Well, We Made It

My darling children and my blessed mother made it through three days of driving rather well. I was actually surprised at how easily and smoothly it all went. Yesterday afternoon we drove over the Mississippi River and showed Li'l Bit the "Welcome to Arkansas" sign. Her eyes got as big as saucers and her smile was even bigger. The girl was born in one of the coolest cities in the WORLD and she is come-unglued-ecstatic to be in Arkansas. Of all places.

Her enthusiasm is good for me. It reminds me that they don't care what is cool or hip. They only care about being where they are happy. And they've been happy in Boston and Arkansas. And we're in Boston all the time, so naturally, they want to spend more time in the Natural State. So here we are. The Land of Opportunity.

Opportunity.

We were chatting with Chris and Sweet Lou--more on them later--and they asked, "So, what are you going to do in Arkansas?" After the negativity ran it's lightening speed course through my brain waves, I said, "I'm going to be optimistic." We are in the south. We are going to devour everything South that we can. We are going to experience this region. And not just fried food. We're going to enjoy the best parts of this drastically different culture; we're going to learn about the history; we're going to take advantage of every bit of art and culture available--especially the free and inexpensive. And we're going to read. I think we're going to have lots of time to read.

Mostly, there is an obvious advantage that this part of the country has for us. Roots. History. People. I have a LIST of people we are dying to see. I'm not talking about sitting in a stuffy living room with a dozen distant relatives we hardly know. I'm talking about real love. Real, intimate friendships that have shaped our spiritual lives. And we're not just here for five days! We can actually sit down and relax and enjoy all the people we've loved along the way.

So, we're here. The journey begins, and I am excited. My heart is breaking everyday, because I wish I could meld my two worlds together into one. But, still, I'm excited.

I Killed My Hair.

From the time I was, oh...14 I think, until I was 18, I dyed my hair. At first it was a slight lightening until, finally, you should see my senior photo! If it weren't packed away in a storage unit I would show it to you. It doesn't require much imagination though. Just picture a short, short pixie in bleach-white blond. Oddly enough, in another senior picture it was red. That was my favorite.

But, when I turned 18, went to college, and met the love of my life, I began a journey of enjoying and appreciating the way God made me. This meant I stopped altering my appearance, so no more hair dye. (I did, however, grow up in the South, so I did NOT stop wearing make up. I have my limits.)

For some reason, I felt the best way to celebrate ten years of God given, genuine brown would be dying it blond! Genius. I did actually give it some thought. I thought, It's not that big of a deal to me anymore. I don't care so much whether my hair is blond or brown or red--but I don't think I could pull off black. And I have actually stopped wearing make up everyday. I've transcended, right? So I figured, what the heck. I went to Target, picked out the darkest blond they had, and applied.

It was a shock. When I came out of the bathroom Gizmo stopped dead in his tracks and just looked at me. He didn't say anything; he just looked at me funny for a day or so. I don't mind it so much now, but the problem is not the look. It's the feel. Before this carefree experiment my hair was healthy, smooth, bouncy, shiny, obedient. I had that hair. Now I think my hair is actually offended. It is dead as a doornail. (Yes, I know hair is never literally alive. Moving on...) No more shine, no more bounce, and it's coarse and DISobedient. I was apparently so unappreciative that it is giving me...the shaft. (sorry, couldn't help it.) It's as if it is saying, "I gave you my best for ten years and it wasn't good enough for you? Well I'll be damned if I'm going to pretend to be a natural blond. You're on your own, chic!"

So here I am. I had made peace with having plain ol' brown hair. And now I get to make peace with having dry, damaged hair. If it's not one thing it's another.

The Clock is Ticking

With the help of a few, very brawny men, we moved all of our furniture into storage on Saturday morning. On Saturday afternoon I started to feel like we had all the time in the world to be finally prepared for this...shift. It's still hard to call it a move. I never thought I'd be moving back to Arkansas. And I'm not. Not for good anyway. It is just so hard to let go of a city, a region, a people-culture, and people I've always loved so much. Because letting go for eight months is still letting go even if we'll be back in October. Anyway, back up to the surface--Saturday, I felt like we had plenty of time.

Today is Monday. Monday night to be exact.

Tonight it feels like we have only two weeks. And counting.

Why is it that two days can cause such a drastic change in perspective? Well, we aren't talking about years here. Weeks. And only two. Also granted, it dawned on me today that B.daddy will be traveling soon, making this one full week as an all-together-in-the-same-room-family before this...shift. So, yeah, I'm still very grateful to be in a place where I know for (98%) sure what our next immediate steps are. And I am excited about the changes, the possibilities, the opportunities. But I'm also in this empty--but astonishingly messy--apartment. I'm in limbo between the last eight months and the next eight months, with clothes to pack, meals to prepare, children to love, friends to be with.

The kids are doing very well, in spite of their little worlds being turned upside down.

So, we're good. Just getting ready.