50 Years Later

I have always wondered how my parents wound up together. Oh, I've heard about the dance at the club, the fun they had dating, and their eagerness to marry as soon as Mom graduated from college. But all of those facts are just satellites around the core mystery of how two oh-so-very-different people could have fallen in love.

If he was tall, she was petite. If he was street smart, she was book smart (and lost, literally). If he was extroverted, she was introverted. If he was seizing the day, she was saving for a rainy day. He was interested in history, trains, and business. She was interested in foreign language, philosophy, and education. What on earth did they talk about when they were out on a date in their teens and twenties?

I have no idea.

Which is why the past 50 years is no small miracle. People say "opposites attract" as if that were natural (more like a recipe for combustion). It's probably true that opposites--especially while young--do attract. But that attraction doesn't necessarily survive the reality of living with someone who is such a different animal.

I've had the privilege of observing their relationship up-close for nearly 40 years, and I've come to believe there are at least two major reasons their marriage--their love--has thrived through the decades.

1. They both fell in love with Jesus early in their marriage. It was the 70s, so they probably even called it that (I can hear Keith Green in my head as I type this). Mom first, and it transformed her. Dad saw the transformation, and soon followed her lead. All in. Ever since, they have been all in with Jesus. Studying the Bible, letting it transform their hearts and thoughts and attitudes, their parenting and friendships and...you got it: marriage.

Jesus softened their hearts. His love allowed them to be vulnerable with each other, to rely on truths more central than happiness, to put each other first, and ultimately to grow more balanced and gentle with the years, rather than more bitter or extreme. It also gave them a community to support them in all of the above.

I do not believe my parents would still be together if they hadn't become Christians. Romantic, eh? But 50 years of loving each other well is not about romance. It definitely helps that they started in love and worked to keep it year after year (see #2), but there are plenty of seasons when there aren't any violins playing, and the only thing keeping you together is the certainty that God wants you to stay together, that He will make it good for you both in the end.

2. They have each chosen to make the other their priority, bending in order to be closer together. As Jesus has been working on softening their rough edges, they have always been on the lookout for ways to enjoy each other. Dad loves trains, Mom loves French -- they take trains through France! She loves intimate conversations, he loves social gatherings -- they host small parties! She picks his haircuts; he picks her clothes (well, a few of them anyway). Some years, she did all the cooking. Others, he took over the kitchen. Even as I brainstorm concrete examples, I realize it's impossible to capture how they have consistently chosen thoughtfulness and togetherness over pride and independence. They choose to see the best in the other, to celebrate the other, and to be faithful when they wouldn't have to be.

Could their marriage have survived without #2? Maybe. But then they would just be roommates. Probably angry roommates. And if you've ever been around them, they are not roommates. He still sees her beauty. She still sees his handsome. They are truly happy together, and they are easy to be around.

And I am convinced it is partially because of their differences. They balance each other. If Mom had married someone with similar interests or strengths, would she have become more extroverted over time? If Dad had found another social butterfly, would he be as wise and reflective? Would their house have found that comfortable spot between his messy and her neat? Would their lifestyle still have some economy, some enjoyment, and lots of generosity?

With each passing year, I see another friend struggle in their marriage, wondering if it is worth the pain and sacrifice to work it out, to stay together, to rekindle love. Every time, I think of my parents. How many opportunities did they have to find someone more like themselves? To go seek greater happiness or less sacrifice? To hope for easier?

And then I think about all the years of happiness I've seen them share because they kept on keeping on. All the fruits of their labors. I don't know if there is a better legacy to leave than hearts transformed by Jesus and life-long love. And it's not just their hearts that have been transformed -- it's all of ours who have known them.

Which is probably the legacy they would rather me talk about, because their kind of intentional love doesn't stop at the boundaries of their marriage -- it leaks into every relationship. The gentle and radical influence of Jesus, and selflessly looking for the best in others? When you do it at home, you wind up doing it elsewhere.

As their 50th wedding anniversary has approached, I've been trying to figure out how to honor them and their marriage. They have moved so many times around the country, that there's no way to gather their friends from each season in the same state, let alone the same room.

So I've decided to put this out there. As a testimony that I have seen life-long, selfless love that honors both of the greatest commandments. It is real. It is possible. It is worth fighting for. And in the long run, it is beautiful. And someday, I am confident that they will get to heaven, and all of the people they have loved and influenced and inspired through the years will finally be in the same room to tell them so.

It's a...

Did you know there's such a thing as "geriatric pregnancy"? And no, we're not talking science-fiction 60-year-olds giving birth. If you're due at 35 years or older, you're of "advanced maternal age." Doesn't that just give you the warm fuzzies?

But really, WHO CARES, because it comes with one giant perk: genetic testing at 10 WEEKS. They took a blood sample and called me 10 days later to say 1) our risk is low for chromosomal issues, and 2) it's a...

Me: Wait. What did you say?

Her: It's a girl.

Me: I have three boys. Are you sure?

Her: Yes. It's definitely a girl.

Me: OH MY GOODNESS. I didn't know we could do that! Oh my goodness. (crying now) It's a girl??!

Her: Yes. (smiling, I could hear it)

I immediately texted Josh to meet him for lunch; he had no clue why. Then my mom texted "out of the blue" to see if we knew the gender yet (How does she know these things?). She agreed to stop by with Dad after dinner, which just goes to show her mad patience skilz. Then I drove downtown with my heart racing. 

Josh found me on the first floor of his building in the Barnes & Noble kid section, buying Angelina Ballerina and Olivia board books. One look and he said, "Wait, do you know something?"

YES! I SURE DO!

We celebrated with Bread & Co. and PINK cake pops at Starbucks. I never liked pink so much as I do now. Still.

Then I headed for Publix. I had called before lunch, asking for a cake with no pink on the outside and all pink/strawberry inside. At first, the girl on the phone was annoyed: You want what? But then I explained the purpose, and she got. into. it. When I showed up at the bakery counter, she took one look at me and said, "You the GIRL?"

Then I drove home and started foraging for clothes. I'd considered stopping to buy a baby tutu, but I remembered my recent closet clean-out: Wasn't there a baby dress from my childhood that I just couldn't bear to lose...? Yes. Yes there was...

But first, our boys had to know. Josh got home from work, I squirmed my way through dinner, and then we asked them,

What do we still need to find out about the baby? (boy or girl?)
What do you think it will be? (boy, boy, boy)
Want to find out? (Yes!)
Want to eat cake? (duh)

We pulled the cake out of the box, and they're chanting "blue! blue! blue!" and I'm videoing and thinking, This could go south so fast...

But then Noah started the first cut and erupted:

"It's PINK! It's a girl! It's a GIRL!!"

And we all had a party. Right there. "It's a GIRL!"

Mom and Dad arrived soon after, and then I started texting...

The responses were so fun... (here's just a sample)

But the best was yet to come. Josh came home from work the next day with a giant bouquet of roses...
Me: Wow! Thank you! Look at those!
Him: They're for the girl!! I was looking for the most PINK I could find!
Me, guffawing: Awww. You are the sweetest! (cannot contain the laughter)
Him, smiling: Thanks?
Me: You're the best daddy! I love it! That's awesome! You are awesome. And SO adorable!!
Him, smiling but not knowing why: Um...Thanks...What's so funny?
This...

...for our baby girl. :) :) :)

She is gonna be SO loved.

Location, Location, Location

Ok, so I haven't quite done the best job of recording all the fun pregnancy moments we've experienced this time around. I'm afraid our family photo albums might just have to settle for my Facebook updates. After all, this is child #4; she'd better get used to it. Besides, research shows she'll be the better for it, as latter children tend to be better adjusted to life, right? #justdoingmypart

Whatever.

I'm finally taking time to write a real update, because we haven't had enough dramatic change in our lives so...it's time to announce another one!

No, it's not twins.

And we're not moving to Maryland, as we thought there for a while. (Whew)

But we are moving! Right now, we live in downtown Franklin, about 20miles south of Nashville and in the heart of Williamson County. And we have loved being able to walk downtown (it's Mayberry hipster-style), participate in small town life, enjoy the nurture and diversity of the local public school, and get to know our awesome neighbors.

We've also loved this house. Even when it was a vacant, dirty, dark-brown foreclosure, we could see its good bones and hang on through the endless short-sale process. This house has seen our children born and growing, Josh finally done training and working his first fulltime-paid-for-real-non-student job, and me finally exploring the world of home decorating with more than duct tape and Target. We've transformed each room (and even the back yard) in the 8 years we've lived here. I would occasionally have nightmares about accidentally selling this house.

Which is why I refused to put it on the market. Even when I could see the writing on the wall.

It all started with potty training. That's right. Once we were potty-training Isaac, we couldn't keep him in a crib in the nursery with no access to a potty, so we put him in the bunk beds with Aaron, giving them both direct access to the restroom. This ousted Noah -- who was just fine with turning the nursery into his very own big-boy room where he could protect his precious lego creations. Perfect! Right?

We thought so, for about a week. By the time 6 months had passed, and we'd tried every trick in the book to get the roommates a decent night's sleep, we knew it had failed miserably. On the nights we moved Aaron to the guest room, we had a pleasant, age-appropriate, meaningful nighttime routine with each child. On the nights the two monkeys were together, no one heard the bedtime story, no one talked seriously about their day or said a heartfelt prayer, and momma never really left happy.

The solution may seem obvious--we do have a 3rd bedroom upstairs--but I've always been a big believer in siblings sharing rooms. We know awesome families who have recommended it as a bonding experience that builds flexibility. I don't want to spoil our kids! Plus I love having guests, and I know it's just not as welcoming when you get to stay in a 6-year-old's room as it is being in an honest-to-goodness guest room for grown-ups. Bottom line: I'd been reluctant to give each boy his own room and give up the guest room.

But out of desperation, we had just decided to do it. Right about the time we found out about baby #4.

That's when I started to feel the niggling notion in the back of my head that our home was perfectly suited to us as a family of 3-4, maybe 5. But it was not really built or bought for a family of 6. Ever.

Could we do it? Of course. People have 4 kids on a postage stamp. But do we have to? No. And how best do we think our children will thrive? What will provide the best environment for us to build relationships with them, disciple them, help them grow more independent, etc? What is the best use of our resources right now?

With time, the answer has become clearer to us, based on our knowledge of our particular mix of personalities.

It became even more obvious when we realized we might be able to simultaneously improve another sore spot in our lives: Josh's commute. It has always bothered both of us, but we were too attached to our neighborhood to do anything about it. Now, we could kill two birds with one stone. Which really is the worst expression. Who came up with that one??

We started looking just after New Year's, but our hearts were still not in it. Several times I considered telling our realtor to forget the whole thing: we're staying put! After all, I am pregnant! I'm tired! I want to nest! The thought of moving made me want to crawl under the covers and cry. But then I tried to imagine life in our house as a family of 6, and I'd think, I'll give it another week. My paralysis climaxed at small group one Sunday night, when I told our friends how I felt completely lost as to what we should do.

The next day, we found the house. The House. I can honestly say it was love at second sight. I had driven by it before we really started searching, but eliminated it because it's built on a slope and has very little yard. Then we spent 5-6 weeks looking, and I started to realize we were going to have to compromise somewhere. On second sight (our first real visit), I started to feel like the big grassy field of common space in front of the house plus the walk-out basement behind might make up for its back-yard deficiency. Then we walked through the house, and I thought it had been designed with my family in mind. Finally, we started mapping how long it would take to get to Vanderbilt (1/2 his current commute) and our church (5 minutes, tops). That sealed the deal.

And magically, something in my heart shifted. I am still sad about leaving our house and being further from our neighbors (who I dream about recruiting to our new area). But something fundamental moved inside me when I saw our new house, something that has made me truly excited about the next chapter in our residential lives. And eager to invite all of you over to visit -- and even stay! Because...(drum roll) it has a dedicated guest room, just waiting for you! So come see us! Just not on June 23... ;)

Our Little Lentil

So back on October 23rd, I posted about how I was going to write all the things about all the issues, and then... nada, for months. What? What happened? Well, I got a little...distracted... ;)

(Written on Oct 28th but delayed for publication)

Y'ALL. Y'all. You will not believe. I am 38-years old. Our oldest is 8 and our youngest is out of diapers and dropping his nap. We have been moving into elementary-years mode and loving it. I could taste "effortless" travel-as-a-family on the horizon. I have a group of young moms on Tuesday mornings who let me hold their precious babies to get my fix. I've given away everything under 3T, including our crib. I've been moving on and not looking back.

FULL STOP.

Till yesterday. At 6am, when I got the shock of my life.

Granted, there was about a 3% chance of this happening, but it felt like no chance. I assumed it was no chance. We had an appointment to make it no chance in September, but then someone's travel got in the way (ahem) and said appointment got pushed back to November. Which left us with that little window of opportunity that I did not consider in the least.

It was enough.

SERIOUSLY.

We're pregnant. I am pregnant. There is a baby coming.

(gasp) (deep breath) WHAT!?

Yeah. Josh is in England. When I found out yesterday at 6am, I was about to speak to a crowd of 100 people in 3 hours. And I'd just had a bomb dropped on my brain. I thought I could wait until the end of the week to tell him in person. That was delusional. By 12:30pm I was texting him with what I thought was a gentle hint. It went like this:

Me: "So you know that muscle in my abdomen?" (that harbinger of pregnancy that has always alerted us first to the big news??) "It's hurting."
Josh: "Really?"
Me: "Really"
Josh: "This could be a big ride. How do you feel?"
Me: "Yes indeed. Shocked."
Josh: "Do you have any tests?"
Me: "Yes"
Josh: "Did you take it?"
Me: "Yes"
Josh: "So I guess that means you are pregnant?"
Me: "I guess so"

This was me breaking it to him slowly, giving him time to arrange his face. He got to the point a little faster than I expected. But his next comment? "I really want to tell someone." Yeah, me too.

You know what? It took me less than 12 hours to switch from total shock and confusion to making OBGYN appointments, browsing baby names, and finding out that it's the size of a lentil. Our little lentil.

I even watched Father of the Bride 2 at the end of the day to celebrate (works. every. time.) and was a little embarrassed to find that this time I related more to Nina Banks than her adorable daughter Kimberly Paisley. AND George and Nina were on the brink of an empty nest, while we were just looking forward to everyone being in elementary school. So we're way young, apparently.

But you know what really got me from shock to excitement? There is the "no going back" fact, but it really wasn't that. It was our Bible study from last year called "Stories of Redemption" where we walked through the women of the Old Testament and saw how God uses everything for the good of those who love him. We saw how God defines "redemption" as "making things better than if they'd never been broken." I'd read and studied and discussed and taught it all year long.

So now, I just kept thinking, Even if we brought this on ourselves, God will make it good for our family. And there's always the possibility that he nudged the circumstances to slip in through that 3% window. I'd always liked the idea of leaving a little room for God to override us. Well, maybe he did. But even if it was just us, I can trust him for redemption. I can believe that this will be good for us.

And I can be excited about it. I am excited about it. That was yesterday, and I'm already getting past the letting go of my plans and falling in love with this little person-to-be, this new Denny. Maybe it's hormones. Or instinct. But in my head, God is using his promises to give me peace and joy that I'm not sure I would have reached this fast otherwise.

I'm not going to pretend it was always our plan. But I will thank God that his plans are way better than our plans. We will have a whole other chance to experience this, the greatest of adventures in my life so far. But for now please excuse me while I go back to eating waffles and browsing babycenter.org nonstop...

---- That was two months ago, and it already feels like a distant memory. WE ARE SO EXCITED and are having SO much fun watching this little BLESSING grow in my belly. We can't wait till June. It's ALL good. (Should I add a few more caps? Can I say it any clearer?)

All of which made me wonder whether to keep the above essay, let alone post it. Would I want this child to read it someday? But then I realized that this is exactly the sort of thing someone needs to talk about. That if we can't even acknowledge a surprise, or a few hours of shock, then isn't that just setting up the kind of taboo I was railing against in Ask Me Anything -- one that keeps people from reaching out, working through their own shock to see the blessing? Is it really worth trying to cover up how this all began?

Or is that a part of our family's crazy, dramatic, God-ordained story? I've also been encouraged by friends who knew they were surprises AND felt incredibly loved, cherished, and part of God's plan. Knowing our family and community, I cannot imagine this girl will feel anything but precious.

But I'm pretty sure there are folks caught off guard by a big turn of events that they didn't see coming, and being able to testify to God's ability to provide peace and blessing through the unexpected is worth sharing. So here it is, the very beginning of the most happy-exciting ride for our family, and it's just getting started. And now that I'm finally feeling better, I'm hoping to record some of the fun - soon.

Ask Me Anything

Our society is--like every society, I imagine--confused. We don't want any taboos (everything that used to be wrong is now right), but then we create them left and right (things women used to talk about are now off-limits). It can be awesome (interracial marriage is finally acceptable!) and not (don't talk about my pregnancy, breast-feeding, depression, motherhood, how many kids we're having, how my kids are behaving, where they go to school, what they eat, or whether one is adopted). 

I see more lists of "10 Things Not to Say To Someone Who _______" than almost any other subject. It's like we love creating "conditions for being around me," as if I'm so fragile and insecure that the least allusion to something personal will alienate me forever. 

What kills me is that it means people are afraid to talk about issues that are actually very important -- issues that might benefit from the light of conversation and community and the sharing of ideas. I remember when we were struggling with whether to have more children and it felt like an impossible decision to make but there are almost no resources available to help you make it. How should we approach such a decision when no one will touch it with a 10-foot pole? I even wrote a blog post about it called "The Elephant in the Room" but never published it because I was afraid to enter the conversation. Afraid.

A couple years ago I read Donald Miller's Scary Close, and in it he says:

After Bill told me I was being too careful, I went back to the old me, the me who felt permission and grace to express his thoughts and feelings. I realized in order to have a career I was going to have to face the fans and the critics. It's a decision we all have to make in our lives, you know, because at some point we all face the risk of being known. 

But here's the truth. I knew I wouldn't be completely accepted. The risk of being known is also the decision to be criticized by some. There are judges behind every bush. But it didn't matter to me anymore. I couldn't afford to be afraid to write and my soul needed to be loved and it couldn't be loved in hiding. I was professionally and personally hungry. 

So, I wrote. I wrote as though God thought my voice mattered. I wrote because I believed a human story was beautiful, no matter how small the human was. I wrote because I didn't make myself, God did and I wrote like he'd invited me to share agency. 

I felt myself being a little more sturdy on the tightrope. The ground beneath me began to sink as I wrote, but I kept writing all the same knowing the whole thing was a mirage, that there was no rope and no risk and no death for falling. I wrote blogs about politics, knowing I’d alienate some of my readers. I wrote about leaders I felt were off base, knowing their followers would slam me on their blogs. As a Christian writer, I wrote about not having attended church in more than five years. I wrote my story. I stepped out and let people know who I was, not as a shock jock, but in the kind of risk it takes to actually connect with people. 

And of course I was judged. I was criticized. To put yourself out there is to be shot at.But something strange had happened in my healing, something that went along with the reflective work I'd done to become healthy.I learned to preemptively forgive... 

And regardless of the critics, the price was worth it. I began to connect with people through blogs and essays like I'd not connected in years. For every person I'd have to turn the other cheek to, there were ten who greeted me with a kiss. It was all worth it. To remind myself to never go back to being careful, I made a list of new freedoms. 

It looked like this: I am willing to sound dumb. I am willing to be wrong. I am willing to be passionate about something that isn’t perceived as cool. I am willing to express a theory. I am willing to admit I’m afraid. I’m willing to contradict something I’ve said before. I’m willing to apologize.

This perspective has been niggling at my mind lately. I don't want to gratuitously alienate people by "taking a stand" on minor issues. I don't want folks to hear who I voted for and then nothing else I say. 

But I also realized that I often don't hear my perspective in public conversations. I can't find someone articulating exactly what I think. Jen Hatmaker usually comes closest. Sometimes our pastor, Scott Sauls, says it first and better than I could have. But ultimately, there are a lot of controversial issues that I've been hiding from. And I don't think that's healthy for me (what if I'm wrong about them but no one has the chance to correct me?), and I don't think that's healthy for my community (if I'm not talking about it, who else is hiding? and who is assuming no one thinks otherwise?).

Truthfully, I end up writing this same idea every few years on this blog (i.e. Back in the Saddle). I guess it's how I give myself the courage to write hard things once I'm fed up with not saying them. 

So, here's your fair warning. I've gotten a lot of questions lately about how I decided to stay home with my kids. The issue of whether women should lead in the church will not die. And I have a feeling this presidential election may drive me to some sort of statement. 

As a result, some of you may like me less. But maybe those who disagree with me will teach me something or at least come to understand another point of view. If nothing else, we'll know each other a little better. And in the meantime, I pray someone else finds a kindred spirit, food for thought, and the freedom to speak their mind as well.

Josh's Apartment

I bet that got your attention! ;) But let me back up a bit. Or a lot...

When Josh was in middle school--yeah, I may have lost ya right there--he was already dismantling and rebuilding computers and creating programs to automate his life. This was long before I'd heard of using a computer as more than a typewriter. Yet somehow he got to college and majored in molecular biology followed by medical school. I know; it's a sharp left turn. Why not upgrade that computer science minor to a major? Pursuing a mildly promising industry like "high tech"? Aw, better to get into a really well-run sector like...wait for it...healthcare.

Needless to say, he did a lot of soul-searching that last year of medical school (WHAT AM I DOING HERE?). Then, just in the nick of time, God totally dropped a new and emerging field (informatics) that combines computers, math, and medicine (his holy trinity) into his lap. And oh, by the way, he was already at the university with the largest department in that field.

Then, once he latched on to informatics, he had to figure out where to specialize. In five years, he had found a trajectory: genomics (aka personalized medicine). Using Vanderbilt's largest-single-system genetic database and electronic health record, he created a new way to research links between DNA and disease/treatments (phenotyping).

This is all pretty great and we have been blown away how God has provided just the right opportunity for his gifts at the right time and place again and again. But it's still on the personal level.

When you ask someone what they do, and their answer is medical research, there usually isn't much of a follow-up conversation. Who understands what most academic scientists are studying? You find your niche, pursue it for its intrinsic value, and pray it makes a dent in the vastness of WHAT WE DO NOT KNOW.

Or, the President of the United States decides to highlight your research area in his State of the Union and make it the thrust of a new national healthcare initiative at the National Institutes of Health (NIH).

Wait. WHAT!?

Exactly. We have been on this ride from feeling like he'd missed the boat, sitting in the wrong field, to finding a niche that had just developed and discovering he was actually sitting in its HQ, worrying about getting grants and proving himself in a tough economy to working at the NIH for his idol (Francis Collins). He could not have strategized it out. Plenty of scientists work just as hard in fields that get no recognition. We just got that lucky that God picked him, now, for this.

Or that's how we see it. And that's why my husband has an apartment in Maryland. See? I was coming back to that. He's been working Mondays at Vandy then flying back and forth Tuesday-Friday each week to work on a report for the president on how to structure this new initiative. And it's been a mighty experiment of its own: 1. trying out working for the government (him), and 2. feeling what it's like to have a daddy that travels every week (us).

Now that we're 3/4 of the way to the finish line, I thought I'd record a few of the things we've learned from this experience:

1. Traveling a lot (our normal) is not the same as traveling every week (our present). In some ways, every week is easier because it is predictable - no expectations to disappoint - no tension about whether he'll be here or last-minute trips to work around. When he's in town, he's (mostly) ours.  We ADORE weekends. They're like holidays around here. Drop everything and PLAY WITH DADDY Time.

On the other hand, every week is harder. I still find myself on Tuesdays thinking, When he gets home tonight I'll ask him about... or we'll work on that together... Since he is a willful social media ignoramus (ahem), I am his only link to what we and our friends and family are up to. With him gone all week, that means he's even more out of touch than usual. It also means I can spend days working through a developing issue but he only encounters it once I've reached a conclusion Friday night - and Woe to the man who questions my conclusion after I've spent the last FOUR DAYS on the phone and web working it out. You see the potential.

2. Working a lot (our normal) is not the same as working out of town (our present). In his normal job, Josh was usually gone 7am-7pm Monday-Friday. At the time, I thought this was pretty close to gone, since the boys are up 6:45am-7:30pm. In some ways, it seemed worse because I used to watch the clock in hopes he'd get home sooner. Plus, I have to cook Real Food if he's eating dinner (not that he's hard to please - just that it's somehow different when there's another adult palate in the picture - someone who prefers Real Food to dinosaur oatmeal).

Turns out, that 15min in the morning and 30min at bedtime matter. I can't say that enough. They MATTER. They matter to the boys, and they matter to me. I hope I never dismiss that 45min again.

Then, there's the 7:30pm-6:45am for just us. Granted, we both tend to work at night. But we sit and talk while he eats dinner, we talk between and over projects, and we stop to watch a show and eat dessert before bed. Then, we get to go to bed together. I used to fret that I would get so much less done when he was here. Now, I know that it was Worth. It. Do I really need to spend 4 hours straight painting that bannister? Or writing this blog post? And what about the fact that neither of us sleeps as long/well when we're apart? I'm getting sick more because I'm tired more because He's Gone More. You get the idea.

3. Working for a nonprofit (our normal) is not the same as working for the government (our present). If we thought some of the restrictions placed on him by government-funded grants were ridiculous, they don't hold a candle to those placed on executive agency employees. And while every group of humans has organizational politics, suddenly he's been thrust into Politics politics, and it's a whole different ballgame.

To be fair, there are also upsides to working for a superpower. The scale (and impact) of the research is many multiples of what he could accomplish at one institution. At one point, a mentor told him it would be really good to work at the NIH. I said, "For your career?" Josh replied, "For humankind." Oh. Yeah. THAT. #whatever

4. Subletting an apartment (our present) is not the same as having a second home (our never). As Josh has discovered (to my delight, I admit), paying for a house does not make it homey. In fact, it makes it more like a dorm. Our visit in July helped humanize it, but the walls are still bare white, the food all out of the freezer, and he has a whole new appreciation for my Homegoods addiction. So there is some good coming from it. ;)

5. Some people ARE all they are cracked up to be. After we read The Language of God several years ago, we both joined the Francis Collins fan club. To find a Christian at the height of science was just too good. Then he scheduled a call with Josh, and we thought, What is he going to ask? Can you even say no to your idol? Thankfully, he just asked to "borrow" Josh for 4 months, so Yes was easy.

Since then, Josh has had the chance to become disillusioned by this mentor -- and it hasn't happened. Instead, Collins invited our entire family to his house for dinner. Me: "Are you sure? Did you tell him we'll have 3 little boys with us? And that they're 2-, 5-, and 7-years old? (Yes.) And they still want us to come??" They did. We went. It was amazing. They have double helixes built into their moldings and hardwood floors, and we sat around singing songs while he played his guitar. It was all very surreal. And worth the price of admission (see #1-4...).

Celebrating the completion of the Report to the President

6. We would do it again, but not forever. October 1st, here we come!!

Italy in Retrospect

If you're gonna face jet lag, do it somewhere with really goooood coffee.
And the fact Italian coffee shops open at 8am on weekdays
and restaurants open for dinner at 7pm on weekends just proves
I was meant to be Italian.

We are back. Back to our three scrumptious boys and wet summer heat and suburban Nashville. If you're on social media, you probably took the trip with us: London, Rome, Florence, Tuscany. Eight days. No kids. And about 24 cappuccinos per person (not kidding - see right).

It was amazing -- even better in retrospect. Much as I love our lives and would never want to move there (I did read Under the Tuscan Sun), it was one of our best vacations. Rather than repeating the play-by-play from InstaFB, I thought I'd just share some reflections from our trip, in pretty random order...

ON ITALY

1. I had low expectations. With my brother's study abroad as an excuse, my parents took me to Rome, Florence, and Venice when I was 16. I must have been a horrid 16 (I'm already dreading payback), because I do not have great memories from that trip. I remember hot, smoggy, noisy, crowded, with beggars and pickpockets and disappointing food (yeah, I know). I also got sick enough that I had to fly home early. Fast forward to 2015, and I had a very difficult time finding a book set in contemporary Rome that was actually flattering, which was ominous. On the flight there, I read Robert Hutchinson's memoir of frustration, When in Rome. AND my first day was in London, possibly my favorite city in the world. So I was ready to be disappointed. Really, the perfect position to start a trip. ;)

2. I was SO happily surprised. The air was clear and bright, not too hot, and not too crowded. We had some delicious food. I didn't see explicit sexuality everywhere (contra Gilbert in Eat Pray Love). Everyone was friendly and most spoke English. We hardly saw any gypsies and nothing was stolen. The buildings were not falling to pieces -- many had even been recently cleaned or renovated (contra Hutchison). We didn't even run into any operational fiascos or corruption (contra Berlusconi's rep). All the usual criticisms of Italy may still have a kernel of truth, but we didn't see them, and we weren't trying that hard to avoid them.

3. Italy is not like suburban Nashville. Insightful, I know. Still, the contrast was my biggest impression on re-entry. Though they're both "Western" and mostly English-speaking and warm and lush and sunny this time of year, the overabundance of 500-2,000-year-old art/history that papers the floors and walls and streets and churches throughout the old cities in Italy is totally foreign to my little domain back home.

I used to think the few cobblestone streets in MA were charming. Italy takes cobblestone to a whole new level. They're everywhere, but so much older that they're actually pleasant to walk on. And many are pedestrian. Can you imagine any American city blocking off that many central streets to cars?

This is not to mention the glorious facades on buildings around every corner, the 2,000-yr-old ruins sunk between city blocks...

Left: Modern cat habitat (literally, we met the vet who cares for the 300+ cats) built when Julius Caesar was running the country. #ruinsruinseverywhere
Right: Love how they left the ruins standing but built "new" townhomes adjacent and gave them matching street lights.

And the piazzas. The Piazzas.

4. The "old city" (tourist district) is far more attractive than its concentric circles. As with every other city I've visited (except Nantucket which has its own unique barriers to entry), the urban sprawl that is modern apartment buildings and graffiti and city buses, utility poles and laundry mats and tanning salons and...ordinary life is ubiquitous, and not everyone can be rich enough to make it beautiful. I came away from Italy in love with what we saw but also realizing we didn't interact with any of our locations as people who live there. We only saw the best they have to offer. Except when we strayed off the grid, and saw people defecating on the street or fighting in wedding dresses in front of a cafe or pushing a full shopping cart up a curb. This dichotomy always makes me uncomfortable. Is it disingenuous? Did we really get the Italian experience if we stayed on the curated level of a tourist? Who knows? But I do know if people came to visit me, I wouldn't take them to Dickerson Road. I'd want them to see the highlights of Nashville -- our city and culture at its most interesting and best. I can't imagine an Italian would be disappointed I did the same.

#nofilter

5. Their ingredients are not replacable. Under the Tuscan Sun refers to this, but now that I'm home, it's true. I cannot make an Italian cappuccino with these beans, and my attempt at tomato bruschetta was so pathetic I threw the last pieces away. We just don't have their fresh tomatoes which are TO DIE FOR. But really, I don't mind too much. It would be a little sad if that exact food were available anywhere. And in the interest of full disclosure, they don't have the best of everything. Tuscan bread has no salt in it, and every night it was served to us absolutely plain (no butter, oil, etc). So they have coffee, tomatoes, cheese, fresh-pressed olive oil, ribbons of never-dried-out pasta, truffles, etc. We have bread with salt.

6. While we're on food, Italians love carbs. Every menu starts with bread, then bread with stuff on it (antipasto), then pasta (primo), then meat and potatoes (secondo), then once you're good and full, a salad, fruit, or cheese. The primary ingredients to the 3 main courses appeared to be wheat, meat, and cheese. I struggled to find pasta that had veges mixed in, and then they were more of a garnish. We could not figure out how they eat all of these courses, what they have against vegetables, and why the servings were so big -- and yet they're still so svelte! #nofair

7. One more food item: It's cheap, if you can get the check. Maybe it's that we're used to a check for 5 instead of 2, but we were pleasantly surprised to get cappuccinos for <$2, lunches for <$25, and dinners in Rome for <$40, and that includes paying for water. IF we could get the bill. The food all comes out in a timely fashion, and then the servers disappear for about 30-45min before you can flag them down or accost the hostess. We weren't usually in a hurry, but we thought it was funny that they seemed to have no particular interest in getting paid. 

8. Men's fashion is just more fun over there. The men actually wear suits and ties regularly - and not just in navy blue! As in England, they're not afraid of color, patterns beyond the pinstripe, and clothes that fit. As I've gotten more into my side-job of dressing my husband, this made me wish we had lots more room in our luggage.

Where we didn't go...yet.

9. Italy has a rich and diverse landscape for such a small country (=Arizona). I didn't realize how much more there is to see than Rome. I could easily plan another trip, this time with Venice, Milan, the Dolomites, Cinque Terre, and the Amalfi Coast. To start. ;)

ON TRAVELING

It is hard to know how to talk about a trip to Italy. Sharing the bad with the good can sound like whining (after all, you're in Italy!), but not sharing the bad can sound saccharine and boasting. I'm convinced it's impossible to get just right. But I am going to take some space here to share some of the foibles from our trip - and when possible, how I'd address them.

1. The boys back home. To make the time go faster and be more fun for our boys, I enrolled them each in summer programs and they had 3 different sets of sitters. I'm convinced it all helped them not miss us. It also made the prep RIDICULOUS. SO many details to organize between carpools and handoffs, etc. Next time, I'll try to get them all in the same programs or somehow simplify this so I don't kill myself before we leave.

2. Sitters to the Rescue! Aaron threw up at camp (overheated) the day after I left. Isaac got a 24-hr stomach bug a few days later. These could have been disastrous; When you're across the pond, you don't want to rush home for a stomach bug. THANK GOD we learned years ago to get sitters who can handle the unexpected and not flee at the first sign of trouble. Or vomit.

3. Telecommunications. Josh managed to get us free data roaming in Europe (woohoo!), but it drained my battery, which was already faltering. Since my phone is my link to my children AND my camera, this became a constant source of anxiety. Next time, I'd get my phone checked out before we leave and probably buy a new battery rather than take one that's limping.

Top left looks so nice! Do not be deceived. The rest are
Hotel L'Orologio in Florence. Ahhh... :)

4. Good night, sleep tight. Thanks to Josh's business, we only had to book 4 nights of hotels. I decided to save $ one of those nights, and it was by far our worst night with short, restless sleep thanks to a noisy neighborhood, thin walls, cheap beds, and undependable AC. When you've gone to the trouble to get all the way over there, you hate to ruin 24 hours to save $75. Next time: Don't skimp on the hotel, no matter what the Trip Advisors say; it's only $100 for a reason.

5. Sleep and Sickness. I am ridiculously sensitive to sleep: If I don't get 8 hours, I tend to get sick. This may explain why I threw up at the end of the red-eye from Philly-London (Note to self: NO MORE REDEYES). Regardless, it terrified me as I was about to spend the day alone in London. How could I have a stomach bug when I didn't even have a hotel!? Miraculously, the nauseua vanished once I expelled the airplane food (hmm....). But a few days later we spent the night at the cheap hotel, and I woke up with a cold. I toured a bunch of medieval cities with one eye out for a "Farmacia." Next time: Bring more drugs, and #3.

Sheraton Parco Medici is a perfect example of how to
address #3 and #6 simultaneously. I would never have
picked it so far from the city center, but it was
pastoral and refreshing and worth the bus ride -
and chosen by Josh's conference organizers.

6. Priorities. Our cheap hotel night was compounded by a wild goose chase. It was a spontaneous addition to our plans, it was far from the tourist area, it was closed for a priest convention, and walking there and back through the hood not only wore us out but also consumed our last evening in Rome. Next time: Stick to the plan, or at least take a cab.

7. Relax. When we've gone all the way anywhere, it's easy to feel like we have to see as much as possible - we may not be back! But the temptation to marathon sightsee is a mirage - one I fall for often. Our best days usually involve a leisurely pace and some sitting and sipping in an outdoor cafe. Note to self: Don't ever feel guilty for missing another landmark because you slept in or had another cappuccino. This is not an assignment; it is vacation.

IN CONTEXT

I love reading books and watching movies set in the locations we plan to visit. It helps them come alive to me. I searched through many terrible lists of "books set in Italy." Eventually, I accumulated a collection more suited to my interests. So, here's my list... and bona sera!

#1 - The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone. A biography of Michelangelo written like a novel. I wish I'd heard of this book more than 2 days before our trip! It is also a movie starring Charlton Heston & Rex Harrison, which I now plan to see. 

#2 - Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes. Such a lovely prep for Tuscany - and Italian food. Also a movie starring Diane Lane.

#3 - Four Seasons in Rome by Anthony Doerr. A contemporary memoir of a year this writer spent adjusting to and falling in love with Rome with his wife and newborn twins.

#4 - The Inferno by Dan Brown. Josh read this and said it made Florence (and Venice, if we'd gone there) even more interesting.

#5 - When in Rome by Robert Hutchinson. A memoir of this journalist's year spent moving to Rome with his family and trying to penetrate the Vatican. At times fascinating, relatable, unflattering, and eventually boring.

#6 - "Eat" of Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. If you're just interested in Rome, you can skip the intro and stop at the end of the first section. Gilbert will whet your appetite for Italian food, if not Rome itself. There's also a movie starring Julia Roberts.

#7 - A Room with a View by E.M. Forster. The movie version starring Helena Bonham Carter & Maggie Smith is to die for.

#8 - "Roman Holiday" movie with Audrey Hepburn & Gary Cooper. Fluffy 1950s romcom fun & you'll recognize the major sites in Rome. I love the ending.

#9 - Blood, Bones & Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton. I really liked this book but rank it low because only some scenes near the end are set in Italy.

#? - The Shoemaker's Wife by Adriana Trigiani. I haven't gotten to this one yet, but I did like her book, Big Stone Gap.