free flow.

I got a massage and a facial today.

It was a redeemed groupon that I'd bought a million years ago (it seemed like), and I finally got everything together so that Hubs could stay with Jameson and I could go off and pretend that I was a woman of means and I didn't have to count every single penny I spent that day.

And it was the strangest thing (since I've never had a massage before, and have literally dreamed of getting one for as long as I can remember), but as I was laying there I just kept having this thought of, "How on earth can you think you deserve this? This is so indulgent. You should not have bought this--this money would have been better spent elsewhere." I was fighting to make my brain and my body relax so that I could just enjoy this time, this hour of silence and quiet and indulgence. And it was hard.

And I still can't figure out why.

--linking up with just write.

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what our weekend looked like.

Riding miniature trains (real steam-powered engines that ran on coal!), 

watching the ducks, 

and being a family.

Not bad, England. Not bad.

part of the track.

Hubs and Jameson, taking a spin on their own private train.

Only 30p each!

 

 

 

Riding with Ah-ma and Yeh-Yeh

Oh, hey England. Nice to know you actually do have a blue sky.

 

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saving my life.

Chicago.

the sun has been my salvation and brought deep happiness and satisfaction to my life for the last three days. finally.

my other son is always an essential part of saving my life and keeping me buckled to reality. he is my sunshine, my joy, my wonder and there are many times that I think I would have stopped living if he wasn't here.

the promise of our first family-of-three vacation that is going to be happening in two months is saving my life. planning out the sights we're going to see and the hotels we're going to stay at and the food we're going to be eating--right now, Germany and Austria are keeping me going.

as always, my husband is ever saving my life. he makes me laugh, and roll my eyes, and smile. he is my constant companion, my best friend, and my soulmate.

"be still and know that I am God." [psalm 46:10]
these words are the lifeline right now.
-the only promise that I am able to cling to as the storms weather on.
-the only action I am able to take as the beating continues.
-the only thing I am able to meditate on as the doubt creeps in.

still. know. God.

-linking up with Sarah Bessey

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swirling around.

South bank, London.
Nov. 2010.

I've got a lot of things just spinning around in my brain today.

I wanted to have the rest of the posts for this week planned out and scheduled, and yet here I sit at 9:45 pm on Thursday night trying to spit something out so that I can keep the traffic up.

Blogging as a business is kind of a weird betrayal for me. I kind of feel like I'm selling out, but even that's not really accurate, since I'd have to be making money for this to even be "selling".
That's not to say that's not the goal, but for now it's simply a "hobby" that I'm cramming in to the free time that I don't have in order to maybe get a promise that is being loftily held above my head.

Sometimes it all just feels like a lot of work for little return, and I wonder if it's a worthy pursuit of my time.
But I like it, and sometimes I feel like I'm good at it, even if I'm still finding my voice and trying to make it a priority. (You don't want to know what doesn't get done in order to make sure that something shows up in this space. But it's usually a clean bathroom. Or clean clothes. Or a clean me.)

I guess I just have to remember that I'm only human at the end of the day.
That, and the Perfect Christian Wife image that's imprinted on to my brain is not actually an accurate picture, but rather an impossible one.
Things are going to slip, and that's just how it's going to be.

People are messy, myself included.
We don't come in pretty packages, complete with designer house and optimal wardrobe.
Even though admitting that is less-than-ideal, it's the truth.

And that's what I want more than anything.
The truth.

Talk to me about your life. Your mess. Your truth.

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mom-wear-wednesday [2]

We're back.

Two weeks in a row. I'm kind of amazed at myself, but hey, at least I'm being consistent somewhere in my life.

Dress: H&M

So, let's not talk about the fact that I don't have a full-length mirror anywhere in my apartment and I have to take two pictures of myself and put them on top of each other so you can kind of get the effect.

Also, let's ignore the wrinkles in the dress (to be fair, Hubs offered to iron it, but I told him that this was about real-life, not being pretentious. Haha.) and that I have no make-up on. 

Let's do talk about how I am dressed with my hair mostly blow-dried (except the ends. I don't have time for that--it's roots and fringe, if we're lucky) by 9:30 in the morning. The only reason this happened is because I dragged my butt out of bed to the gym at 7 a.m. and made sure I got a shower before Hubs left for work.

Also, please note the sleeping baby in the background once again. That's how you know this is legitimate mom-wear: I have to take the pictures and write the posts during his nap time. I am Awesome.

And if I were even cooler, and if this were a real fashion post, not just me taking pictures of myself, I would be wearing this belt from Forever 21 and these shoes from Blowfish. But I'm not, and this isn't, so it's just me in a dress. Cool.

And there you have it. 

p.s. The "much-anticipated" hair-donut-bun is coming soon. Give me a few days to get some baby puke, ground food, and milk in there and it'll be dirty enough for me to show you. Aren't you so excited?

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summer days

It's almost the end of July and "summer" has just barely arrived.
The weather people are saying that it will last for this whole week, but I always take English weather with a grain of salt.
So, for now, we are spending as much time outdoors and in the sun as we can, since I know that fall/winter/eternal rain will be on us sooner than we know it.
I think I should have been born in California, because ever since I moved to England, I've discovered that I need sunshine like I need water. It just changes everything.

And this guy...oh, this guy melts my heart every. single. day.

How have you celebrated summer so far? Got any tips to make me feel better about the awful (except for this week) British weather?

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being a wife.

I don't even know when we took this. I just found it.
Note how I am sporting the "mom-wear" sweatshirt. I told you it was my fave.

For as much as I talk about being a mom and my son, there is a whole other facet of my life that is just as, if not more important (and a whole other man, too).

Hubs and I have been married for over four years now and I still feel like I'm at the very beginning of this "figuring out how to be a wife" thing. Even though so many things have changed since we first got married, there are still so many things I need to change before I even scratch the surface of the "wife" I want to be.

We are such complex creatures, humans, and when you throw two of us together, interesting things happen. Babies are born. Memories are made. Tears are cried, laughter abounds, and eventually you are either closer to one being, or ready to part ways.

Thankfully, Hubs and I are the former (although there have been times I've thought the latter. I'll admit it. Marriage is hard).

Mostly I am just so thankful that I have been given someone that tolerates me in all of my sinful imperfection, and challenges me to change. Someone that enjoys living the same life I do, that shares the same passions and desires I do, and is just as childish as I am.

And even though there have been challenges that I am not sure we will ever overcome, we do.
We're still here.
And I love that.

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if you really knew me...

One of the first times I made him laugh.

You'd know that  I could eat an entire box of strawberries in one sitting. And probably go back for more.


You would also know that I care about people, sometimes a little too much. It's a blessing and a curse.


You'd know that I'd rather be truthful about where I'm at and have you think less of me, than put on a song-and-dance to impress you. And I hope you would know that all I want is for the world to be a little more real.


You would know that I think motherhood is the best, hardest, most wonderful, and most difficult thing I've ever done. And that I am faking my way through it 99% of the time.

You would know that I have a serious passion for young marriages and helping them succeed...I would love to start a ministry for young married couples one day. There is so much confusion and passion and emotion in the early stages, and I wish I'd had somewhere to go to ask for help (and to be reassured that everything we were dealing with was, in fact, normal).

You would know that often I feel stuck somewhere in between a little girl and an old woman--and that it's been this way for a long time.

You would know that I need sunshine to survive like I need air to breathe. But you would also know just how much stronger I've become by moving to a place that doesn't have any.

You would know that I love candles that smell delicious, and if my house doesn't smell good, I automatically equate it with being dirty.

You would also know that I am so organized on the inside, but sometimes I just don't have enough time or energy to translate that into my house--and it drives me absolutely bananas.

You would know that "depression" is still a sneaky resident in my brain, but I win the battle against him on most days. Most days.

You would know that in and underneath and through it all, I just want to be a woman after God's own heart. Someone He is proud of. Someone that you'll look at and know that she is in love with her Lord. And you'd also know that I feel like I fail at that most of the time.

--linking up with The Wiegand's

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weight.

As I was laying in bed, nursing Jameson to sleep tonight I had this brief revelation stop and settle in on my shoulders:

Life is so much heavier than it used to be.

I think it has to do with being a parent: all of a sudden the choices I make seriously affect another person's life in a total and complete manner. 

It's different than having a spouse, who is also a fully-grown adult, and is capable of making their own minor decisions and also has an opinion on major decisions. With a child, I have to do what is best for them--I have to think for them. And when you really stop and think about it, that's a terrifying prospect.

If he grows up with certain character flaws or ends up in therapy later on in life, chances are that it will have something to do with my decisions for him. Wow.

To be honest, it's no wonder that I've spent the last twelve months drowning in a sea of anxiety and despair. The weight of this responsibility is enough to bear, without all of the opinions and commentary that everyone else likes to heap on top (whether it's well-intentioned or not). 

To be brutally honest, I feel like it's only now that I'm starting to climb out of this fog and step into this place of freedom with my parenting choices--to be secure in them, and to not care what anyone else thinks. It's like a weird form of self-esteem, and I've had to stop being validated by other people and do what is best for my son. Mine. Not anyone else's.

Even though I thought about all of these things before I got pregnant, and before Jameson was born, there is just something so solid about it all now that he's here and starting to exercise his independent will. It's got a whole new real-ness about it now that I am just discovering and figuring out how to handle.

I hope we don't screw him up too much. Just kidding. Sort of.

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mom-wear-wednesday

Oh yeah, I'm doing it.
And none of this fashionista stuff either--this is the down and dirty "What Moms Actually Wear" post.
Because I know you all are just dying to know what I look like sitting behind this computer, right?
(Plus my fashion sense is questionable since I had a child. He took that part of my brain while he was inhabiting my body.)

Depending on the time of day that these pictures are taken, the outfit could vary a bit.
For example, I am currently dressed the way I am since it's 10:15 in the morning and I haven't had very much human contact today (other than with my one-year old).

So, let's begin.

Utah Utes sweater/sweatpants: Victoria's Secret
//Nailpolish: Maybelline 40-second dry in "Turquoise Lagoon"
//Glasses: 8-year old prescription made by "seventeen". I think.

A close-up of the sleeping baby in the background. Haha.

Ah yes. The matching sweatpants/shirt outfit. Every mom's favorite and mine in particular. When I first moved to England, I was so homesick and sad all the time (and pregnant), so I bought these Utah Utes sweatpants to represent. Then when I was home over Christmas, I got the matching sweatshirt to go on top. Plus they were both on sale, and I am a sucker for VS sale items.

This nailpolish is actually my new obsession. In all seriousness, I am in love with the color and it really does dry in, like, a minute. Which is great since I usually have to pick up a child/wipe up food/do any other menial task about five minutes after I've put it on.

I've had no reason to put my contacts in yet today, so you get to see my wonky and extremely old "sexy librarian" glasses. They're so old that the prescription is probably off, but there are more pressing matters in my life at the moment.

At least I did my hair--all praise the hair donut. It makes me look semi-put together without having to do anything other than roll it up and pin it down. Holla.

And there you have it. The first, iPhone edition of mom-wear-wednesday. Come back next week and see what goodies I've got in store for you!

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sweat = love.

Yes, you read that right.

I love sweat.
Well, actually, maybe that should be I love to sweat.

You see, two years ago when I embarked on my fitness revolution, I had to take all of the mind games out of exercise and just start off really simply without over-thinking it all. I had to quit the "You must push yourself to the breaking point!" thoughts and just start moving my body for extended periods of time. Once I got that bit down, I found myself gradually rewiring my thinking and wanting to see what my body was capable. There was a subtle shift from exercise being a punishment for eating too much/being lazy/just feeling bad about myself to exercise becoming about rewarding my body for being awesome.

I ran my first 5k, then I ran another one, and then another one a year later and it was amazing. I discovered this new love for pushing myself mentally and physically and discovering what I was capable of. Then I gave birth au natural and took myself to whole new heights...

The point being, I've come to a place on my fitness/exercise/self-image journey where I've realized that sweating is a good thing--if I'm not sweating, I'm not working hard enough. And I don't mean that in a failure sort of way, I mean it in a "I know my limits and I am pushing them back" sort of way.

So talk to me here: where are you at with exercise and living a healthy lifestyle? Do you find it hard to even get started? Or have you come to a place where it's something you genuinely enjoy (in a strange, stress-relieving sort of way)?

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Dear Jameson [first birthday edition]

June 30, 2011.

July 1, 2012.

Dear Jameson,
I'm nearly two weeks late with this. Per usual. See there's this thing about your mother--she tries really, really hard to be organized and she absolutely HATES being late, but she usually is anyway. Deadlines are just not kind to her. But back to you...

I cannot believe an entire year has gone by since I spent that night in the hospital, squeezing your dad's hand and yelling through my contractions, just trying to concentrate on the fact that you were finally going to be in my arms in a few short hours. I remember the moment after I gave birth to you, seeing you lying there on the hospital bed and thinking, "That's him. That's my baby." You were so beautiful, and so foreign--I couldn't wait to get to know you and find out everything about you.

Oh, my son. You have turned my world absolutely upside down in the best way possible.

There are so many things I am afraid of forgetting about this first year, even though I know that there is no way for me to hold on to all of the little details. But there are a few things that I hope I remember...

--I hope I remember just how happy you are. You enjoy life so much, and it is so evident to everyone that watches you. You wake up in the morning with a big grin on your face that gets even bigger when you look over to find your dad and I just lying there, watching you. When you get excited, it radiates throughout your whole entire body--literally to the tips of your toes (which you point and stand on, while you clap and scream). If I could capture just a fraction of your joy, I would be one of the happiest people I know.

--I hope I remember how independent and adventurous you are (and I hope you stay that way forever). Some would call it "strong-willed", others would call it rebellion, but I know that you are simply determined to do things your own way and I am okay with that. You are soaking up the world around you, and I can just see you learning and figuring out new things and it makes me so proud of you. You love new experiences and new people, and I am just in awe of how smart you are already.

--I hope I remember that I did the best I could with what I had. Sometimes I am harder on myself than I should be, but then I have to sit back and remember that I love you with everything in me (and even more, I think) and that is what matters. I hope you know how much I love you, and even though I know you won't understand it until you hold a child of your own in your arms, maybe you'll be able to tell through my broken words and actions.

There are a million other things I could write about, like the way you dance when you hear latin music, or the way you giggle at your Papa every morning, and the way you press your whole body in to mine--like you just want us to be one person again for awhile.

Jameson, you are my sunshine. I know I can be impatient with you, and I am sorry for the times I've failed you already--even Mommas are broken, imperfect people. You are the bright part of all of my dark days, and you keep me going even when I don't think I can anymore. You are growing up right before my very eyes and I am the most blessed woman in the world to be your mother.

I love you, bubba. Happy birthday.
Mom.

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the beginning. again.

I downloaded a new app on my phone, called miCoach.
Couple that with myfitnesspal, and this girl's getting back into her fitness groove.

I decided to just start back at the beginning, instead of trying to pick it all back up in the middle, like from before I got pregnant.
Slow and steady wins the race, and loses those 15 pounds that are hanging out around my waist.

I still hate counting calories, and I still feel like a heifer when I run, but it's a start.
I'll get to where I want to go eventually, because I've done it before.
I've got a few dates in my head to motivate me to keep working out and watching what I put in my mouth. Plus, working out is my alone time now and Lord knows I can never have enough of that.

So for today, I am proud of myself.

And that, my friends, is good enough.

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is that all?

The green-eyed monster is creeping up again, with it's whispers of failure and imperfection and look-at-what-they-have.

Sometimes I just get so sick of fighting it that I decide to lay down and let it run me over.
Other times I decide to fight back and turn myself into the object that my green-eyes have found.

Neither option gets me where I want to be.

And then my only option is to run.
Run, run, run, right back to the Lord and pray hard that He can take away the longings and fill the fulfillings.

"It's not about happiness," I keep chanting to myself.
Except sometimes it is.
Sometimes it's all I want, and sometimes it's the only thing I can't have.

"Wait for the Lord;

Be strong and take heart, 

and wait for the Lord."

{Psalm 27:14}

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sifting and snatched.

I feel bad about everything.
When I remember anything, it's with this twinge of guilt or failure, because there is not one area of my life where I feel like I am succeeding or 'on top of things'.

I think of work, and it triggers an anxiety attack--"Is my only client going to fire me because I'm late with an order again?"

I think of my son, and it brings up what a crappy mom I've been for the past few days--putting the tv on and staying in the house because I cannot bring myself to do anything else.

I think about laundry, or cooking dinner, or my bathroom floor and I am overwhelmed with just how many chores there are that need doing, and how my house is so grossly dirty. I also think about all the natural cleaning products I have meant to make, and haven't gotten around to.

I think about the taxes I still have to print out and file, and the back payment we've got to make up somehow.

I think about friends, and how I've forgotten to answer emails or phone calls, not asking about hard situations or circumstances that I know they're in.

I think about my relationship with the Lord, and how He deserves so much more of my time and energy. I think of all the times I've chosen sleep or mindless internet activities over spending time reading my Bible.

I think of my husband, and all of the ways I've failed as a wife--all the difficult places in our marriage that I should be working on making better, not dredging up and making worse.

I think about myself, and how I've only been to the gym once last week, and all I've eaten today has been bread and sugar--and how on earth can I actually consider bringing another child into this world when I can't even handle the life I have now? To be honest, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to short-change another kid on having me for a mom. I mean, I'm such a royal failure now, how could I subject another human being to that--and probably worse?

I'm scared to push 'publish' and scared to let these demons out.
I don't know what to do with all of this--I don't know how to let it go. I know the standards I set for myself are impossibly high, but I don't know how to do otherwise.
I can't even have a breakdown on the kitchen floor without thinking about the time I'm wasting and all of the things I should be doing instead.
I mean, how long is too long to use, "I'm just having a hard time right now" as an excuse?
How many times can I blame my incompetence on my failing mental faculties and still have people believe me or give me grace? How long can I give myself grace?

I am so over this.

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four.

It's even better now than it was then.

I could write a million words about this man and our life together, but they still wouldn't do it justice.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Let's have at least fifty more.

I love you.

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today.

Today will be a day to breathe.
To sit in His goodness, knowing that even though I don't understand, and even though I can't feel Him, He is there.
He is always there.

And every time I think I have it (Him) figured out, there is always something new, something unknown, something different that I have to get used to.
And I am sent spinning off again, trying to reconcile what-I-thought-I-knew with what-I-know-now.
And it's okay.
Somehow, it always ends up being okay.

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge."

{Psalm 62:8}

There is sun, and flowers on my table, and less pain in my shoulder than yesterday, and God is still good.

That's the biggest thing, really.

He is good, so good to me.

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words.

I bought a maxi dress for £10 today.
It was money we don't really have, but it gave me the hope of a summer and the feeling of caring about what I looked like for a half an hour, so it was probably worth it.
___________________

I have got to break out of this funk.

I've lost the eloquence and elegance I once possessed.
Right now I'm working out of a desperate attempt to grab what I used to have, and it's strange...my entire life has been spent pining for the future, for the day when I "arrive". But now, I'm pining for the past. I lay in bed at night, and close my eyes, and do my best to recreate where I used to be, the sights and sounds and smells of it all, and it helps me sleep, and escape the place that I am in.

(Wow, cause that didn't sound depressed and sad AT ALL.)

I wonder what it means that all of my dreams have sunlight in them, and that when I dream about the future (which is rare, because it's not really worth it anymore), the biggest thing I notice is the sunshine streaming through my imaginary windows, and the t-shirt I am wearing because it's warm.

(This isn't even coherent anymore).
_____________________

It's a struggle here, to be honest.
It's a struggle in every facet of my life--
being a mom
being a wife
being a follower of Christ
and everything in between.

I had a thought the other day, after my mom wrote me a letter reminding me that I will never be enough for Jameson, and that I was never meant to be. I was meant to fail him, because he needs to find Christ through my failures. My inadequacies should lead him right back to the God that loves him even more than I do, and the cracks in my human self should be the place that Christ shines through.

I keep trying to tell myself that, night after night of trying to get him to go to sleep and sobbing because I just feel like I've done everything wrong.
_____________________

Sometimes I go through these periods of deciding to be a "real" writer, and cleaning my act up: writing things with thought and flow that make sense and sound nice.
And then I always stumble back into the raw, messy part where I vomit words onto a page and it's all for me, because I just can't write for you anymore.
I don't even know who you are, so how am I supposed to know what you want?

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chaos.

Today, when I tried to put Jameson down for a nap in his room, he just wasn't having it. He kept pulling away from me while he was nursing, intent at staring at anything he could find. He's been napping in our room for the past few days since he's been sick, so instead of fighting with him, I just decided to take that route again.

We laid down, and I watched his big eyes start to close, sloooooowly, and I had this extreme urge to do something--anything other than laying down, doing nothing.

But then I heard the rain pattering on my window, and I felt my baby's warm body fit next to mine, and I heard a voice in my head say, "Rest."

I started to counter with, "But..."

And it persisted. "Just rest. You used to dream of moments like this--a free morning to nap, with the rain outside, and someone you love next to you. Rest."

So I did.
And it was wonderful.

---------------------

Today is Wednesday, which means that my mother-in-law takes Jameson to her house in the afternoon so that I can get some work done, and maybe Hubs and I can get some quality time in together. 

I have some really nice, flexible clients that have been so patient with me in this "figuring out what I'm doing" period, that I really wanted to make sure I got a lot accomplished today. But when I sat down to write yet another article on something I don't really care about, I wanted to scream. And cry. And pull at my hair, like my son does when I take something away from him.

I am so tired of this constant struggle. 

Why can't "just" being a mom be enough? 

I know the logical reasons why--we need my income to build up our American savings account (especially if I ever want to visit again or move back), but that doesn't mean I like it. Not to mention that it does a number on my stress level when I'm sitting there thinking, "If you want to go home, you'd better get this article done!"

I guess it's just another moment of wondering why things are the way they are, and why we're in the place that we're in.

I've been doing my best lately to let God meet me where I'm at, and choosing to see Him in my life, rather than being angry when He doesn't show up the way I want Him too...I guess this is just one of those moments that I'm going to have to let go of and muscle through.

This is what I'm living by lately:

"Your emptiness is but the preparation for your being filled, and your casting down is but the making ready for your lifting up."

 -Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening (November 4, Morning).

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when the American dream meets the British reality.

By the end of next month, I will have lived in England for a year and a half.

If we're honest, I really didn't think I'd make it.

I've spent countless nights crying with homesickness, begging my husband to "please, please, let's move home" and dreaming about the day that I'd be far away from this terrible little country.

But (you knew it was coming, didn't you?)
--in the last few months, it seems I've actually "adjusted" to life in the British culture, at least enough for the desperation to give way to a quiet routine of daily living. I'm sure becoming a mother has been an instrumental part in this: I have to get out of bed and out of the house for the sake of my son. We go to rhyme time at the library, and monster music at the children's centre, and meet up with other Mommas and their babies for the sake of socialization.

In the fray of adjusting, I've also come to realize an interesting distinction between the two countries, and I think it's something that made it so difficult for me to come to terms with this place for so long:

In America, we are told, "You can do anything you want to do, if you put your mind to it. Dream big, and the sky's the limit." We are taught that we can be famous athletes, movie stars, astronauts, scientists, writers, doctors--literally anything is open to us, if we want it bad enough.

In Britain, they are not told these things. People are brutally and bluntly honest about shortcomings and where yours are. If you aren't good at something, they'll make sure you know. Kids here are not taught that the sky's the limit, rather, they are told that there definitely are limits and maybe they'll surpass them, but probably not (so best not try).

As an American, this rubs you (and me) the wrong way. It is offensive, it is pessimistic, it is wrong. "Of course, I can do that," we gasp in horror as a Brit gives us an eyebrow raise. "I can do anything I want to!" Unfortunately, this isn't actually the case (even though we don't want to admit it). I will never be an Olympic athlete (even though I like to think that I might have had a shot if I hadn't quit figure skating). I will never be an amazing singer, and I might (probably) won't ever be a world famous author. In fact, I might not do anything with my life other than being a mother and a wife. I know.


So when I would lie in bed and dream about the life my family and I would have back in America once we got out of here, it would be full of nice things--the dream house, great jobs, happy kids doing lots of fun extracurricular activities, weekly date nights, a church that allows us to use our gifts and minister well. When I compared that dream to our current life in England (and the prospect of a future here), it looked about as gray as the sky I was living under.

It is only in the last few weeks that I have really come to terms with the fact that it is okay to just live. In fact, sometimes it is better to just live where you are at, than to dream about a future you might never have. For so long I got so caught up in the dream of our life "back in America" that I forgot to put anything into the life I was currently living in England. I'm sure that I wasted opportunities, missed friendships, and generally put a damper on any positive thing that I had going for me over here--and even though that is a natural and normal part of adjusting to life in a new culture, it's still not something I'm proud of.

I spent so long bemoaning the practicalities of the English, and pitying them for their inability to dream of anything more than a quiet house in the country, that I failed to see the positive side of things. They are generally content in the lives that they lead (I mean, most are. I am making pretty sweeping generalities here). They may not tell you that, with their semi-constant complaining, but they are. Their lives are familiar and what they know, and they are all right with that. They don't feel bad for not being something greater. They do what they do, and they do it well. This is something that I have probably never done, and it is kind of, (but not really) ironic to me that God has made me live in a place that is the very definition of "blooming where you're planted".

Now, I know that there are two sides to every coin, so before I get hate mail from all the British dreamers out there, let me remind you that I am simply remarking on a side of England that I have not wanted to appreciate, but now do. I have found myself with a certain fondness for this strange, backwards country. This is slightly terrifying, because I can't hate it with a passion anymore and wish myself back in America. Yes, there are moments nearly every day when I think about how much I miss my country, but recently, this has been countered by a tinge of sadness when I think about leaving what we have invested here.

This is the birthplace of my husband and son, and it is a country that will always be a part of me. It has helped refine me in many areas, and opened my eyes to the fact that there is more than one way to live life and look at things--not wrong, just different.

Any other citizens of the world care to share your opinions?

I mean, he's the best part about England.

Peace at last.

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