I am getting married in a month.
OmigoodnessIamgettingmarriedinamonthI'msoEXCITED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hehehehehe....
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Seattle
I woke up this morning rather on time for a change. Made a good breakfast, got ready, packed my gym bag and headed out the door. There is an early morning chill right now that says it is fall, even if the midday temperatures are still in summer mode, and I had to wait for my car to defog a bit before heading out to the transit center to catch the bus downtown. I pulled out of my street, turned onto Wallingford Ave, and there before me I could see Seattle in all its glory, sunlight reflecting off the skyscrapers in the mist.
And I realized, I won't have that view first thing in the morning for much longer.
Jer owns a house in Bothell. Well, he says it's Mill Creek, but the post office claims it is Bothell, and I tend to be a stickler for legal descriptions. Really, it is a no-man's land at the convergence of a bunch of places: just north of where I5 meets 405, if you head west half a mile you are in Lynnwood; go east half a mile and you are in Mill Creek proper.
It's a nice house-even though I have never been much for split level construction it has its own charm and the floor plan works pretty well. Our yard is kind of awkward but there is a prettyish sort of wilderness on one side and a peaceful place to sit and read. I feel at home there, and look forward to converting it from the nerdy bachelor pad it is to a good joint expression of us. Jer wants to remodel the kitchen and build me a walk-in closet; I want to paint the walls and buy patio furniture. And it is wonderful, in the midst of all the planning craziness and the moving and the big life change of marriage, to not have to worry about finding a place to live.
But still, it's Bothell. It's an hour commute to work, half an hour (in good traffic) to church. Far from my friends in Seattle, my family in Burien, my favorite places like Kerry Park and Greenlake. I'll go from being able to walk to the lake or bus downtown to the market to living in suburbia. I can't really say that I live in Seattle anymore-although I'll probably try to pull something like "I live just north of Seattle" or "I live in the Seattle area." For the past ten years I have loved saying that I live in Seattle. Even when I was living with my parents in Burien I put Seattle as my address because we lived right on the line (wait, that's what Jer does with his Mill Creek thing. I guess I have to stop teasing him about that. Oh well.) I just love Seattle. A lot.
But I love Jer more.
I have always said that I only had three relationship dealbreakers: he had to be a passionate Christian, he had to want kids, and he had to want to live in Seattle. I was talking to my mom awhile back, before Jer and I were engaged, when I was deciding that he was the man for me. My mom asked what I would do if Jer was called to live somewhere else, to leave the Northwest, to go serve the Lord in a foreign country or take care of family back east or some such thing. And in the process of mulling over that question I realized that I would follow him anywhere, that while I would be sad, I would go. I felt the conviction in my soul that truly, home is wherever he is.
That doesn't mean that I would ever really want to leave, or that I won't still fight passionately for raising our kids in Seattle. Really, a house in Wallingford or somewhere around Greenlake has always been my ideal. And I will miss my current house, with my awesome roomies and my easy access lifestyle. But I would do just about anything to live with this man I love. I'll brave the commute and the rising gas costs and the suburban shopping centers, just to be there to take him in my arms when he gets home from a long day at the office.
So come October, my address will no longer be Seattle. And I will be happy about it. I'm also excited to learn that there will be a Quest Northside Community Group just down the street from us. And who knows, if the real estate market ever recovers, maybe someday soon we can sell the Bothell house and move back down to Seattle. Jer is not averse to the idea-the more I show him around Seattle the more he seems to like it. Someday perhaps my kids can wake up to a view of Seattle out their bedroom window. I hope they will love this city as much as I do.
And I realized, I won't have that view first thing in the morning for much longer.
Jer owns a house in Bothell. Well, he says it's Mill Creek, but the post office claims it is Bothell, and I tend to be a stickler for legal descriptions. Really, it is a no-man's land at the convergence of a bunch of places: just north of where I5 meets 405, if you head west half a mile you are in Lynnwood; go east half a mile and you are in Mill Creek proper.
It's a nice house-even though I have never been much for split level construction it has its own charm and the floor plan works pretty well. Our yard is kind of awkward but there is a prettyish sort of wilderness on one side and a peaceful place to sit and read. I feel at home there, and look forward to converting it from the nerdy bachelor pad it is to a good joint expression of us. Jer wants to remodel the kitchen and build me a walk-in closet; I want to paint the walls and buy patio furniture. And it is wonderful, in the midst of all the planning craziness and the moving and the big life change of marriage, to not have to worry about finding a place to live.
But still, it's Bothell. It's an hour commute to work, half an hour (in good traffic) to church. Far from my friends in Seattle, my family in Burien, my favorite places like Kerry Park and Greenlake. I'll go from being able to walk to the lake or bus downtown to the market to living in suburbia. I can't really say that I live in Seattle anymore-although I'll probably try to pull something like "I live just north of Seattle" or "I live in the Seattle area." For the past ten years I have loved saying that I live in Seattle. Even when I was living with my parents in Burien I put Seattle as my address because we lived right on the line (wait, that's what Jer does with his Mill Creek thing. I guess I have to stop teasing him about that. Oh well.) I just love Seattle. A lot.
But I love Jer more.
I have always said that I only had three relationship dealbreakers: he had to be a passionate Christian, he had to want kids, and he had to want to live in Seattle. I was talking to my mom awhile back, before Jer and I were engaged, when I was deciding that he was the man for me. My mom asked what I would do if Jer was called to live somewhere else, to leave the Northwest, to go serve the Lord in a foreign country or take care of family back east or some such thing. And in the process of mulling over that question I realized that I would follow him anywhere, that while I would be sad, I would go. I felt the conviction in my soul that truly, home is wherever he is.
That doesn't mean that I would ever really want to leave, or that I won't still fight passionately for raising our kids in Seattle. Really, a house in Wallingford or somewhere around Greenlake has always been my ideal. And I will miss my current house, with my awesome roomies and my easy access lifestyle. But I would do just about anything to live with this man I love. I'll brave the commute and the rising gas costs and the suburban shopping centers, just to be there to take him in my arms when he gets home from a long day at the office.
So come October, my address will no longer be Seattle. And I will be happy about it. I'm also excited to learn that there will be a Quest Northside Community Group just down the street from us. And who knows, if the real estate market ever recovers, maybe someday soon we can sell the Bothell house and move back down to Seattle. Jer is not averse to the idea-the more I show him around Seattle the more he seems to like it. Someday perhaps my kids can wake up to a view of Seattle out their bedroom window. I hope they will love this city as much as I do.
Monday, September 21, 2009
6 Months...and a website.
We've been working on the wedding website over the last couple of weeks. It's still a living document, but you can check out what we have so far.
We've known each other for 6 months today. Wow. Half a year. It feels like forever, and it feels like a moment. And we're 33 days out from the wedding day. So close and yet so far. Time is just so relative in the world of love.
We've known each other for 6 months today. Wow. Half a year. It feels like forever, and it feels like a moment. And we're 33 days out from the wedding day. So close and yet so far. Time is just so relative in the world of love.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Bridal Showers
I love showers of the water-based variety. A nice warm shower relaxing your muscles after a good workout. A refreshing shower to wake you up early in the morning. A nice fall drizzle in October, a spring shower to bring summer flowers (well, that's how it works here in Seattle).
There are other showers I don't like at all, however, and those would be the partyish ones. Bridal showers, baby showers, anything involving a big group of women getting together to play inane party games and ooh and ahh over each other. I try to avoid them if I can, and have had anxiety attacks at many of the ones I haven't been able to skip out on.
Anxiety attacks in large social gatherings are something I've struggled with for the past ten years or so, but somehow showers are the most difficult parties to manage emotionally. Perhaps it is the fact that they are predominantly attended by women, and my own history of awkwardness and hurt with members of my gender. Not that I haven't had awkwardness and hurt with guys, but mostly when I was growing up I was good at just relaxing and being one of the guys. I grew up with brothers and a brood of male cousins, and spent most of the years that I was in schools hanging with some random group of nerdy boys. They let me be, and I didn't feel like they were constantly judging me.
Girls though, girls were judging. It's true what they say-most girls don't wear fancy designer clothes for boys-most of them don't care, as long as you look sexy-no, we wear them for the girls who are evaluating our outfits. Whether we are fourteen or fourty, we clean our homes and dye our hair and buy the right brand of whatever because we fear judgement, criticism, not fitting in.
And I never fit in.
Even though I was assured that not fitting in was a good thing, and in my mind, I agreed with that (who wants to fit in with a bunch of critical, appearance-obsessed backstabbers?) I still longed for that feeling of belonging. That feeling that there was a group of people who would accept me for me, who were happy that I was at the party, who I could relax with.
Showers always felt too much like middle school, like a social test, like another opportunity to be ridiculed or rejected. It's the social mixer on steroids: a whole group of people, only half of whom you've ever met, and most of whom you only know through someone else. We're all on our best behavior, trying to make small talk (one of my least favorite things) and putting up false fronts. There is this unspoken pressure to say the right thing, to be perfectly charming, to not say or do anything to rock the boat, because this is supposed to be a cheery, sweet occasion.
Maybe this is me projecting my own issues, but I know plenty of other girls who feel the same way. And yet we continue to have these showers, continue to play the ridiculous games and make the sugary small talk. Sigh...
But here's the thing: in the midst of my utter disdain for showers, I am completely excited for my own.
I don't understand it. I hate these things. I debated whether or not to even have one, only agreeing because I knew that The Raccoon would do a fabulous job of making it as comfortable as possible. No Jer and Becca trivia quiz, no toilet paper gown, no pin the veil on the bride (I'm not wearing a veil anyway, why have one at the shower?) I still wasn't sure how I would feel about it-usually if I am going to a shower, a deep sense of dread builds up in the pit of my stomach for a few days prior until the day of I am sure that I am going to make myself sick so I don't have to go.
But no dread, no anxiety, just excitement.
I suppose it's easier being the bride. You know everyone, you don't have to make small talk with folks you don't know. You get to sit there and let people serve you cake and bring you presents and gush over you.
Really though, I think it is the guest list that makes the difference. I know the girls on my evite, girls that have changed my perspective on groups of women. These are generous, genuine women who love God and people, and have accepted me. I know I don't have anything to prove with them, any standard to live up to, because they like me just the way I am.
I know that I should feel that way with everyone all the time-that I should be secure enough in my identity and self-worth to not worry about the acceptance of others. But that takes a lot of constant energy, a diligent focus on being completely at peace with myself, at walking in my identity in Christ. And usually showers create the biggest drain on that energy-a virtual black hole sucking the life right out of me. But I think today will instead be a day of blessing, a day that gives me energy because I am surrounded by people who affirm that identity and celebrate it with me.
There are other showers I don't like at all, however, and those would be the partyish ones. Bridal showers, baby showers, anything involving a big group of women getting together to play inane party games and ooh and ahh over each other. I try to avoid them if I can, and have had anxiety attacks at many of the ones I haven't been able to skip out on.
Anxiety attacks in large social gatherings are something I've struggled with for the past ten years or so, but somehow showers are the most difficult parties to manage emotionally. Perhaps it is the fact that they are predominantly attended by women, and my own history of awkwardness and hurt with members of my gender. Not that I haven't had awkwardness and hurt with guys, but mostly when I was growing up I was good at just relaxing and being one of the guys. I grew up with brothers and a brood of male cousins, and spent most of the years that I was in schools hanging with some random group of nerdy boys. They let me be, and I didn't feel like they were constantly judging me.
Girls though, girls were judging. It's true what they say-most girls don't wear fancy designer clothes for boys-most of them don't care, as long as you look sexy-no, we wear them for the girls who are evaluating our outfits. Whether we are fourteen or fourty, we clean our homes and dye our hair and buy the right brand of whatever because we fear judgement, criticism, not fitting in.
And I never fit in.
Even though I was assured that not fitting in was a good thing, and in my mind, I agreed with that (who wants to fit in with a bunch of critical, appearance-obsessed backstabbers?) I still longed for that feeling of belonging. That feeling that there was a group of people who would accept me for me, who were happy that I was at the party, who I could relax with.
Showers always felt too much like middle school, like a social test, like another opportunity to be ridiculed or rejected. It's the social mixer on steroids: a whole group of people, only half of whom you've ever met, and most of whom you only know through someone else. We're all on our best behavior, trying to make small talk (one of my least favorite things) and putting up false fronts. There is this unspoken pressure to say the right thing, to be perfectly charming, to not say or do anything to rock the boat, because this is supposed to be a cheery, sweet occasion.
Maybe this is me projecting my own issues, but I know plenty of other girls who feel the same way. And yet we continue to have these showers, continue to play the ridiculous games and make the sugary small talk. Sigh...
But here's the thing: in the midst of my utter disdain for showers, I am completely excited for my own.
I don't understand it. I hate these things. I debated whether or not to even have one, only agreeing because I knew that The Raccoon would do a fabulous job of making it as comfortable as possible. No Jer and Becca trivia quiz, no toilet paper gown, no pin the veil on the bride (I'm not wearing a veil anyway, why have one at the shower?) I still wasn't sure how I would feel about it-usually if I am going to a shower, a deep sense of dread builds up in the pit of my stomach for a few days prior until the day of I am sure that I am going to make myself sick so I don't have to go.
But no dread, no anxiety, just excitement.
I suppose it's easier being the bride. You know everyone, you don't have to make small talk with folks you don't know. You get to sit there and let people serve you cake and bring you presents and gush over you.
Really though, I think it is the guest list that makes the difference. I know the girls on my evite, girls that have changed my perspective on groups of women. These are generous, genuine women who love God and people, and have accepted me. I know I don't have anything to prove with them, any standard to live up to, because they like me just the way I am.
I know that I should feel that way with everyone all the time-that I should be secure enough in my identity and self-worth to not worry about the acceptance of others. But that takes a lot of constant energy, a diligent focus on being completely at peace with myself, at walking in my identity in Christ. And usually showers create the biggest drain on that energy-a virtual black hole sucking the life right out of me. But I think today will instead be a day of blessing, a day that gives me energy because I am surrounded by people who affirm that identity and celebrate it with me.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Labor Day
I used to listen to this hilarious speaker many years ago, and one of his favorite subjects was how much we work, the lack of vacation in the American system, and national holidays. This section went something like this:
It was funnier in person. But happy Labor Day, just the same.
You work and work and work. Friday to Friday, paycheck to paycheck. Friday to Friday, paycheck to paycheck. Friday to Friday, paycheck to paycheck. Friday to Friday, paycheck to paycheck. Friday to Friday, paycheck to paycheck. Friday to Friday-LABOR DAY!!!!!!!!!-and then back to work. Friday to Friday paycheck to paycheck. And next year you do it all over again.
It was funnier in person. But happy Labor Day, just the same.
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