way to pee on a plastic wand?)

Cupid brought me some candy too, but the excitement of the big baby news lasted a little longer. Bradley's fever left him only a few hazy memories of the occasion, but it was quite a lot to celebrate.

2010

We celebrated Valentine's Day 2010 having just given my two weeks' notice. There was a lot of excitement, uncertainty and relief in our house that year. And no bigger "push present" than more time with our Mac and the chance to try out a new life.

For Valentine's Day 2011, Bradley attended a work conference that was (luckily) located right downtown. The great news? He got to eat at a swanky restaurant filled with googly-eyed couples for free. The bad news? It wasn't with me. I got take-out Chick-fil-A and watched chick flicks 'til he made it home just before midnight.

A few days after Valentine's 2011, we got an offer on our house and life moved into a tailspin. We're only now feeling truly settled, and not a moment too soon!

This year our Valentine's Day will be a bit different than any other, though (hospital food court) Chick-fil-A might still come into the equation.

All signs point to our sweet girl being a little valentine. Her dad and I couldn't be more excited (or nervous or in awe) to celebrate Valentine's Day 2012 this way. It will be a holiday to remember, no doubt.

And considering B has never been a fan of Cupid, I'm guessing this is a pink heart celebration he can finally get behind - the kind that even he won't object to.

I'm so thankful for an acquaintance who became a buddy, a friend who become my closest confidante and a boyfriend who became the best husband and father I could dream up on a good night.

Happy early Valentine's Day to the guy I love to sun myself next to on the rare occasions we make it to the beach, the guy who gets "bounced on" by our 40-pounder until there must be bruises on his chest, the guy who has cooked meals and bought treats and generally been unstoppably awesome throughout these last crucial weeks of pregnancy.

Thank you for making Valentine's Day such a non-event. (Stay with me here.) Thank you for putting little effort into showing off on February 14th each year and a lot of time and intention into being a tremendous friend, husband and all-around fantastic person every day in between.

One day I'll be as good an everyday Valentine as you, B. Until then, I think a baby girl is a pretty darn good gift to give you - so that'll be my goal.

Happy Love Day

My favorite line from Pride & Prejudice. I really must have this frame!

B and I have never been particularly crazy about Valentine's Day. While we usually exchange cards and little gifts, I don't expect him to bowl me over with the power of his all-consuming love every February 14th. I prefer knowing much he loves me every other day of the year.

This year, more than ever, we are not going to be hearts-y people. Our schedules are plain bananas. My work life has picked up, B has a particularly busy (read: 7am to 9pm) week and Mac is just as full-steam-ahead as ever.

We'll be (separately) in and out of town and, the part I like least, won't be able to have a meal together 'til lunch on Sunday. Sad!

With that in mind, I've been wistfully thinking of Valentine's Days past and remembering the progression of B from just "Bradley" to a friend to the man he is today, my unbelievable husband and Mac's look-alike dad.

Who knew snarky e-cards quoted Jane Austen?

Seven years ago today, B and I went on a Valentine's night double date with (wait for it...) other people. I had actually set him up early that year with a sweet friend of mine and we two couples ended up sharing dinner.

Technically I suppose Bradley and I spent Valentine's Day together that year, but not in the way we would in years to come. (How we got there is a story I'll have to tell some other time...and it's a good one.)

For now I'm wishing all of you a lovely and love-filled Valentine's Day! May you know how much you're loved today and always.

I've been humming this all day, and it seems an appropriate thought on a day set aside to celebrate love:

How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all! Are you showing me up and celebrating it big?

Tag!

Callie tagged me to answer a few questions, so here we go:

1. Where and how did you and your husband meet?
We met at Clemson, though we don't exactly remember when or where specifically. We're not even certain of the year. That's terrible, isn't it? Doesn't make for a compelling story to tell the grandkids.

We were friends for three or four years before we started dating, so for as long as I could remember, Bradley was just around. He thinks I was wearing a white shirt the first time he saw me in the lobby of an engineering building. (I had a statistics class there and he was a civil engineering major, as was my boyfriend at the time.)

I wish I could remember the first time we spoke, but I can't! I do remember setting him up with someone else years later, but that's another story for another day.

Bottom line: The "how did y'all meet" conversation at cocktail parties is a little boring when we're around. The short answer is "at Clemson."

2. What piece(s) of advice would you give your 16 year old self?

1. If you had the good sense to break up, trust your instincts. No use in making the same mistake twice - or three or four times, for that matter.
2. You aren't fat. Seriously. You'll look back at photos and wish you could be "fat" like that again.
3. Plenty of people peak in high school. One day you'll be grateful to have bloomed a little later.
4. Go abroad for a semester. A summer in Paris will only make you wish you'd done the real deal.
5. In two years absolutely no one will care how many honors cords you graduated with, where you ranked in your class, or what you got on your SAT. Stop fretting over the difference between "with high honors" and "with highest honors." This advice applies doubly to college.
6. Listen to your heart, but only if it's listening to the Lord.

3. What's your most embarrassing moment?
I'm a walking awkward moment, so it's hard to keep track. One especially memorable incident happened my first semester in grad school, when I was desperate to be the straight-A superstar, typing a furiously fast transcript of my professor's every word. (I've alluded to this before.)

Professor: If you really want to succeed in business, and particularly in journalism, you're going to need just two things. Your ears. (continues with lecture as I type)

Me: (puts hand up) Um, you said we needed two things to succeed. Somehow I missed the second one.

Professor: (smiles knowingly)

Class: (stares blankly at me as I realize he meant two ears)

4. What one thing can make you smile, no matter what?
Mac laughing. And B doing anything to make him laugh.

5. If you had $5000 to spend today, what would you buy/spend it on?
If I couldn't invest or save it (I hear you, Dave Ramsey!), I'd buy a DSLR camera, a pair of black boots and a ridiculously unnecessary piece of jewelry.

6. What do you enjoy most about blogging?
Keeping up with faraway friends and making fabulous new ones! I couldn't get by without a lot of the sweet girls I've met through the blogosphere.

Two Silly Peas in a Pod

"Mom says cheese, Mac!"

"Okay, now you try."

"Hey, Dad, will you give me this pen?"

"You think my super cool 'engineer' pocket pen is a toy, son?"

"All right, fine. I'll just grab it myself!"