little black journal

Although I murmured a disappointed sigh when I had to pull my coat out of the closet now that we’re back in Seattle, it still feels really, really good to be home.  This weekend was full of all those little things I missed while we were away:

• Our Seattle peeps.  There were so many moments in Texas when we turned to each other and wished our friends were sitting at the bar with us, pigging out on brisket with us, hanging at the park with us.  We got together with the gang yesterday for Jon and Adrienne’s baby shower, and it felt good to be back in the fold, to know how exactly what Nance meant when she said it seemed like we were gone for such a long time.
• Watching the Giants on TV.  Dang, it feels good to veg out in my sweats on a Sunday afternoon.  Even if our boys did get swept by the Padres.  Hmmmph.
• Fresh produce.  I did manage to squeeze in a salad or two between the tacos and the barbecue, but I really missed our fruit bowl while we were traveling.  Don’t get me wrong – ice cream and cheese puffs are still high my list when I get the afternoon snack attack, but that juicy mango I had at lunchtime hit the spot like nothing else.
• Our house.  Our comfortable bed, our large bathroom (his and hers sinks have saved us many a marital conflict), our Japanese maple which brought forth bright new leaves while we were gone.  An afternoon nap on our cozy couch with my favorite blanket was nearly as satisfying as the aforementioned mango.

Like I said, it’s good to be back.  If I could figure out a way to come home each day to clean towels and a fresh-made bed, we might just book our next vacation in Seattle…

Today marks 20 weeks, which means we have officially hit the half-way point – in 20 more weeks (give or take), we’ll be holding a baby in our arms, hearing its cries, looking into it’s barely open eyes, navigating the entirely new experience of being completely responsible for the sustenance and well-being of another person. Ooof. That sounds scary. And amazing.

We had our 2nd trimester ultrasound on Wednesday, where parents can find out gender if they so choose, and we’re having a healthy, bouncing…TBD! As hard as it was not to peek when the ultrasound tech told us to divert our eyes because she was in the “gender region”, we stayed true to our decision to keep baby Schnell’s sex a surprise. I know, we’ve waited and waited and waited for this kid, and now we’ve put ourselves back in the waiting game, but this time the suspense is full of excitement and fun. I have this really silly 50’s-esque image in my head of Shane passing around cigars wrapped in pink or blue foil with “It’s a Boy!” or “It’s a Girl!” printed on the wrapper while his buddies give him congratulatory pats on the back (he’s also wearing a snazzy suit and has a martini in his hand – have we been watching too much Mad Men?). While this probably isn’t how the announcement will go down (okay, knowing Shane, there may be martinis involved), the anticipation and prediction-making shared among us and our friends has been a joy.

When we weren’t “diverting our eyes” at the ultrasound, we were soaking in every other detail that showed on the screen. It’s incredible to see that what was was a miniature jelly bean 14 weeks ago is now a miniature human with fingers and toes and a mouth that opened and closed in what looked like cute little yawns. Watching this development take place is mind-boggling. Shane can’t believe that I have the ability to grow something as solid and strong as human bones inside of me; I’m overwhelmed by the complex detail of it all – functioning organs and little toes and a brain (does the baby have thoughts yet?). I’m simultaneously super proud (I’m growing that, inside of me!) and very much humbled (clearly I’m not the one making this magic happen). It’s all so wonderfully confusing and surreal. So while we don’t know yet if it’s a little boy or a little girl, we do know it’s a big, big miracle.

It was a little hard for me to hold back from sharing the early months of my pregnancy on the blog – I looked forward to the news being fully “out there” so that I could freely write about my thoughts and hopes and experiences.  And now here I sit, bump and all, wondering how in the world I’ll put my jumbled, confusing bag of feelings into words.  Bear with me.

The physical part of being pregnant has gone more smoothly than I expected – there was mild nausea, some fatigue, and a couple of vomitous incidents, but all in all, the symptoms were minor and quickly passed.  The emotional part, though?  Sheesh.  Saltine crackers weren’t going to help me there.  The first few weeks were ridden with anxiety – I tried to guard my heart through denial, to prepare myself for the bottom to drop out at any moment.  I told myself that the faint pink line on the pregnancy test was a fluke, that my HCG levels in that initial bloodwork were too low to make this a viable pregnancy, that since I wasn’t spending every morning locked in the bathroom with morning sickness, this probably wasn’t real.  We shared the news with our parents and a couple of close friends, but I always followed the announcement with, “remember that it’s still really really really early and this might not work out”.  Joy was terrifying – I was afraid my heart was too fragile to handle the blow of having to come down from a celebratory mountaintop, should things take a turn for the worse.  So I stayed down in my hole, just in case.

We scheduled an ultrasound with our doctor at week 6, as that’s the point when they can start to see development and, hopefully, a tiny little heartbeat.  I remember walking down the hall to the exam room with Shane at my side, my palms sweating and my own heart racing as I prayed a single word over and over and over.  Heartbeat.  Heartbeat.  Heartbeat.  Please, please, please, God – let there be a heartbeat.  I couldn’t help thinking of the 6-week ultrasound we’d been through 18 months earlier, where there was nothing but stillness.  Please, please, please, God – let this be different.  I held my breath as the image of my uterus flashed on the screen.  And then, there it was – our baby, looking like a grain of rice, with a fuzzy little flicker at its center.  The sonographer quickly confirmed that the flicker was indeed a heartbeat, and I grabbed Shane’s hand as tears of relief streamed from my eyes.  The first seeds of hope took root in me that day.  That hope blossomed as subsequent ultrasounds at weeks 7 and 9 and 12 showed positive development – by week 13, I had come to believe that this was actually the real thing.  I was going to be a mom.  I was free to celebrate with reckless abandon, right?  Right?  I could start digging into that pile of baby books people had lent to me, I could start thinking about converting our extra bedroom to a nursery, I could quit trying to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans and settle into the comfort of elastic waistbands.  “Danger zone” cleared!  Happy trails ahead!  And it’s true – there certainly were moments of unbridled joy as the weight of infertility was lifted from my shoulders.  But I also found myself still wanting to stay on the fringes of baby-related conversations among my pregnant friends, and I still felt anxious when they started to talk about how fun it would be to watch our babies grow up together.  What was my problem?  I had ached for so long to be part of the expectant mothers’ club, and now that my time had come to talk diapers and daycare and maternity fashion, I was stand-offish and uncomfortable.  Some of my reticence was due to sadness for the women I know who are still in the throes of trying to conceive – it felt so unfair that some were chosen to carry a baby while others were left waiting.  I felt like I was leaving my fertility-challenged sisters behind, like it woulnd’t mean as much anymore if I said that I knew what they were going through.

And then when I really dug deep, I found that a part of me was still caught in the clutches of the sorrow I had felt over the past couple of years.  I had let the disappointment and uncertainty become an integral part of who I was, and while the presence of a baby in my womb washed much of that away, there were remnants of loneliness and worry and that were not so easily purged.  And there was regret.  So much regret over who I had become while I waited and longed and mistrusted God’s plan.   I wish I had been better at finding my joy in Him while we were still on our journey toward pregnancy.  I wish I hadn’t wallowed, hadn’t let fear take such a strong hold of me.  I wish I had been a better friend last year to the pregnant women in my life, rather than succumbing to jealousy or bitterness.

Day by day, I’m the clearing the sorrow and regret from my soul and settling into the spirit of joy and gratitude that God has intended for me all along.  The road to this place has been full of envy and tears and deep, gaping potholes, but I can’t change that.  So I’m focusing on that one very, very important wish that came true with that tiniest little flicker of a heartbeat.  I have much to be thankful for.

Spring has sprung in Seattle! The sun is shining, flowers are bursting with new blooms of color, and I have optimistically tucked my winter coat into the deep recesses of my closet. My mom and dad spent the past few days with us, soaking in Seattle’s springtime glory. Glory, glory, glory, indeed – it was a great weekend.

We joined the hoards of other sun-struck Northwesterners at UW on Saturday to take in the view of the cherry blossom-lined Quad. The trees were perfectly pink and fluffy, set against a crystal clear sky.  No, the sun doesn’t shine here quite as often as we’d like, but when it does, we do a pretty good job of making the most of it – there was this contagious buzz of joy in the air that morning.  I never knew how good Vitamin D was for the soul until I moved to Seattle!  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.

And a bonus!  We ran into Jack and La V, who were also on a mission to embrace the Springtime spirit.

After stopping at the U-District Farmer’s Market for a few essentials like tamales, bacon, and goat cheese (apparently it’s not peak produce season yet!), we headed over the Olympic Sculpture Park to check out the view of the mountains.

After dropping off the guys at home, my mom and I spent the afternoon shopping till we dropped.  We hit Southcenter hard that day and scored a few good deals – I was in need of some clothing of the more…er…”elastic” variety, and it was fun to share this next step in the pregnancy process with my mom.  Shane threw some Italian sausages on the grill for dinner that night, and we passed the rest of the evening resting our tired feet at home with ice cream and a movie.  It had been a full day.

We spent Sunday morning at church, celebrating His rising with music and reflection and prayer, and then headed over to Jason and Nancy’s for an Easter meal with the gang.  We watched the kids hunt for eggs, we ate, we laughed, and we reveled in the goodness of an overly generous God.  I felt so lucky to be sharing the day with my “family family”  and my “Seattle family”.

The rest of the day was devoted to relaxing – naps, basketball, a leisurely walk by the water at Seward Park.  I can’t imagine a more perfect Easter weekend – hopefully I can ride this high right through the rain that’s supposed to start falling later this week…

My whole Sabbath resolution didn’t work out for me so well this weekend, but that’s alright – the past couple of days were filled with quality time with some of my favorite people, a couple of very satisfying checkmarks on my project list, and most importantly, a morning spent cheering on these rockstar runners at the Mercer Island Half Marathon.

Shane’s couch-to-marathon journey is the stuff of inspirational success stories – when we first got married, that guy couldn’t run a mile without doubling over in sweaty, breathless exhaustion.  Now, Shane Lightning Schnell is running half marathons at 7:15 a mile.  That’s right – he ran those whopping 13.1 miles in one hour and 35 minutes, crushing his personal record and finishing 133rd out of over 1500 runners.  All those lunchtime runs in the cold and rain, all those Saturday mornings spent pounding the pavement, all those blisters and sore muscles, they all paid off.  It felt so good to see him head toward the finish line with a smile on his face – I was so proud of him, and so happy to watch him experience the joy of meeting a hard-fought goal.

We all gathered at the 8 oz. Burger Bar post-race to toast the runners with beer and mimosas and milkshakes.  Boy, did these guys ever earn their pints.  I’m not sure what I did to earn my strawberry milkshake…we’ll call it my cheerleading award.

Shane spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in our bed, took today off to recuperate, and then hit the sack at 8:30 tonight.  Looks like the speedy Roadrunner is no Spring chicken, but whatever – he’s still 100% stud.

Since my New Year’s resolution to Sabbath more intentionally, I’ve been mulling over what this looks like for me.  I want Sabbath to be special and distinct from the rest of the week, a day set apart from the hustle and bustle of the daily grind.  Sunday used to be my last-ditch chance to cross as much as possible off my to-do list before returning to the busy-ness of work on Monday, but I’m making an effort to change that, to wrap up errands and chores and running around on Saturday, so that I can truly spend Sunday as a day set apart.  A day for pause and rest and reflection. And although it’s tempting to find this rest in the form of a lazy chick flick marathon, I’m digging deeper.  Today, Sabbath was a long walk along the waterfront, during which I prayed for dozens of friends and family members and coworkers as their names were laid upon my heart.  It was an hour spent warming up at a neighborhood cafe, reveling in the joy of coffee and books and free time.  It was a phone call to my parents to see how their week was.  It was quality time with Shane, cooking and eating and napping together (Lord knows, it just wouldn’t be Sabbath without a nap).  And in the midst of all these good, life-giving things, I’m striving for a spirit of reverence and gratitude.  That’s the crux, because in the end, Sabbath really isn’t about being rested and refreshed – it’s about handing ourselves over to God and giving Him our undivided attention.  And when I slow down to open my eyes wider and seek Him out, He can be found around every corner.

This being our first weekend home in awhile, I spent the past couple of days in catch-up mode:  errand-running, house-cleaning, grocery shopping, list-checking.  But we took a moment for a deep breath this evening and headed over to Lincoln Park to watch the sun set over the Puget Sound.  Shane and I are both in the midst of busy seasons that have left us a bit drained, so we reveled in the chance to just sit on a driftwood log and listen to the sound of water lapping over the pebbly shore.  A moment to watch the ferries pass us by, to be thankful, to rest my head on my man’s shoulder and tell him how much I like him.

Oh, I really, really needed that.

I’m a sucker for a good deal, so when Jack sent us a link a few months ago to a voucher for a discounted stay in Friday Harbor, we jumped on it right away.  I was so looking forward to a chance to get out of town with the Chens, to explore San Juan Island, to cozy up in a beautiful room and unwind – I had high, high hopes for the weekend.  And they were met on all fronts.  Plus some.

We picked up Jack and La Verne yesterday morning and headed north to catch the afternoon ferry to Friday Harbor.  We wound our way through the islands, excited by the sight of sunshine glistening off the water – the forecast had called for wind and rain, but it looked like Mr. Weatherman was mistaken.

We checked into our rooms at the Friday Harbor House and all said a little “wow!” when we opened our doors.  A fireplace, a jacuzzi tub, and a deck with this view.  Oh, this view!

We dropped off our bags, picked up a few snacks from the corner market, and got back in the car to make the short drive to San Juan Vineyards. Shane and Jack picked out a bottle of Sangiovese while La Verne and I spread out a little picnic lunch on top of a wine barrel in the corner of the shop.  We ate and drank and chatted, thankful for a little fuel after our three-hour journey.  Once the bottle was dry and the cheese devoured, we headed back out to do some exploring, stopping for a minute of sun-soaking on the winery’s porch.

Our Tour de Island brought us to quaint Roche Harbor, which was something of a ghost town on a chilly February afternoon.  But we’ll be back for spot prawns come summer!

The cloudy sky showed promise for a beautiful sunset, so we drove south along the west edge of the island in search of a good lookout.  Our hunt landed us at Smallpox Bay, which sounded less-than-inviting on the map but turned out to be the perfect place to watch the sun drop below the horizon.

Shane was pretty pleased with his front-row seat.

But was willing to give it up when Jack challenged him with, “Dude, jump!”.

Post-sunset, we made our way back to the hotel to crank up our fireplaces and grab a catnap before dinner.  The rest of the evening was perfectly mellow – a two-hour dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, a game of cards in Jack and La Verne’s room, and lots of laughter.  Gosh, so much laughter.  We reminisced about our romp through Portugal four years ago, we talked about adventures to come, we reveled in that happy, easy comfort that comes with spending time with people who know you inside and out.  I like to think we’ll be having these same conversations in some other island lodge 20 years from now.

We woke up good and late today, stuffed ourselves at the hotel’s breakfast bar and then, far too soon, it was time to get in line for the east-bound ferry.  One final stop at the Tulalip outlet mall for a few things, and we were putting a bow on our short-but-epic getaway.  It was fun while it lasted…

February continues to kick January’s butt with a vengeance.  Sure, last month had its nice, quiet moments at home, but I’m fully reveling in the joy of weekends spent spreading my wings and getting out on the town.

We’re trying not to over-indulge this month as we have in Februarys past, but we did allow ourselves a few small luxuries this weekend, starting with ramen at Kukai on Friday night with some new friends.  Shane loooooves him some noodles, and since the only ramen I know how to prepare is of the “Top” variety (a college staple at 18 cents a serving), this was money well spent.

I made a bakery/West Elm run with La Verne yesterday morning and then set out on my own to do a little shopping in Southcenter.  Gosh, I love picking up a tall Orange Dream Machine smoothie from Jamba Juice and wandering the aisles of DSW.  I know, it’s shallow and silly, but I got a special little buzz when I walked out with that pair of boots I’ve been eyeing since October.  My name is Kelly and I have a shoe problem.

I spent the better of this afternoon hunkered down at my favorite table at Columbia City Bakery.  Latte, scone, journal, book, happiness.  This is what I missed most last month.

Of course, I also appreciate that lots of life’s joys are free: a walk in the peaceful morning fog at Jefferson Park, an evening spent watching the Grammys with Shane while I sip my mint tea and he swigs his home-mixed Manhattan, a moment of much-needed quiet as I turn everything off and reflect on God’s abundant goodness.  And that’s really what our practice of January frugality is meant to show us – our lives are undeservedly rich, in both intangible and material blessings.  The friendships, the food, even the new shoes – they’re all gifts.

February is here and I am funk-free! It’s been a pretty great weekend, spent in the company of our favorite Seattle peeps. We rang in the new month in style on Friday night – dinner and drinks at Tavern Law with our fellow frugal-ites (Jack and La Verne have started something of a movement with this no-spend thing…), followed by dessert at Capitol Hill’s best gelato shop. Felt so good to be out.

The hoped-for sunshine never made its way from behind the clouds on Saturday, but that was alright – it was a perfect day for brunching with my book club ladies. We ate quiche and drank tea and then cozied up by Angela’s fireplace. And I still made it out for an afternoon walk around Seward Park with Shane – this felt like the first time in months that I was able to find a quiet kind of beauty in the the gray skies and bare limbs.

Plus, there’s plenty to be said for cafe weather! Post-walk, we warmed ourselves with coffee and scones at our favorite neighborhood bakery.  We sat across from each other and talked about books and batting averages and ERAs (I’m reading The Brothers K and needed schooling on a few baseball specifics).  Shane is much relieved to find that the Ice Queen has left the building – we were due for a good all-in catch-up session.  We capped off the day with dinner and a movie at Jason and Nance’s, which has come to feel like our second home in Seattle.  We have eaten dozens of meals, shared hundreds of laughs, and shed a number of tears at their dining room table over the past couple of years.  They feed us so well, in more ways than one.

This morning wall full of church and grocery shopping and the usual stuff of Sundays.  The afternoon was dedicated solely to football as we made our way to Jack and La Verne’s (our third home in Seattle) for their Superbowl party.  We pigged out on pork sliders and fried chicken and every variety of chip until it was all I could do to keep my eyes open as I sprawled out on the couch and waited for the power to come back on in New Orleans.  It was a little hard to see the Niners take a loss, seeing as how Kaepernick hails from my California hometown, but I’m thrilled for my family in Baltimore – there is much celebrating going on among the East Coast Jarrells tonight.

Cheers to a killer kick-off to a happy new month…