little black journal

It’s been a grand couple of days – heaping loads of sunshine, quality time with friends and family, a Sunday full of rest.  Glorious.

Mitch and Kathryn rolled into town with the girls on Friday afternoon.  We spent the evening on the back porch, the guys toasting to the weekend with beer and fresh oysters, the girls with bowls of ice cream.

 

We kicked off Saturday with a bakery run, and then made our way to Jefferson Park for a playground fix.  Morgan’s face absolutely lights up when she sees a swingset – she could spend all day in one of these things.  And apparently Uncle Shane loves his swing-time as well…

   

At 11 am, the water fountains came alive and the girls squealed with laughter as they raced through the spray.  Talk about unbridled summer joy.

   

We spent Saturday afternoon with friends and family at Lincoln Park, celebrating baby Schnell’s upcoming arrival.  It was all we’d hoped our baby shower would be – lots of laughter, blessings for our little one, and dinner hot off the grill, set against the backdrop of a gorgeous Seattle summer day.

(photos by Jason and La Verne)

We were spoiled with an abundance of gifts, from snot-suckers to beautiful blankets, but our favorite present by far was this personalized piece of artwork, brainstormed by Nance.  The leaves on this tree are made up of the thumbprints of the people at the shower – it will hang in baby Schnell’s room as a reminder that he or she has a huge family of people that already love him or her, people that have walked alongside us in our journey to become parents and will continue to walk with us as we cross over from waiting to raising.  I asked Shane on the car ride home last night how we managed to get so lucky, to be surrounded by people that are so full of generosity, of genuine kindness, of a willingness to cry hard with us when we need a shoulder and to laugh even harder with us when we need to let loose.  And to think that our baby will enter the world with all of these incredible people at his or her side – there may have been a happy tear or two falling behind those sunglasses of mine.

We made it home in time for baths, books, and a quick snuggle on the back porch before bed-time.  Ahhh, Morgan – kill me with your sweetness, why don’t you?

We said good-bye to Mitch and his family this morning, after one last run to the neighborhood playground for a go at the swings and slides.  As usual, I’m already missing those Jarrell girls like crazy.  It was fun to have them in our house for a couple of days, to see them first thing in the morning, to nap with Morgan in the afternoon, to get out and enjoy our neighborhood parks in a whole new way.

The flip side to all that fun was that it left me totally tuckered out, so I Sabbathed well today: naps, baseball, reading, Thai take-out for dinner.  I found myself wondering what life will be like when we have kiddos in our house that don’t leave on Sunday mornings.  But then I rolled over on the couch and went back to sleep.  We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Camping season has begun!  But for me, sleeping-on-the-ground season has almost come to a close, so when Jason and Nance asked if we’d be up for a mountain getaway this weekend, we jumped at the chance for one last hurrah in the great outdoors.  We scored a great river-front site at Verlot Campground in Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest and had camp set up by lunchtime on Friday.  Shane and Jason took the kids for a hike in the afternoon and then shared this moment of rest, pondering deep thoughts while watching the river run by.  I lazed around, reading and digging into our cooler o’ goodies.  This is how weekends are meant to be kicked off.

Burgers for dinner, s’mores for dessert, a bout of intense laughter as we watched Jason play “Hot Chalaka”, where he tossed a glowing hot ember from hand to hand, and whew!  I was tuckered out and so thankful for the cush set-up in our tent, complete with thick sleeping pads, a body pillow, and a pile of blankets.  I will never be a backpacker, as packing light is not my forte, but I give myself props for building a pretty comfy bed over hard-packed dirt – with the exception of the 3 am run to the bathroom to address the issue of my squished bladder, I slept great.

We were itching to get out for a hike after breakfast on Saturday and chose a relatively easy trail down the road from our campground.  The G-Man was our fearless trailblazer, always scrambling a few steps ahead of us to give us the all-clear.

We turned back before making it to our lake destination, as the trail got  steeper and rockier as we went on, but the trek still wasn’t lacking in the way of scenery.  The drive down the mountain was gorgeous – amazing to think that bustling downtown Seattle was just over an hour away.  I reveled in the feeling of being so “away from it all”.

We ate lunch on the lawn of a beautiful little picnic area right off the main road.  That view!  And that soft green grass!  And the sun!  So many reasons for giddy exclamation points!

We enjoyed a mellow afternoon back at the campsite, lounging and snacking and skipping rocks down by the river.

Jason was the only one of us bold enough to brave the achingly cold water – I was content to sit on a warm rock and dip my toes in.

We closed out the day with s’mores round 2 (and 3, and maybe 4?), and another rousing game of Hot Chalaka.  Oh, and a tip:  throw a couple of slices of strawberry on your next s’more, right between your melty chocolate and gooey marshmallow.  You’re welcome.

We took our time packing up camp on Sunday morning – I think we were all a little reluctant to say good-bye to our river-side retreat.  The guys got in a good round of frisbee, the boys did about 45 loops around the campground on their bikes, and Nance and I each took an introverted moment to slip away with our Kindles.

Some of my earliest memories are of family camping trips in the mountains of Colorado, hanging out with my dad as he fished by the river and sitting around the fire in the evenings.  My brother and I got filthy and drank Tang with our lunch and had loads of fun.  Here’s to hoping we’ve got our own little camper on the way!

We are 5 weeks into our 8-week childbirth class, slowly preparing ourselves for our baby’s entry into the world. Our instructor is incredible, as she paints the very real picture that labor and delivery can be hard, hard work, but then empowers us with loads of affirmation and advice. Turns out that the scene played on movie after movie where the woman rushes into the delivery room, pushes for a minute, screams and slaps her husband with the threat that he will never touch her again, then pushes just one more time before a fresh, chubby-cheeked baby appears isn’t super-realistic. We’re watching movies of a whole new variety since we’ve started this class – videos of actual births where pregnant women don’t have perfect hair and makeup, where labor lasts more than 10 minutes, where newborns are wrinkled and covered in goo. It’s intense, but exciting – that will be us in September. I’m going to go into labor, I’m going endure a myriad of contractions, I’m going to push like hell, and then we’re going to have a baby. It’s gettin’ real. The eager anticipation was fun and full of joy. Until it got too real.

We watched our third lesson’s video at home last week. I settled into the couch next to Shane, computer on my lap and hand on my belly, ready for that feeling of yearning and empowerment I had felt when I’d put myself in the shoes of the other video-taped mamas. But this particular montage of several different women coping with early labor, with advanced labor, and with pushing and delivery threw me for a major loop. It elicited neither joy nor excitement. I felt the pin-pricks of oncoming tears as the final scene faded and I closed my eyes in hopes of composing myself. Shane reached for me, curious and concerned, and asked what was on my mind. I took a deep breath, but quickly gave up on any attempts at holding myself together. “I’m scared!” I blubbered, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. He asked me to elaborate on what in particular I found so frightening, and my inarticulate response was, “All of it.” There was a woman in the video who coped with each contraction by rhythmically chanting “I. Can. Do. It. I. Can. Do. It.”. The cadence of her voice rang in my head, but the words in my mantra were less optimistic: “I’m. Not. Read-y. I’m. Not. Read-y.” A host of unfamiliar anxieties bubbled to the surface and bowled me over. I’m nervous about being physically exposed in front of a room of people. I’m afraid of the pain. I’m anxious about the mess, the blood and fluids and Lord-knows-what-else that will come out of my body. I know, I know – all of this stuff will lead us to the point where we meet our beautiful baby, and that moment of holding him or her in my arms for the very first time will rock my world, but in a way, that’s the scariest part of all. Because vulnerability of the body is one thing; but vulnerability of the heart? That’s even messier. I will be opening myself in brand new ways to this little person, feeling unfathomable love, but on some days also feeling mind-bending tiredness, or frustration, or worry, because I have to/need to/want to do everything in my power to make sure that our child feels cared for and safe and treasured. And as Nance reminded me today, I can’t run away when the going gets tough. This is an all-in, heart-on-my-sleeve, life-long deal.

Shane dried my tears that night and we both chuckled when I wondered aloud what in the world we had gotten ourselves into. Because deep (sometimes very deep) down, despite these Kelly-esque freak-outs, we know we’re ready, and we know how desperately we want to meet our child. This baby was not conceived out of short-sighted, fickle desire; he or she is the miraculous answer to years of prayerful longing.  Yes, I’m glad that I have a couple more months to prepare my mind/body/home, but damn, I really can’t wait to take this rocker for a late-night test drive.

Sighing a little letdown sigh tonight, as we said good-bye to my mom and dad this morning after a glorious summer weekend together.  Lots of home-cooked meals shared at the dining room table, lots of baseball games watched as we lounged on the couch, and oh, that sunshine on Saturday!

I’ve been plowing through berries and watermelon and mangos by the bowlful lately, so I suggested we head out to do some strawberry picking on Saturday morning.  We grabbed our crates at Remlinger Farms in Carnation and got right to work, plucking red, juicy berries by the handful.  It was a bit harder than I anticipated, squatting between the rows with my achy knees and big belly, but we pushed onward and walked away with 14 pounds of loot after an hour’s work.  Not too shabby.

We dined on deluxe burgers at 8 Oz Burger Bar for lunch, then made a run to West Elm to pick up the glider for the nursery.  Shane and my dad worked on getting the chair moved in and assembling our just-arrived crib while my mom and I sunned ourselves on the back porch – again, not too shabby!

The evening’s wispy clouds held major stellar-sunset potential, so we drove over to Lincoln Park after dinner to walk along the water and watch the sky go from blue to gold to pink.  These are the moments when the Pacific Northwest is at its absolute finest.

The tides turned on Sunday as the rain started to fall, but that didn’t get me down – it was a perfect day for Thai curry, for afternoon dozing, and for a little mall madness with my mom.  I stashed a few pounds of berries in the freezer and took my first stab at jam-making (success!), worked on the nursery a little, and called it a day after the Mad Men series finale.  It had been a very full weekend, in a very good way.

Mom and Dad hit the road back to Oregon this morning and we’re already missing their company – dinner tonight was decidedly less hearty (scrambled eggs and toast vs. pork chops and veggies…) and conversation at the table was a bit less lively.  But I’m so looking forward to seeing Grandma and Grandpa come September…

Seattle has been good to us since we’ve been back, gracing us with lots of sunshine to soothe those post-vacation blues.  With temps approaching 80 degrees this weekend, I hardly missed the Hyatt’s pool.  Errrr…that’s a lie.  But it was a pretty great couple of days, shave ice cravings notwithstanding.  We celebrated the end of the work week on Friday evening with the Giants game and a sunset walk around Seward Park.  Shane’s been on a running kick lately and keeps knocking seconds off his regular routes.  I, on the other hand, am getting progressively slower and can’t handle much more than a (semi) brisk gait these days.  Thanks, hon, for resisting that urge to break into a dead sprint and instead sticking with me in my pregnant pace…

We gathered with the gang at Jason and Nance’s on Saturday morning to mark the end of another c-group year with mimosas and waffles.  We’ll continue to see these people for the usual summer fiestas, but it’s still feels like a big shift when our regular rhythm of Tuesday night gatherings comes to a close.  It will be interesting to see what the new “normal” is for us come September, when we resume meeting with all the new babies in the mix.  It might be mayhem.  It might be a lot of sleep-deprived, glassy-eyed parents struggling to make sense of Jason’s deep theological questions.  Whatever it is, we’ll make it work.

Nance and I indulged in a little treat yo-self action on Saturday afternoon with mani’s, pedi’s, and iced coffee.  We were due for a long chat and covered a lot of ground in those 90 minutes at the salon as we dished about husbands, about babies, about awkward massage experiences – “girl talk” takes so many forms for the two of us.  And now my cherry-red toenails are fully ready for sandal weather.  Super-score.

We spent Sunday afternoon at Jack and La Verne’s raising our glasses to the old-timer (Jason – your boys are beyond lucky to have such a fun-loving, all-in dad), to the newbie (Jack, the tenderness and joy I see in your face when you hold Nico makes me want to cry, laugh, and give you a high-five) and to my beloved daddy-to-be.  Happy Father’s Day, gentlemen.

After lunch, the guys cruised Lake Washington Boulevard on their bikes while La Verne rested with Nico and Nance and I chilled in the sun.  The boys returned from their ride (relatively) unscathed and we ended the afternoon stretched out on the lawn, watching G and Z run through the sprinklers and soaking in that quintessential summer vibe.

Shane and I had our own little Dad’s Day “celebration” at home that evening, complete with pizza and basketball and watermelon margaritas.  If this guy looks this good holding a cocktail, I can only imagine the flip-flops my heart will do when I see him with a baby in his arms.  Yowsers.

I ended the weekend much like it began – another sunset walk, this time at Jefferson Park, with a heart full of gratitude that summer has arrived in Seattle.  Let the good times roll.

Pregnancy has been full of little perks I didn’t think I’d embrace with such fervor: the comfy elastic-waisted jeans, the strange-but-amazing little kicks and pokes in my belly, the out-with-the-old, in-with-the-new game of nesting – I’m liking this pre-mama thing. But the very best part of it all? Watching Shane eagerly anticipate the arrival of the baby has filled me with such incredible joy and gratitude. From the very moment I saw that faint pink line that meant pregnant back in December, he’s been super-dad, scouring the Internet for the best OB, then registering us for birth classes and infant safety lessons and a hospital tour, spending hours reading online reviews to determine the right stroller for little Schnell. He checks his BabyBump app daily and fills me in on how the baby is developing, what kinds of changes are on the horizon, when I can expect my ankles to swell and my belly button to pop out. He’s a little stricter than I’d like when it comes to me taking (little) bites of poached egg and I can’t stand that disapproving look he gives me when I sneak a (tiny) sip of his wine, but I try not to begrudge his desire that I follow the rules. I know those raised eyebrows are rooted in love and concern. Daily I’m seeing him care for me in new and thoughtful ways, as his way of caring for the baby inside of me. I love the fact that he still remembers to slow down at that stomach-dropping portion of downhill road near Jason and Nancy’s, after my first-trimester moan that I could no longer handle his speedy driving. I cherish the nights he curls up to me on the couch to gently put his hands on my belly while we watch baseball. On those days when I feel especially big and uncomfortable in this rapidly expanding body of mine, he kisses me and reminds me that I’m beautiful, that this extra weight is part of a wonderful miracle.

There’s a scene in Juno (a Schnell fave) where Jennifer Garner’s character talks about how a woman begins to feel like a mother during pregnancy, but a man doesn’t identify with fatherhood until the actual birth of the baby. Not so, Jen, not so. This dear man already has dad written all over his proud, grinning face.

Dear Buhb,

Happy Anniversary!  It’s been quite a ride thus far, full of laughter and beauty and adventure.  Like that night on our Costa Rican honeymoon when the obnoxiouly loud chorus of tree frogs kept us from getting any sleep, or that perfect sunset we caught in Bruges in 2011.  That afternoon we spent talking and drinking champagne on the deck of our Whidbey Island rental last year is forever sealed in my mind as one of the best days ever.  I’m so grateful for your selflessness and support, for the all-nighter you pulled with me to rig a display stand for my thesis project, for the times you dragged me out of a funk with your stellar dance moves, for the way you have always walked alongside me, even when it was down a path you had tried to steer me clear of.  Looking forward our next big adventure (so excited to hit Kauai with you!), and our even grander journey come September.  You make my life better, richer, happier every single day.

We made a quick trip to Portland this weekend for a family fix – 24 hours to catch up with Mitch and Kathryn and love on those sweet nieces of ours. We ate ice cream cones at Ruby Jewel’s, we cheered on Elise at soccer practice, we hit the Kenton Street Fair, complete with bratwursts and puppet shows and face-painting.  We read books and painted and wrapped baby dolls in little purple blankets.  Never a dull moment.

Elise is FIVE and all big-girl now.  She is extremely inquisitive and will keep you on your toes with her myriad of questions: “Which way are we driving?”; “North?  Can you drive to the North Pole?”; “Why is that man on the street corner holding a sign?”; “If he doesn’t have a house, where does he sleep?”  Mitch and Kathryn are so good at constantly staying engaged with her – every question of Elise’s gets a thoughtful answer, even if it’s at the end of a string of 27 other “Why’s”.  She still loves super-heros and anything pink; on the flip side, spinach is disgusting and hair-brushing is absolute torture.

And Morgan…she’s still quite the heart-melter.  She is chatty like her sister – it just takes a little more effort to decipher what she’s talking about.  “Hay” is her name for Shane, “Hide you!” is her version of “Found you!” in a game of hide and seek, “No ah-eh” is her proud declaration of “No accidents” after a successful day without diapers.  She can be cranky (she is two, after all), but she can also laugh like her joy knows no bounds.  A simple game of peek-a-boo, and she’ll be rolling on the floor, squealing with unbridled delight.  She is always on the go – running from one room to the other, climbing on furniture, gently pushing Uncle Shane into the closet for another round of hide-and-seek.  She took a little tumble off the playground slide today, and while I felt bad for her scraped-up palms, those few minutes when she quietly nuzzled into my chest and let me wipe her tears were precious.

Love you, girlies.  So so soooo much.

I haven’t made much progress on that stack of birth and parenting-related books that sits on our end table.  Partly, it’s that the arrival of the baby still feels so far away – September lies in the unfathomable future.  But beyond that, I am perhaps a little over-confident in our ability to figure out the parent thing on-the-fly.  I want to believe we’ve got it covered.  We have spent the past couple of years building up our love bank for this baby.  And children adore Shane (he’s known as the “baby whisperer” among our friends), so there’s no reason that our kid shouldn’t be head-over-heels for his or her dad.  All you need is love.  Right?  Right?

Maybe I’m being just a wee bit naive.  I was on my way to work via Lightrail a couple of weeks ago when a woman got on with her adorable 2-year old daughter.  The little girl sat in her mama’s lap and babbled sweet nothings while mom stroked her pretty brown curls.  I could so easily picture myself in their shoes, commuting downtown with our perfect babe, soaking in those last few minutes of time together before work and daycare begin.  Precious moments.  But then that little girl started to get squirmy.  And then she started to whine.  And by the time we’d rolled into SoDo (still three stops from downtown), she was shrieking bloody murder on an otherwise silent train, flailing those chubby arms and refusing to be held. Poor mom did her best to restrain her daughter with one hand while she dug around in her bag for a distraction.  She pulled out an iPad and I figured the crisis would soon be averted.  But it took several minutes before the little girl was presented with a satisfactory video and a seat of her liking, and by that time, we had rolled into University Station and it was time for the woman to put away the iPad and pack up her bag.  More wailing and tears ensued, more sympathetic glances were cast mom’s way as she grabbed her daughter and hurried off the train.  And I was left wondering how I would have handled such a meltdown.  Would I stick to Shane’s and my resolution to strictly limit “screen time” for our kid?  Or would I concede that desperate times call for desperate measures and use whatever means possible to get the child to quiet down?  Would I rock her, walk her, coo to her, attempt to reason with her?  I don’t think the “right” answer can be found in any book, and I don’t know that any amount of preparation will eliminate tantrums, but I was slapped with healthy dose of reality that morning.  I was reminded that parenting will sometimes be really, really hard.  It will be full of sky-high joys and depths of unimaginable love, but it will also be riddled with moments of frustration, confusion, and insecurity.

And it will require sacrifice.  I catch myself believing that I won’t really be too tired, that we’ll still have room for spontaneity and freedom, that my maternity leave will be like vacation, full of “bonus time” to rest, to read, to work on my art.  As we sat around a table at Spinasse for dinner last night with Jack, La Verne, Jason, and Nance to revel in what may be our last meal out together for awhile (baby Chen due in just 8 days!), I was struck with how times are changing.  Baby-sitters and feeding schedules will soon require some adjustment in the make-up of our Friday nights. We’re not resigning ourselves to a hermit-like life, but 4-hour multi-course meals might be on hold for awhile.  Shoot!

It’s absolutely a good thing to anticipate our baby’s arrival with hope and glee, but I also want to embark on this journey with the acknowledgement that it will stretch me in ways I’ve never been stretched.  Things won’t go as expected sometimes, and I’ll need to learn to roll with the punches.  I might not have the “ideal birth”, breast-feeding might bear unforeseen challenges, there might be times when I need to choose rest over having a clean house or a home-cooked meal.  I’ll need lots of help, and I’ll have to put aside my pride to ask for it.  That doesn’t mean I’ve failed.  It just means I need to loosen my tight-fisted grip on complete control and pray for flexibility, for patience, for heaping helpings of grace.  And for the ability to stop and soak in the goodness of those pre-meltdown precious moments.  Because the feeling of wrapping my arms around our child is guaranteed to exceed my wildest dreams.

Summer has come early to Seattle!  Or Spring is playing a really mean joke by teasing us with 80-degree temperatures before the weather turns cold and rainy again…  But never mind the inevitable rain – we were all about embracing the sunshine this weekend, playing hard, eating well, and spending lots of time with friends.

We met up with Jack, La Verne, Jason and Nance on Friday night at the Fremont Abbey to take in the St. Paul de Vence / Le Wrens show.  I’ve had St. Paul’s album on repeat for the past month, and it was fun to hear my current favorites live.  Shoot, these guys (and gal) are talented.  I want a banjo.  And a ukelele.

Our friends Em and Daniel gave birth to a perfect little boy while Shane and I were in Austin, and we were super-excited to finally meet him on Saturday.  He’s a cutie.  And wow, Emily makes a beautiful mom.  She’s one of those people that constantly amazes you with her unfailing drive and creative talent (seriously, you should see their home renovation) – it seems motherhood will be her best project yet.

I had a frozen custard Groupon that was burning a hole in my pocket, so we headed to Greenlake on Saturday afternoon to indulge in a couple of gooey sundaes at Peaks.  My word, this stuff was rich.  And delicious.  My sweet tooth has seemed insatiable these days, but this place fulfilled my dessert craving on all fronts.

Driving all that way to eat a bunch of ice cream had tuckered me out, so the rest of the day was spent sitting on the back porch, Kindle in one hand and cold drink in the other.  We ate dinner hot off the grill that night and then caught Iron Man 3 with Jack and La Verne at our neighborhood theater (nothing says Summertime like a superhero blockbuster).  We had maxed out a pretty perfect Saturday.

And Sunday was even better!  A post-church brunch on the patio at Paddy Coyne’s…

and then an afternoon spent celebrating Cinco de Mayo on Josh and Jess’s sunny deck, complete with chicken mole, ice cream chimichangas, and the best virgin margaritas ever.  Oh, and a marathon game of catch between Shane and Zebo.  This kid’s got an arm.  And look at that wind-up!

Mad Men, ice cream sandwiches, a Giants win, and you could stick a fork in this weekend – it was done.  Well, well-done.