The Ranch

Anticipatory Grieving: a grief reaction that occurs before an impending loss. 

Nailed it. 

Queen of it.

Feeling, pondering, worrying, mourning. All before the loss even occurs.

Yep, that is me. 

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I picked September arbitrarily. Circled it on my calendar months in advance and said that it was the month that my house was going on the market. I knew that I would eventually need to move. For financial reasons, for a fresh start, for the future. Since the finalizing of my divorce (2.2014), it was always in the back of my head as “someday.” So September it was. For no other reason than I needed to give myself a date,  give myself time to come to terms with the date, and then not allow myself to weasel out of it.

I called a realtor in early June to began the much dreaded process. He was so kind but questioned why I wanted to list in September, after all school is already back in session and most looking for a home in the area of my home would want to be settled before the start of the school year. There was no negotiating, September was September was September. I was set.

And then began the actual process. I painstaking sorted, purged, and prepared every inch of my home. It wasn't pretty. Not pretty at all. Anger, grief, sadness, brokenness, and hurt surfaced. I didn't stop. Plowing through so as to know that all things making the move with me would be those that exuded joy and happiness and comfort.

Mid-August hit like a crashing wave. I phoned a financial minded friend and listened as she spoke confirmation that moving was best. Best emotionally, mentally, and even financially. I trusted her. There was no question in her mind leaving me to feel as though I wasn't alone in making such a weighty decision. I'm grateful for her.

When all had all been sorted, touched up, cleaned up, scrubbed, and decluttered, I made a call to the realtor and he returned to do yet another walk through. I assumed it would take a week or so to get things set into motion putting me right on track for a September listing. But, he grabbed his camera, snapped a few pics, and stuck a sign in the front yard. 

Mid August, ready or not.

Two days passed and the listing went active. That very day, there were two showings and within two days of being on the market, it was sold. Two blessed days.

It felt surreal and instantly panic set in as I realized I had no where to go. Where was home? Where was I headed? Would I feel safe, comfortable, at peace? What had I just done? Had I just made the biggest mistake? Could I embrace even more change? Death, divorce, a job change, and now leaving behind the safe haven that was my refuge through it all. 

Friends, what unfolded over the next month is awing to reflect upon.

It was as if it was meant to be. 

I reached out to friends whom I had meant through a Bible study and it just so happened that one of their rental properties was going to be available starting September 1st. Abby and I toured it and felt unsure. It was certainly different than my house...from a 15 year old build to a 1960's home. We affectionately named it 'The Ranch.' One for the obvious reason that it is a ranch style home and the second that it reminded us of the place the Golden Girls lived in. They assured me that I could paint to help make The Ranch feel more like me.

Oddly enough, what bothered me the most about the house were the mix matched appliances. I don't know why they caught my eye when we first toured but they did. It's a rental and certainly not going to have top of the line appliances, I knew that. 

Again, lets just pause before I tell you how the appliances situ unfolded. 

At the advice of my realtor, I maintained the fridge from my home. I was guided that most rentals don't come with fridges so the white one stayed with me. After learning the rental came with a fridge, I assumed I would sell mine. And then, as I was chatting with a dear friend, she casually mentioned that their fridge had died so the decided to upgrade all their appliances and thus they were attempting sell their gently used white ones. As in a white microwave, stove, and dishwasher. You can see where this went. It was as if the stars aligned. My fridge, their other appliances, and a green light from the landlords and suddenly the little kitchen in the rental got an appliance facelift. 

Abby and I painted all the things in the rental white. White, white, and more white and suddenly the little ranch started to look at whole lot more airy. 

And Abby gloriously found the perfect couch on Craigslist. That's right, after selling the couches out of my house, we began the search for our a replacement. I was thinking new, Craigslist never crossed my mind.  I was skeptical and pondered the bugs that could come with a Craigslist find but we went to check it out armed with a signal that if one of us gave, we would quickly bail. Indeed, it was perfect. Almost new and hardly used! Our style, our color, perfect for the new space, and a third of the price of something brand new. Score. 

And, the story of how we manage to get the Craigslist couch from a downtown loft to our little ranch...just the two of us...that is an epic story for another day!  Let's just say we felt like rockstars in the process with her jeep, a borrowed trailed, and hammock ties.

And true to form, the weekend before we were set to move in, I was scheduled to be out of town at The Influence Conference. I pondered not going but knew my spirited needed the refueling. So my family manned a garage sale to finish selling what wasn't making the move and I spent time away, resting and rejuvenating. 

And as I was away, I got a text with a picture of the front of the ranch. Blooming right beside the mailbox were two little yellow flowers. It was like the icing on the cake. We were going to be just fine in the little ranch, we had our sign.

Wouldn't you know, the move went smooth. Praise goodness for friends and family who helped...and the 3890345890843 trips that we took between places so that I could go all Type A on coordinating the move. Perhaps there was a calendar. And perhaps that calendar outlined what would get packed and moved when. One room at a time. Box it, pack it, move it, unpack it, and instantly one room was done. And then repeat, room by room. 

We are settled into the ranch and I haven't looked back. Sure there are things that I miss about my home...like the jetted tub, we were one...but there are things that I have instantly come to appreciate about the ranch. It's little, and cozy, and making us feel welcomed. It feels more manageable and more financially freeing. It's a new start, a clean slate. 

The move that I long feared is behind me and our little 1960's ranch is filling the void. 

And, wouldn't you know, I'm a-o-k. 

All before September even drew to an end.  Listed, sold, moved, and settled.

As my realtor expressed, "Because God is good and when you trust him, He provides."

September, it indeed was. 

Leaving Home Behind

I eat the same thing for breakfast everyday of the workweek. Literally, Monday thru Friday. At 8am. Two eggs pan fried in coconut oil, steamed broccoli, a banana cut into slices, and almond butter. Almond butter obsessed. It has been months and I'm not tired of my breakfast. I thrive in routine, consistency, predictability. Breakfast is no exception.  I always have. Type A, list, diagrams, and plans. Holla.

News flash, my house sold. After being on the market for a whopping two days, sold. I'm struggling to think of this not being home. Talk about change. I eat the same breakfast for the love of Pete. You mean no jetted tub to soak in or no kitchen peninsula bigger than my dining table to roll out cookie dough? You mean no sunlight peaking through my bedroom window every morning or illuminating my spot while enjoying said breakfast? Creature comforts, these materialistic luxuries have become a part of my routine. Down to the carpet. Did you know you could grieve carpet? I dream of old hardwood floors but I'm grieving the carpet for goodness sake.

But you know what I struggle with more? The memories that this place holds. I'm not "moving up" or off to "bigger and better." This move is one that my head knows is right. My head knows but my heart lags behind. Financially. Spiritually. Emotionally. It is time for a fresh start. A new place for a new beginning. It's not forever but for now. For this season. For the stage of life that is so drastically different than the need that this house provides.


 

But more than the carpet or the sunlight. More than the double sinks, neighborhood pool, and walk-in closet. More than these things that only I think I need, it's Addy's spirit that knew this place. She isn't alive so taking her with me to create new memories elsewhere isn't a luxury. Oh how I wish it were. I'd give it all if I could. My time with her is housed in these walls. These walls and the hospital room where she was born and she passed. I visit on her birthday and to take Addy's Stories to be given to families facing loss. I go back there because that is where she was. The hospital room and this house. This is were I learned of her, where my belly grew, where I read, where this momma shared my heart with my daughter (and all the Reece's hearts/eggs). Selling and packing and moving means there is no coming back. It is permanent. Her pictures will be hung at my next place and her life celebrated there...and forever...but this was to be her home. Our home. For our family. Forever.

But my head knows. It knows of the financial woes within. It knows the healing and the fresh start and the anew that this place hinders.

So, it's all going. The couches, the Christmas decor, the curtains, the throw pillows. Tediously, it's all been sorted. Every last thing touched and those that exude to0 powerful an emotion, they will find a new place of residence. One can't take the memories from one place and stick them in another and expect to not feel. So it has been painstakingly sorted to allow only what makes me smile, what fills my spirit, what brings me joy to go with me. A fresh start.

But sorting and digging through bins that housed our things hurt. They were boxes I closed when I was knee deep in my struggle. I closed them and hid them away not knowing what to do but knowing it was more than I could bear at the time. Our monogrammed Christmas stocking, the candle sticks from our wedding, gifts we had given, attire I had worn on special occasions, the very first piece of decor we bought when we moved in (a large, plastic, light up jack-o-lantern just in time for Halloween...blah). With opening every hidden away box, the memories crept out. And the anger. The sadness. The hurt. The longing, brokenness, and the remembrance of what once was. They hit full force. I knew they would. But I knew that once and for all, I had to sort so they don't lurk into the future. A fresh start unhindered by the past.

I cried. Cried might be a pretty way to say it. I sobbed. The kind where the chest burns so fiercely that you can't catch your breath. The kind where you expend every last ounce of energy being left curled up to depleted to even move. 

I did what I knew was best when I didn't know how to process all the feelings, I made an appointment with my counselor. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed or uncomfortable saying that. Please allow this public service announcement: life is hard and it is a-o-k to seek guidance when needed. More than ok, sometimes it is necessary. Counselors for president.

She validated this being yet another season of change, of unknown, of new for someone who longs for stability and predictability. A need to grieve both the physical space and the very last of a life that is no more. 

On to whatever the future holds.
Endless of possibilities.

The Last Of What Once Was {Leaving Behind Home}

And so it is, the season I have long feared. 

I knew it would come and know it is for the best but it doesn't make it easy. 

The very place that I have called home for the past five years, will soon no longer be mine. 

It is the place that we ran through as a young married couple dreaming of our future. Room by room we planned how this very place would house our history. The place with rooms to spare, a school district to be proud of, and amenities for a growing family. 

It is the very place where I first learned I would be a mom and the refuge I needed during the highs and lows. It was my safe haven that allowed me to relish the life within me without the weight of the world. The place where I read to her, where we built a snowman, and where I once dreamed her nursery to be. It is the place where my water broke, where I crawled back to after her death, and where I returned after her memorial service. It is the place where my empty arms ensured that there was a tangible reminder of my child in each and every room. This is the place where she was alive within me.

This is where I grieved, where I screamed in anger and sobbed in brokenness. 

It is where I healed. 

And yet, this place houses the room where I was when I learned of his infidelity, the stairs that I sat upon and watched as he carried out his things, and the garage where I collapsed as he drove off to his new life.

And again, it became my refuge. Where I hid. Where I ran to. Where I was home. A safe haven as I doubted my worth at my lowest of lows. These walls have watched me slowly find my feet as I rediscovered who I was created to be. O, if only they could talk. It has been my constant through the changes, my sanctuary, my protection, my home.

And yet, it is just a place. 

A materialistic existence of my former life. The last of what once was. 

And so, it is time. Time to collect what is and walk away.

More than the physical place, I will grieve what this place once stood for, the comfort I have always found within, and the vivid memories that will remain.  It's a loss of another part of what was once me and walking away begs the question of where do I belong now. 

Where is home?

Though I know not where I will land, I know that my true refuge isn't bound in these walls. It is in Him.

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From the love of my own comfort
From the fear of having nothing
From a life of worldly passions
Deliver me O God

A chord from a hymn we sang the week I decided it was time to sell.

Coincidence? I think not. Confirmation.

Precious Moments Memorial

She was, she is, and she will forever be with us. My Addy.

As her momma, I will forever be grateful for the ways in which my family and friends have found to honor and celebrate her precious life. 

Each unique. Each personal. Each meaningful. 

For what would have been Addy's 2nd birthday, my maternal grandparents had a brick placed in the Memorial Garden at the Precious Moments Chapel. 

It is a place I remember visiting with them as a child. 

It is tranquil and serene and peaceful.

 She existed, she matters, and she is forever missed.

Long may sweet Addy's memory live on. 

Infant Loss and Infidelity

I've cried more days this past week than I haven't. 

Not cried really, sobbed. It's not dainty or subtle, it is raw.

Change is on the horizon. 

And, for this creature of habit, change unleashes all the emotions leaving my spirit overwhelmed. I have learned that when these seasons come, I have a choice. I can try to pretend it doesn't hurt or I can embrace it and accept it as the cost of loving so deep. 

Grief is after all a lifelong journey.

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I'm honored to be guest posting about 'Infant Loss and Infidelity' on Lauren's blog today as a part of her Womanly Wednesday Series. It was an opportunity for me to look back over the past two years and see prevision in the midst of Addy's death and the devastating end to my marriage. You can find the post here. 

(Thanks for allowing me to share, Lauren!)

 

 

Cauliflower Fried Rice

Cauliflower Fried “Rice”

Yes, please.

I surveyed the intraworlds for recipes and there are tons out there but none that totally won me over so I rigged together what sounded best to me. It is super easy, customizable, Paleo, and Whole30 approved! 

 

So here you go...

Ingredients:

1 head of Cauliflower

2 Tbsp of Coconut Oil

6 Tbsp Coconut Aminos 

2 Cloves of Garlic

2 Carrots - peeled and chopped 

1/2 of a Red Onion - chopped

A Handful of Fresh Green Beans - chopped

2 Chicken Breast - cooked (I sauteed in olive oil) and chopped

3 Eggs

Salt and Pepper - To Taste

How We Do It:

First, drop a couple of  cauliflower florets in the food processor at a time. Pulse 2-3 times or until the cauliflower is broken down into pieces. Don't over do it, you don't want it to be mushy. Place the pulsed "rice" into a bowl and then repeat until all the cauliflower has taken a whirl in the food processor. 

Drop a tablespoon of the coconut oil into a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. Once it has melted, toss in the garlic, carrots, onion, green beans, and the cooked chicken. Saute until the veggies are cooked - I didn't look at the time, I just sampled the carrots and decided they were good when they were cooked but not overdone.

Remove the veggies/chicken from the pan and set aside. Using the same pan, scramble the eggs. Add a little salt and pepper to the eggs and then place them in the same bowl as the cooked veggies/chicken. 

Next, add the other tablespoon of coconut oil to the pan making sure it coats the bottom. Turn the heat to high and when the oil is hot, add the cauliflower rice. Cook on high for 6 minutes stirring only a couple of times so that it browns on the bottom. You want some to get crispy but not burnt.

Once the rice has cooked, add the veggie-chicken-egg mix into the pan with the cooked cauliflower rice. Add the coconut aminos and stir to combine. 

And now eat. 

Told ya it was delish. 

Note:

I used what I had on hand but it is easily customizable. 

Green onions, peas, or other types of meat would be yummy too.

Our 'Happy 30th Birthday' Trip

It was a once-in-a-lifetime, no regrets, hope-really-does-win, HaPpY 30th BiRtHdAy trip.

An incredible two weeks spent in Spain and Paris with two dear friends.

She was one of my besties in college and a roommate our senior year. Together, we studied a ridiculous amount. They met in medical school and when I met him, I liked him from the beginning. I adore her. And him. And them.

  

It was three years ago that we set out on our first big vacation together. A couples vacation...for four. My life looked different then but we made a pact to make our travels a tradition and despite it just being me, they held tight to the pact. 

She turns 30 the day after me so now felt right. She researched & literally planned the entire trip (my flights included), sent me the itinerary, and held all my important documents during our travels. He, he navigated, was our tour guide, and put up with us both for two solid weeks. Me, I just was. And I loved every minute of it.

Out of this world. Pure goodness. Simply perfect.

Can we just go back already?

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Our first stop was Madrid, a happening place. 

 Captivating architecture, endless tapas enjoyed over five meals a day, and dining as a slow gathering experience over hustle. It is where the "American breakfast" is a plate piled high with sausage, bacon, and blood sausage. Where dinner menus include brains, kidneys, pig ears, neck glands, braided intestines, and fish served with eyes. There was ice cream and salty churros with chocolate dipping sauce, too. Where days start late, dinner begins after 9pm, and nights run into the early morning. Where street performers & costumed characters are of abundance, where flamenco dancers entertain, and where nuns sell yummy cookies through a secret door. It is home to The Royal Palace of Madrid and the one and only Prado Museum.

 From Madrid, a bullet train landed us in Sevilla.

Sevilla is a little gem with quaint cobblestone streets and unique labyrinth pedestrian roads. Though a metropolis, it felt intimate. Intimate and the toastiest of all our stops with temperatures nearing triple digits. It boosted simplicity down to delightful tapas, intricate hand laid tile work, fountains at every turn, signature blue and goldenrod yellow fronts, and bell tower chiming throughout. It is where dinner started after nine and was served one community dish at a time. Where orange trees were of abundance and fresh fruit filled sangria was enticing. Where the sunrise and sunset views painted the river, the magnificently adorned (and the worlds largest) Cathedral is found, and the intricate hand crafted Alcazar is still home to Spanish royals. 

Just keeping it real because it was H.O.T. You are welcome.  Now back to the real pictures.

A little bus ride from Sevilla and we we arrived in Granada. 
It was where we saw all we could see in a mere twenty-eight hours.  It was a short but worth it overnight filled with pasta, crepes, and a burger with fries. What? It's all authentic. They were quaint little eateries with a handful of seats, a few menu options of the day, and a view of the chef who took pride in their art...well not the burger from the one and only Burger King but we were hurrying to catch our overnight train. Granada was home to hippies, bath houses, and hills that I'm certain left my calves lookin' fine. It is home to the breathtakingly sculpted Alhambra which boast incredible views, beautiful tiles, and tranquil green gardens.

 And from Grandad, we took an overnight train to Barcelona. Awe, Barcelona. 

It was where hip brunch joints serve top notch dishes, Gaudi masterpieces wow (Sagrada Familia & the Park Guell), magic fountains flow, skateboarders abound, and where fresh-from-the-sea paella with red wine sangria gets two fist pumps from me. Eating things like lobster, shrimp, mussels, and cuddle fish while sipping red wine made me feel so grown up. But, what I loved the most was the rest on Barcelona's peaceful beaches with crashing waves and swooping seagulls. 

A quick flight from Barcelona and we arrived in our final destination, Paris. 
I mean honestly. It was as magical as I envisioned from the perfectly paired three course dinners, to the melt-in-your-mouth pastries you could smell for blocks, and the chocolatiers with detailed creations. There was architecture to marvel at, window boxes overflowing with red and white flowers, and the signature cobalt blue doors with gold handles. It is where I paid to use the bathroom while out exploring and got to pick from a rainbow of toilet paper with the plushness of my choosing. It is home the Louvre and thus none other than Mona Lisa. And then there was the Eiffel Tower. We took it in throughout the day but it was a spectacle at night as it twinkled on the hour and seemed to never get old. 
If only stinky cheese wasn't a thing, Paris might just be perfect. 

Of all the places we visited, Madrid felt the busiest, most crowded, and a little overwhelming. Sevilla was quite the opposite. It felt quaint, full of charm, a relaxing. Of course Barcelona had a unfair advantage with the inciting beach. The tranquility of crashing waves and toes in the sand is hard to beat in my book. But Paris. It is as magical as one might envision. The three course freshly prepared meals, the charm and character, the euphoric baked goods, and the majesty of the Eiffel Tower. So much to see and do and experience in every nook and cranny makes Paris endlessly alluring. 

As we shared our last dinner, I teared up as we thought about our next vacation. Not just about where or when but about what life may look like then. 

Ten years ago, I wouldn't have pictured the final few days of my twenties to look like they did. But, they were really, really good. I have stellar friends and our trip was an incredible way to end the decade that redefined me. 

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The most heartfelt thank you to my dear friend for planning the entire trip. 

I simply could not have planned, organized, and prepared like she did. 

It was incredible and I am grateful that we let her husband be our third wheel. 

#AlyAndNinaTurnThirty 

Happy 30th {To Me}:

On my 28^th birthday, I created a bucket list. 

Not one that I wanted to aspire to over my lifetime but in Year 28. 

There were little things and big, real big things. It was motivating and focusing on difficult days. It gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment. On my 29^th birthday, I surveyed the list and cried all the ugly tears when I realized that I had checked every. single. box. All of them. Despite it being a difficult year, the bucket list prevailed and I felt so accomplished. 

You can read all about the Year28 Bucket List here.

Year 29, it was no different. I again comprised a list and set out to push myself, challenge my introverted ways, and once again dream big. 

Friends, you should make a bucket list. Small things matter too and when you are able to look back and see the checked boxes, it is exhilarating. 

So get to bucketing, I don't think you will regret it.

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Without further ado…the Year29 Bucket List…because as of today, I am 30. Holla!

That doesn’t make me anxious or sad or anything really. I got plans for 30 so,  bring it.  

Now really, without further ado, the Year29 Bucket List…

1.       Take a cooking class.

I did more than just take a class, I learned that you can check cookbooks and cooking guides out from the library! It’s like doing homework but with a subject you are actually interested in. I did lots of reading and trialing of recipes and venturing into the world of new foods. You can read more about recipes I tried and my approach to cooking (which in general falls under Paleo or the Whole30) here.

Oh, I also joined a cooking club. We call it ‘C-Club.” It’s a tossup as to whether the ‘c’ should stand for ‘cooking,’ 'chatting,' or ‘crying.’ C-Club was modeled off the book Bread and Wine and consist of a few dear friends. We meet monthly and cook and chat and cook and cry. I will confess that we have taken C-Club to a few restaurants instead of cooking but 3/5 of the members had (or will have) a baby this spring/summer so sitting and being served was needed. C-Club gets deep. Real and authentic. My type of conversations.

2.       Join a GC. 

Some call them Bible Studies or small groups but the church I have been attending calls them Gospel Communities or GC. It sounds small but this one was big for me. I think I have discussed a few times how I am an introvert so gathering with a group of essentially strangers sounded overwhelming. But, I knew my spirit longed for a body. Not knowing where I belonged, I emailed the pastor and gave him a brief overview of my life and asked if he could guide me. A part of me hoped that he would say ‘we just don’t really have the right group for you’ so that I could cross it off my list and chalk it up to having tried. I wanted a place where I fit…me and my newly divorced, mom of a decease child self could feel accepted.  Needless to say, I wound up in a wonderful group mixed with single peeps and married couples of varying ages and have felt right at home. {A special thanks to Jordan and Lauren for hosting}.

3.       Go on my first date. 

I did! I went on a blind date and had a second date and then promptly retired from dating. It wasn’t him, it was me. And I don’t mean that in the nice way that people use it to dump someone. It really was me not being ready. Dating is a whole new world for me. An overwhelming, scary, risky, intimating world. I know now that I wasn’t ready then and it is ok for me to admit that. It’s been almost a year since I retired from dating. I am now more settled and self aware and confident in who I am. Don’t get me wrong, I still cringe at the thought of dating but cringing is better than upchucking my lunch. You are welcome for that visual.

4.       Define my career. 

Year 29 afforded me a job change. I wasn’t unhappy in my previous job, in fact it was hard to leave, but my new role allows me to support families who find themselves in tender moments and faced with the reality that life isn’t always easy. This job allows me to pay forward the care that was once given to me and my Addy.

5.       Run a Half. 

Gulp. We did it and you can read about it here. 

We are hoping to run another this fall. Two halves make a whole right?

6.       Establish a Financial Emergency Fund. 

Between the medical bills from my pregnancy, genetic testing for hopeful answers, and the legal fees from my divorce, my savings account set empty. Completely depleted. That is a scary place to be when you have a mortgage and no wingman. So this year, I pounded out a cash budget, cut excess expenses, and took a strong stance on saving. The emergency fund was first and saving for my vacation second. Year 30 will afford some even tougher decisions regarding where I call home.  Baby steps. 

7.       Take a 30^th Birthday, once in a lifetime, hope wins, good does come, celebration vacation.

Nailed it. Two weeks exploring Spain and France with two dear friends did the trick. I have about 700 pictures that I have been sorting through and I will write a whole post complete with pics soon. It was incredible and the most perfect way to bid farewell to my twenties. 

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30. 

Friends, I am 30. 

I don’t feel 30 but it sounds like a number that better fits me. 

More mature. More established. More self aware. More who I want to be. More, well me.

Cheers to 30.