A Genuine Affair

"Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing

Like the love that let us share our name" -The Avett Brothers

My oldest sister Sarabeth got married last weekend. Not just married, but she found someone that I believe was made for her. Well they were made for each other. The wedding was such a genuine, sincere occasion and it was truly a joy to be involved. Being the youngest of four girls, I never lacked in having good female role models to look up to. This occasion was no different. I watched how Sarabeth humbly, modestly, and gracefully handled her title as the Bride. She was laid back, patient and let everything roll off her back. Except for one tiny, little incident...My family is always late. The night before the wedding my parents were 40 minutes late to the rehearsal. My twin sisters were an hour late. Everyone was present and in order except parents of the bride and two of her bridesmaids. They were last. I could see Sarabeth's blood boiling as she was biting her tongue. And then I watched how John, now her husband, gently talked her down. I watched how he rubbed her back and told her that everything would be fine. I watched how his tender actions immediately calmed her down. Within seconds her attitude had changed.

How wonderful is that? Between two people there are all sorts of wonderful qualities, some that are shared and some that are not. But to have someone help cultivate those characteristics when you are lacking is pretty special. I am very proud of Sarabeth and John. I have always looked up to Sarabeth, and now I look forward to looking up to Sarabeth and John. As a couple, as a family, and as my sister and brother-in-law.

"People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life." -Elizabeth Gilbert

3 A.M. Dam Failure (in my head)

I would like to think that my brain works sort of like a river. Information, sometimes useless, flows through it all day long. Sometimes it's really important information like "Is this pimple going to make itself available or not today?" or "Do I want a coffee or a latte this morning?" or "What time should I set my alarm in order to have time to shave my legs?" That is typically what runs through my head.

When you sleep at night, and your thoughts finally slow down I'd like to imagine there is a dam inside my brain doing it's job of retaining all of my thoughts in preparation to evenly distribute them throughout the following day. As of lately... total damn failure. We are not talking gradual seepage either. We are talking Total. Dam. Failure.
Intense floods of thoughts rushing through my head. Yup, every night around 3 a.m. I am awoken to thoughts of Europe, saving dogs, new recipes, my family, and all sorts of great ideas that I cant seem to muster back long enough to go back to sleep. So I have been having to sit-up, turn the light on, and write down my random thoughts on whatever I can find.

Like this:Then what usually happens is the next day my flooded brain spills over onto Facebook, bombarding innocent bystanders with my useless thoughts. And thus, this blog was born. Nothing special. Just an outlet for when my dam has failed and the levee has been broken.

Crosby

To Crosby, because his name rocks.
To the little man stuck in a nine year old body.
To the little boy that giggles and lights up a room (yes giggles).
To the little boy who bows his head so intently to bless his food.
To the little man that reminds me to be strong in my faith.
To the kid that calls my boyfriends by the wrong name, and thinks it’s hilarious.
To the big brother who shields from all things scary, painful and dark.
To my sisters first born. The one who made me an aunt.
To the grandson that has brought so much love, camo, rocks, and toy guns into a home were hair bows, dresses, and high heels had always been comfortable.
To the little boy never too embarrassed to offer a hug.
To the 8 year old who is already “a great catch”.
To the 8 year old wise enough to recognize the importance of visiting with the elderly.
To the 8 year old that touched my hand as I was clearing the table and said “you don’t have to do that, I’ll take care of it.”
To my nephew, the one that makes my pores exude joy.
Anxiously awaiting the arrival of a new niece. Baby number 6.

And. I. Cant. Wait.