Revealing Grace

 I've had a lot of endings that are also beginnings.  In fact, I've lived in Jeff's house for 3.5 years and that's the longest I've lived in a single home since I left Virginia at the age of 16. For over half of my life I have been without roots. I've lived in 9 homes in the last 12 years. That is absurd.  And the truth is, I don't want to be rootless anymore. I want to settle in, build something I am proud of, and never have to pack another moving box in my life. This restless, wandering soul wants to plant my feet on the same ground for more years than I can count and raise my daughter like I was raised in Virginia- with lasting friends and mother-daughter book clubs and people you grow up with. I haven't had a single place I've felt was truly my home since I left Richmond as a teenager, and I am ready to change that.  So in one week, we move to Tennessee. It is a place where a lot of our dreams lie. It is where Jeff will continue a career that he

People always say that raising a baby is "hard" and I never could quite figure out what that meant. To me, raising a baby is not hard. Washing bottles, changing diapers, and all of the other day-to-day tasks are not hard compared to say, running after-school programs for wild teenagers or trying to drive after your first big dose of chemotherapy.  "Hard" is not how I would describe raising a baby.  "Constant" is more the word I would use. It never ends and each day is an often monotonous struggle to get through the boring tasks and the thrown food and the toys all over the ground, while also giving big snuggles and too many kisses and being licked in the face without warning. It is a struggle, but of a different kind than that for which I would normally use the word. It is constant and a little overwhelming and sometimes maddening. Honestly, sometimes life itself feels both hard and constant. There are days when I feel the constant pressure of trying to ge

 I’m sitting in the airport with Emma, delayed, again. I’m pretty sure American Airlines never manages a round trip without delays, at least in my experience. It’s been part of the game of traveling with Emma, often on my own, which I do a lot. Thankfully I’ve learned from my mistakes and have plenty of extra baby supplies on hand. And thankfully she’s a trooper who is able to nap anywhere. But seeing as today, in this airport, is also my 34th birthday, I figured some reflection was in order.  When my flights get delayed, I inevitably utter a few curse words (cue the early 2000s classic, “I’m not a perfect persoooon”). On the way home from England it was supposed to be straightforward, but instead became a 13 hour plane ride, a stay in a roach motel, and a flight the following afternoon. Today it’s me and Emma desperately wanting to get home to spend time with Jeff, who prepared imitation Chipotle for this farm girl with city tastes on her birthday. It’s so easy to get annoyed when wha