Home

My beautiful cousin gave us a wedding card with a quote from Lewis Carol written on it. “The best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures,” it said. A lovely little line from Alice & Wonderland. And as we close this part of the trip it comes to mind, because when I married Brad it is what I knew I would be getting. It’s what I know I’ll continue to get for the rest of my life.

I have a thing for the chimneys in France. The way so many of them reach out of the beautiful old buildings into the cotton candy clouds at sunset. It makes you feel cozy and romantic and maybe like when the wind blows through them it could whisper to you stories that rose from their hearths below long ago. Amazing how something as weird as a chimney can do that.

When I was a little girl I used to tell all of my babysitters that I lived in a castle. That the house we were in wasn’t my real house. That actually I was a princess who lived high in a tower on top of a mountain overlooking the ocean. I so vividly remember what it looked like in my mind, my imaginary home. And now I’m pretty certain I’ve seen it in real life.

Turns out, if you’re us, it takes about four weeks of international travel with children to hit a wall. To go from that this-is-all-so-romantic-and-exciting mentality to worn out and weary. We arrived in London with colds, which rapidly evolved into something more gnarly. And let me tell you, nothing makes you realize what a physical feat this all is quite like lugging a bulky stroller and sixty five pounds worth of small human by yourself down three flights of stairs to the London Underground with a deep and persistent chest cough.

Ketch has decided that his favorite city is Paris. To be expected I guess from a kid whose most frequently requested food is muscles in butter sauce with frites and who has been obsessed with the seeing the Eiffel Tower since we put together a 3D puzzle of it one day after preschool.

On the morning of the first day of my 37th year I awoke to the pitter patter of little feet. Two curly blondes smothered me in sloppy kisses and happy birthday mommas. I strolled the rainy streets of Belgium with my husband and my babies stopping for a coffee and a croissant at every bakerie we passed. There was a chill in the air and gloom in the clouds and fall felt wrapped all around us. I kissed everyone goodbye and wandered in and out of quirky shops alone. Bought myself a pair of birthday earrings. Sat in a warmly lit used book store amongst the tattered covers and listened to Tom Waits’ voice crackle. Sipped on cappuccino with fluffy hearts swirled over top and wrote and wrote and wrote about everything I felt. I blew out birthday candles with the people I love the most and ate chocolate cake with the most delicious $5 bottle of red wine. I spent the evening at a fancy pants Belgian spa and sat around in a steam room with a bunch of nude strangers (a weird but wonderful experience) and got a massage. It truly was the best day ever. Birthdays are funny things. Celebrations that mark the passing of your life. Pauses that make you reflect on where you’ve come from, what it took to get here, where that it is you’re going. I feel like I’ve taken a lot of big leaps throughout the years. Leaps that I thought would get me to the life I was dreaming of. Some of them were exhilarating and some of terrifying and some of them were heartbreaking and some of them were lonely. But I know now they have all been leading me to this point. I’m living that life I’ve dreamed up, and it’s better than I could have ever imagined. I’m so so grateful to be here. In this moment surrounded by these people. The leaps are worth it. Magic is real.

Brad and I have a habit of getting a little lit on our date nights, scheming up fairly ridiculous life plans, and then waking up the next morning and deciding to actually execute them. And while it’s probably not the healthiest of habits, it is certainly not one I would ever want to change, because it has led us to do some pretty amazing things. We both agreed that we cannot pinpoint a day this idea was officially thrown out or decided upon - but it was definitely discussed over many glasses of wine on nights with blessed babysitters. 

You sleep as I write this. A little bundle of torso and limbs and fat squishy cheeks flopped warmly upon my chest. And I sit here and sip my coffee and feel your weight. Brush your baby hair against my face and smell your baby smell. This, us-ness, this you-piled-on-me-ness, this blur between where you end and where I begin is what feels most familiar to me these days because for six months now, I have held you. Snuggled you to my chest, slept with you in my arms. Breathed your breath and soaked up your sweat and felt your pain. Carried you in a front pack to and fro. Bounced you until the balls of my feet became sore and bruised against our hardwood floor. I have never been more in tune with another human being. Never felt so entwined with another soul. Sweet boy, your arrival into this world has been anything but easy, but we have been here together, you and I - and I have held you.

Someday my love, when you ask me to tell the story of the day you were born, I will say this…

Once upon a time, a boy came to the earth. And the moon and the stars and the sun and the planets all had to stop what they were doing for a moment, to make space for of the enormous amount of magic he brought with him. It was like the whole universe stretched a little that day – and we all felt it. Time stood still. And when they placed that boy on my chest, I got to absorb a little of that magic.

Sometimes I get nostalgic, thinking about our old life. The one that was just Brad and I. Waking up on Saturday mornings to the roar of a jet boil and the smell of coffee brewing. Gazing up at the morning light streaming through a dew-covered tent and feeling the cool, mountain air on my face. Afternoons spent hiking or climbing or floating or skiing or whatever the hell we wanted really, with the only thought of logistics being which one of us was going to make sure there was beer in the cooler for afterwards. Laying in bed at night, scheming about which country we’d be able to get to next. Before the thought of traveling abroad brought up horrific thoughts of ruined nap schedules in 6-hour time-zones.