Just Write.

Libbie is on the couch, a barely touched graham cracker in her hand. For two nights in a row, she's spiked a fever right at bedtime. The first night she slept in her bed, our bed, the loveseat. Last night with me in the big bed. Mr. V assigned to the couch.

David slept for 12 hours, but I woke many times to re-cover my sickie, push back her sweaty hair.

Sweat-soaked in yellow footed pajamas, she asked to be rocked at 10 pm last night. Rocked. My almost-three-year-old. I rocked.

David woke this morning to suck greedily on a breast that can't seem to stop getting clogged ducts. Pain. The nurse at the doctor thinks I want permission to stop nursing, but I just want relief. I want to know why I appear to be the only woman in the world who has no problems breastfeeding at first but lots of problems starting around eight months.

His teeth are little razorblades; and while I am grateful he hasn't bit the breast that feeds him, he has taken a good gnaw at my chin. Four little teeth with two more coming in. He looks like a fourth-grader with the growing-in two front teeth of different lengths.

I have piles and piles and piles of boxes and I am too embarrassed about it to call maintenance to come fix our main AC unit, which just growls instead of blows. This morning it's cool and not bothersome, but our 80-degree days are leaving me sweaty. I still have one more load at the house, but that would involve emptying out the car. And when should I do that, with a baby and a sick little one?

This week is the finish of moving, and a big quick editing job, and unpacking that probably won't happen.

But I still need to write. So here it is.




{Oh hey! I have two guest posts up today: 10 Burning Questions I Have for PBS/Sprout at Mama Loves Her Shows and Fruity Squash Puree at Once a Month Mom.}
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Still Held

I let myself look at the pictures one last time.

I don't even feel the tears until I see the smiling faces of our 24-year-old selves, grinning with satisfaction. "I really feel like we're not being wasteful," I said. "We got what we could afford and we'll use all the space."

Eleven-hundred and seventy square feet that we felt like we owned, even if after a year Mr. V calculated we only really "owned" the tiny half bathroom.

I've learned a lot about ownership over the past months.

Two years ago - maybe even two months ago - I would have told you that foreclosure was not an option for us. Our credit scores have already been super high. We've always tried to make smart financial choices.

We foreclose today.

__________

When I wrote this or this, I would have never imagined the road would end in foreclosure. Never.

But lately I've faced the fact that foreclosure is not the worst thing that could happen to us.

I praise, in the midst of the pain.

We were provided this apartment and new home, which will give us the ability to pay cash for the next seven years.

We have clothes and food and the ability to send our children to school.

We have a Savior who knows our every need and is providing. 

Through all the pain and trial, I believe that as much as I did two years ago. He is enough.

I started this journey with the belief that God would work it all out for His good and it would be a way I could minister to others. It may not be how I thought, but it still is. He is the I AM. The End.

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The End of Menu Plan Monday?

Could it be the end of Menu Plan Mondays at Vanderbilt Wife? Truthfully ... I'm not sure.

So here's what's happening in our life that's taking precedence over blogging.

Mr. V and I have hoped and prayed since we found out he got his current job that we would be able to live on campus at the school where he teaches. It is a private school with both boarding and local students, so there are dorms and they have dorm parents.

April and May passed this year, and for the second year we realized we would not be moving onto campus for the fall. We sucked it up and I made plans to paint some of our current rental house, do whatever was needed to make it feel a little more ours.

Two weeks ago, we got word that there "might" be a place for us on campus. It was last Wednesday before we had the affirmation that yes, we would be able to move on for this school year. The school year starts tomorrow, August 22. We were able to start moving in Saturday the 20th.

So, yeah.

Part of the deal of living on-campus and performing dorm parent duties is that our whole family can eat in the dining hall, three meals a day, every day. It blows my mind that I don't ever have to cook if I don't want to.

I have a difficult time picturing me being able to get my kids and myself dressed and to the dining hall in time for breakfast. But as for lunch and dinner, I think we'll eat there most of the time.

It is just such a weird concept to think about not cooking that I can't quite grasp it. I imagine that I will cook one or two dinners at home a week, but I don't know. We are simply going to roll with the punches and see how it goes.

I'm thinking that there won't be a Menu Plan Monday here anymore. And that's OK. I feel it was mostly for me to keep up with what I needed to cook that week, although it did drive some traffic here.

With the expected lack of cooking, I plan to rev up my baking some. I've promised Mr. V that his night of dorm duty each week I will deliver some treat for the students. So perhaps I will feature a weekly "treat" here on VW. I adore baking, but the problem has always been that I like baking more than I should be eating baked goods. It will be great to have teenaged boys I can feed!

We are so excited about this new phase in our life and I can't wait to share what I can with you.

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Welcome, 2011.

It wears me out to think about the last two years.

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know our story. If not, you can read about here or here or here.

I'm not sure what I would have done if two years ago I knew we would be living in limbo for such a long time. Struggling financially, worrying over a house that won't sell. Still living so very far from any family.

It was not what I had planned.

But in 2010, I moved to Chattanooga. I became a stay-at-home-mom. We found an amazing church home that is thriving and where God is moving. We conceived and brought another child into the world.

If I let myself think about the things that weigh me down, I panic. Every day I have to choose to focus on the blessings of being where I am, right now. Even if that place is Limbo, Tennessee; population: family of 4.

I can't help but think that Jesus lived here, too (well, not Tennessee). What must have passed through His mind as He waited those 30 years for His ministry to begin? Was He anxious? (Doubtful.) Did He wonder if the right time would ever come?

I am glad He understands.

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One Year Later, Still Waiting

It's been a year this week since I wrote the post revealing our move to Chattanooga. 

After seven long months of job searching for Mr. V, I cannot tell you how relieved I was by that news.

I didn't know we wouldn't sell our house. That I wouldn't move to Chattanooga until January. That I would miss my co-workers but not my job. That the intense peace I had during Mr. V's job search would dissipate along with my faith that I would ever get to move.

There are many things I wish I could say are all better, all wrapped up. But they aren't. We're still, a year later, living somewhere in the in-between. Living in the wait.

Many, many days I tell God that I promise I've learned my lesson and could He just make it all better now?

Which is probably all the more reason to still be sitting here, hanging out, waiting.

Thank you for hanging in there with me, hoping and praying, and learning to trust a little more each day.

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Where Are You From?

As a transport to a new city, the question I get asked constantly is "Where are you from?"

I hate, despise, and detest all forms of the question. Because really, how much do they TRULY want to know?

Short answer: I lived in Nashville for 5 1/2 years.

Long answer (deep breath):

Well, I was born in Dayton, Ohio. I lived in Indiana. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia--no, not Richmond, Indiana, or Kentucky, or anywhere else. Then my husband and I moved to Nashville after college.

Mr. V was born in Pennsylvania, grew up in South Carolina, then his parents moved back to PA but he never really lived there.

Them: "Oh, so your parents are in Virginia and his are in Pennsylvania?"

Me: Oh, no. My parents moved to Pennsylvania about four years ago, and they lived really near my in-laws, but now my in-laws live in North Carolina. And my dad has no idea what's going on with his job, so only God knows where they'll live in a year.

Oh, and we go to Dayton for Thanksgiving. All of my grandparents and many of my other relatives live there.

Them: "Um, OK. See ya later!!" (rushes off hurriedly)

It's not THAT confusing, right?

Heh. Some days I wish we had grown up in the same place, all of our families still lived there, and this was an easy situation to explain. But we're Modern America, and I'd never trade in any of my life experience, no matter how crazy it is. I choose to believe it makes me well-rounded.

:)


Does anyone else dread being asked this question?

Click on photo for source.
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We Made It!

The last few days have been grueling. Libbie has no clue what's going on. But we're in our Chattanooga house and trying to get unpacked some before leaving for PA on Sunday. Oh my.

Won't have consistent Internet until tomorrow afternoon, so I'll catch up later! Just wanted to let you know us and our stuff got here OK.

And if any companies would like me to review a crib ... Libbie's got damaged on the way here and is being held together with duct tape. :( Seriously, companies, e-mail me!

Home is Where ...?

I drove back to Nashville from Chattanooga for the last time today.

Well, not the REAL last time, of course. In fact, in less than a week I'm coming back to fly out of BNA and visit my parents. And then a few weeks later, I'll be back for Blissdom!

But we're moving on Tuesday. So this was the last time I'd make the drive back to our home here and have it feel like home. In all honestly, I'm still a little confused on which is home. (Mr. V is as well, and he's been there for five months!)

I drove past what will be "my" grocery store. How will I learn the aisles? What is their coupon policy? Where is the Publix??

I wondered if I would make friends, how on earth I would work (on freelance) this week while moving and unpacking, and about all the friendships in Nashville that are about to receive a big crack down the middle--a 120-mile gap.

But then, I drove down 27 toward 24 and marveled at the gorgeous view, the lovely mountains frosted with snow from this weekend's dusting. I get to see this every day? I get to be at home with my daughter? I get to live in this amazing city, with the huge aquarium, an incredible downtown, and be a mere 2 hours each from Nashville and Atlanta?

I feel blessed. I've always been a girl who prefers the mountains over the beach. I have many happy memories of hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains with my parents and grandparents; staying in cabins with my dad's side of the family; eating apples that were better than any I'd tasted, fresh from the trees; caving in Indiana with our church when I was a young kid.

I don't know whether I'm more excited or scared. It will certainly be an adjustment. But I am so happy to say that it's finally happening!

I've made some adjustments to my About Me page, if you're new to the site and have no idea what I'm talking about or want to get to know me a little better. 


No, our house has not sold yet. I don't want to talk about it. But I do covet your prayers. Please help me convince God it would be GREAT if someone could just swoop in and make us an offer. 

Linked to Your Life, Your Blog.

Choo-Choo

I want to write. I really do.

But today has been a messy mess, I need to work, and I of course need to make sure I watch The Big Bang Theory. (Because they don't put it online. The nerve!)

I put my resignation in at work today (for Dec. 31) and it's kind of freaked me out royally. Because if on December 31st I don't have another job or we still own this house, I don't know what we will do.

And in spite of that ordeal, I feel joyful. Joyful at having a sweet, sort-of-walking daughter. Joyful at fall leaves, good books, and leftover Chinese food.

I am not controlled by my circumstances. My joy is a fruit of the Spirit. Even though life may not be so hot in the day-to-day, the Big Picture is still awesome.

How's that for a train-of-thought post?

The Tale of the Breaking Point

Well, this is it. I've reached the breaking point. I've taken a swan dive off the tippy-top of the cliff and am definitely in over my head.

I miss my husband. I miss real life, life before I had to leave for house showings, cook for one, and pretend I can do it all for other people's sake.

Should I be stronger, tougher than this? Should I suck it up, knowing I have it better than many. Should we rent? Keep waiting? Accidentally set the house on fire and hope for a good insurance claim? (REALLY KIDDING.)

I don't know. Only God knows. This past week I feel that I've not done much except seek His guidance on what to do next. No clear answers fill the night sky. I wait.

I'm sort of looking for a job without really wanting one. The practical thing, of course. Who can even find a job in this economy? And yet two days after I Tweeted, "I'm thinking about looking for a job in Chattanooga," I was scheduled for an interview. Nuts. Or God?

Things are spinning. I need to lose weight. When would I go to the gym? When should we have another baby? I need to lose weight first. And hey, where's that Halloween candy? I have all the five minuteses to myself that I need at night, but I can't get done what I need to do. I even started playing Farmville. Another speck of precious time sucked into the vortex.

And in my head plays the tune, "'Tis the gift to be simple. 'Tis the gift to be free."

Simplicity. It haunts me, lures me, dances around me, but I can't catch it.

I breathe a prayer. It's all I can do.



Photo from stock.xchng user eschu1952.

Yawn

I am tired of packing.

I am tired of putting everything away after I'm done with it.

I am tired of adjusting and pulling back curtains and opening blinds and making the bed just so.

I am tired of rescuing the remotes off the floor and putting things away to have Libbie pull them back out right away.

I am in disbelief that I have to move offices at this exact same time, and hated having to pack up 3 1/2 years worth of stuff so I can move into a closet at work.

Packing. Moving. It's all making me a little insane.



I am tired.

And all I want is a Coke Zero and a friend.

Top Ten Things I Learned About Staging a House Last Night

10. The more floorspace seen, the better. Angling the couch here lets more of our pretty hardwood floor show. End table and tall lamp behind the couch act as a faux sofa table.



9. The house should look like you don't really live there. No pictures of family. No hygiene products out where you can see them.

8. Clearing the counters of as much as possible really does make a difference.



7. Take everything off the refrigerator (even precious picture of our Compassion child).

6. Try to make colors mesh in consecutive rooms. The blue in the placemats on our dining room table and on the window valance help the kitchen and living room mesh.



5. Even if I never use it, a chair out here gives the appearance that one could lay out, get some sun, and read a good book. Meredith even suggested placing a book out there if I knew someone was coming.



4. Some fluffy, colored throw pillows make a world of difference in this room. We also added a lamp on the other table to balance the room some.



3. Cooking smells can turn someone off, but a little baked good on the kitchen island feels homey.

2. Grouping like items helps the house to not feel so cluttered (appliances, electronics, etc).

1. It WILL BE WORTH IT to not really use much of the house if it sells.

I cannot thank Meredith enough for graciously offering to help me and bringing over tons of stuff to decorate with. She's a saint. REALLY. I could never repay her for what she's done for me.

If you're visiting from a carnival, before pictures are here.

Linked up to Top Ten Tuesday and What I Learned This Week.

Sell My House

My friend Meredith is coming over tonight to help stage our house. We have, of course, moved out tons of furniture to Chattanooga trying desperately to make it look bigger. But I will be the first to admit I have very little decorating sense. If I could pay The Nester to come fix my house, I totally would. But unfortunately that would involve money, since I take it she couldn't just work with the two Pier One baskets I have.

Y'all want to chime in with your two cents? I really want to paint our rocker kelly green to cheer up the front. What do you think? (I have a quart of kelly green paint from some company who gave it away online.)

[Not comfortable putting a picture of front of house here. But we have a double Adirondack glider sort of like this in a cherry-ish wood. Front of house is brick with dark green shutters.]


I know the computer in the living room is taking up space, but y'all, I cannot live alone without my computer! How would I blog? How would I Tweet? I might have to clean or watch TV or something? And I don't have a laptop (since the crappy Gateway we had died 2 weeks after its 1-year warranty was up.)



I love the kitchen! Does it need something else?



Our bedroom is the worst room in the house. I hope Meredith is coming armed with color. I had a duvet cover that matched the pillow shams, but I hate how duvets slip and slide inside the cover. This room needs help, but too late now for us. Maybe in the next place...



I doubt we'll do much in Libbie's room. It's a nursery! We honestly moved out a TON of stuff from here: glider, dresser, bookshelf ...



So, darling friends who have taste, what would you do?

My Testimony, So Far

I used to think I had a boring testimony. I grew up with wonderful, Christian parents. I walked the aisle when I was about 10 after having a strong call to missions. Unlike many of the people I knew from youth group, I never really wavered from my faith. I had doubts, sure, who doesn't? But there's never been a time I did not believe there was a God who cared about me. I didn't rebel. I have often asked my parents what they DID to me to make me not want to be bad? They don't know. I wish they did!

While Mr. V and I have never had tons of money, we've always had enough. We never went through a period where we had to eat ramen noodles. We've never argued significantly. While we went through a short period of infertility, it was not too awful. We've had a very happy five years and have a beautiful, healthy daughter.

At Thanksgiving, when Mr. V still had no job interviews lined up for January, I remember thinking, "Well, we've not had any hard times in our marriage so far. Maybe this is it."

And it is.

Not that our marriage is not wonderful, but situationally it has just been a difficult nine months.

Mr. V applied for many college teaching positions--many much closer to our parents--and got not one interview. We felt so desperate. He then applied to many private high schools in Nashville. He had one interview. They hired someone else the next day.

But God had something better planned for us. Through the Southern Teachers Agency, a very prestigious school pursued him and hired him almost immediately (one MUCH better than the one he interviewed at here).

We had always assumed we would be moving after five years. And then we thought, hey, maybe we won't have to! And then, ooh, yep, we do. So our house didn't go on the market until the second week of June and Mr. V needed to be in Chattanooga middle of August.

Needless to say, it hasn't sold. We've had a small handful of showings and nothing to show for it except a pretty clean house containing a lonely mother and her ten-month-old baby.

I want so, so badly for our house to sell so I can quit my job, go be a stay-at-home mom and freelancer, and be with Mr. V in Chattanooga. I let that get to me. A LOT! It's a daily struggle to not whine continuously and wonder why on earth God would be "doing this to me."

I can't tell you how many Sunday School lessons and sermons I've heard on patience in the last few months. (This morning, visiting a church in Chattanooga, included.) And Mr. V and I believe it when God promises He will work all things for good. That He has a plan for us. That to Him, one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day.

We're convinced that God will move me and Libbie to Chattanooga at the exact right time for His plan. Maybe there is a reason I need to be here. Maybe there is a reason I need to move there at some particular time. Either way, we are 100% sure God will allow it to happen in His time if we listen to His Word and obey. Bemoaning all the time I have to be apart from Mr. V does no good. I need to relish God's plan and delight myself in Him.

Perhaps it's all a big lesson in patience, faith, and God's timing. Something I need to learn. And if this is the way for God to knock it into my thick head, I'm OK with that. Because I believe He loves me. Just like sometimes I need to tell Libbie "no" for her own good, sometimes He needs to say, "Not now, dear one. Wait."

Preemptive Missing

I don't get many text messages. I am one of those Old Geezers without a Text Messaging Plan, and so I still have to pay to get and send texts. I do, every once in awhile, but my phone isn't constantly buzzing with them like many others my age.

But yesterday morning, I got this from my very oldest friend: "The church on TV is singing And They'll Know We Are Christians. Made me think of you and smile. Love you and miss you."

I won't explain the inside joke, but it made me grin from ear to ear. And think.

A genuine "I miss you" is language of the soul, words that mean more to me than most.

Being separated from my husband right now, some days all we have is "I miss you." Sometimes I mean it more than other times (be honest now, really). But I do. I miss his curly head, his hugs, and how funny Libbie thinks he is.

"I love you" can be muttered, unfelt as we say good-bye and go on to attend to the next thing in life (for me, a crawling rascal; for him, a baseball game or papers to look over).

Driving home from Chattanooga after signing the lease for our house there, I started thinking about how much I will miss my friends in Nashville. It took me a long time before I felt that I had true friends here. Those friends to whom you can bare your soul do not come quickly or easily.

I will miss you, dear friends. More than anything else in this crazy city we've called home for five years.

So, last night found me bawling on the couch along with Libbie, who I feel has done nothing but wail for about three days. Isn't it lovely?

One too many things. Those last straws seem to be burying me alive.

I have a lovely post in progress, but today I'm off to Chattanooga to fill out rental papers for our home there! YAY! SO excited to see my Mr. V and my new (old) house.

At Home on a Friday Night

I just washed the floors of my (huge) kitchen on my hands and knees.

I can guarantee that I have never done that before in my entire life. Maybe I could get into this stress relief through cleaning that so many claim.

Why? Maybe by brute strength, sheer will, I could convince someone to come see our house?

Potential selling points to add to the descriptions:
--I use natural cleaners! Well, mostly.
--We have all CFL lightbulbs!
--I'll cook you dinner if you come see it!
--You can keep our Adirondack rocker, our coffee table...and anything else you want

It's extremely disheartening to have had no showings in a whole month. I had such a peace during Mr. V's job-search process. Now that we know where we're going, I want to GO. I don't want to wait on God.

But I don't think I have much of a choice.

I'm trusting, trusting that His plan is the best. Better than anything I could dream up in my mere little head.

In the meanwhile, I'll distract myself by reading His Word ... and cleaning. A lot.

Alone in the Kitchen

Curled up on my couch, plate in hand. Vanilla-scented candle lit; the point of early evening where it's not too bright but I do not yet need to turn on a light. Tart apple slices with creamy havarti cheese. Summer sausage. Crisp carrots with a spinach dip. Alone, I listen to love songs from Broadway, snuggle down in my robe and extremely old leopard-print slippers, and dream of words coming together.

I am reading a book that seems so situation-appropriate right now it’s almost funny. I ran across Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant while I was trying to find some books to take on vacation a few weeks ago. I remembered seeing it on Paperbackswap as something I might be interested in a while back, so I grabbed it and packed it in my bag. While I was too busy attending to the baby and playing pool with my sister to read as much as I thought I would, I did get around to starting it a few days ago.

The book is a collection of essays on eating alone. I confess I don't mind eating alone in a restaurant. Cooking alone, however, is a completely different story. I love food; I love to eat; and yet, when I am by myself, I often come home, open the fridge, stare at it, and eat nothing. It’s not worth the trouble.

I am fascinated by the stories in this collection about what people cook for themselves. Saltines with cheese; anything that only uses one pan; soup; often, people cook the same thing over and over again without tiring of it (like asparagus).

I am not home for dinner by myself much, but if I am I pretty much fall back on two options: pierogies cooked with sauerkraut and Polish sausage or a plate of Granny Smith apples, havarti cheese, salami, vegetables, and spinach dip. Both dinners I would never expect Mr. V to eat. Things I like. Simple pleasures.

I’m confronted right now with the possibility of living just with Libbie during the week for months as we wait for our house to sell here in Nashville. Mr. V has to go to Chattanooga in August whether it has sold or not. It’s a frightening conjecture, but one I know many couples have gone through and survived. I may go literally insane trying to be a single, working mother…and I may either lose or gain 40 pounds. Cooking for myself is not my area of expertise. As one of the authors in the book explains, my joy in cooking is serving it to someone. I often tell people my spiritual gift is feeding people.

My relationship with food is so awkward, so strange: I love it, dream about it, fear it, hoard it. Eating alone, unrestricted by the foods my husband doesn't like, makes me bite my nails. It could be a happy place … or my very own seventh circle of hell. No matter how much I wish it were just sustenance to me, it's not. Too many years of battles, too many words read and eating plans attempted.

Dining alone. Oh, my.

What do you eat when you cook for yourself? How do you cook for 1?

Packing Up the Dreams God Planted

The pile in the living room has dwindled down as we have carted several loads over to our new storage unit. Praying, hoping that making this place look much better than it has with us living in it will make some dear soul want to own it.

It's really a sweet house, our first house, just the right size for the two of us (and a baby, although it's been a little more of a squeeze). I'm getting sappy as I think about leaving it--and even sappier going through piles of stuff as we move it out. There are some boxes that we hadn't touched since we moved here 3 years ago.


In one of those, I found a stack of cards Mr. V gave me in college. Although I know he loves me in a completely different and deeper way now, he was obviously bananas over me pre-engagement and pre-grown-up life. I can't believe the sappyness he was capable of writing (it's very unlike him). (I have to add, he's not the only one who's stopped sending sappy cards. I'm definitely also guilty. In college I once wrote him a poem using candy hearts. We were disgustingly crazy about each other!)

Seven months after our first child was born and nearly five years of marriage later ... I am sure we could use to recapture some of that early romance.

How do you do it? I'd love to hear some tips!

Transported to the Scenic City

Some of y'all may have guessed that our rapid trip to Chattanooga on Monday was for a job interview for Mr. V. While I was having a fantastic omelet and great coffee at Aretha Frankenstein's with Robin from Pensieve, Mr. V was undergoing a whole day of interviews at a local high school. We are VERY happy to announce that he did get the job and we're going to be Chattanoogans! (Chattanoogites?)

The last few months--since November, really, when his application process began--have been such a downer for us, and we are so relieved to know where we'll be. At the same time, it's incredibly bittersweet. We still won't be near any family; we will miss our life and friends here in Nashville so much; and honestly, I'm not sure how I'll function as a stay-at-home mom, even though that is what I have dreamed and desired to be! I love my job and I will be sad to leave when the time comes. Also we will have to undergo the stress of trying to sell our house in a less than desirable market.

I've decided I won't share where Mr. V will be teaching since I just don't think that's necessary information and don't want a bunch of high-schoolers finding my blog. :) I also don't think I'll be the changing the name of it--we'll always be proud of our Vanderbilt connection, and I don't want to undergo the hassle.

Thank you for your prayers during this time.

Will you please also lift up a prayer this morning for my friend Monica? This dear, sweet woman just lost her little son—she was 6 months pregnant. I am so grieving for her this morning and I know she covets prayers.