He Never Promised Me the Snow White Castle, Just the Hut in Africa

We have left our home. It was grueling. It was rough.

My parents are retired. They offered to watch our kids so we could get some stuff done. I dropped the older boys off at 9am, and kept Son3 with us so he could nurse. We sold stuff. We packed stuff. What would a Farmer move be without getting really crazy? Contractors were in our home for two weeks, until less than 48 hours before we moved. They painted the walls. They refinished the entertainment center. They installed new carpet. They built a hutch from wood and granite. We hired a family friend to deep clean the house, and a pool man for the year. My house was beautiful before. It is stunning now. I love it. I miss it.

But it is just a house. And I want our kids to know that.

My parents kept the kids til 9pm the first night. My parents loved it. The kids loved it. We loved it. It sounded like a great idea. So that Grandparents Day Camp turned into 2 weeks of my parents taking the kids every single day. And my parents took them all over town. They rode the trolley to downtown, they watched Toy Story3, and for haircuts. They swam, they baked, and they watched 150 channels of TV. When I lived at home we had less than 6 channels until my sister left for college. My husband lived with 3 channels until he left for college. We had no mercy for our kids when we canceled our TV service. They have grandparents with On Demand.

My kids do not understand now why we moved. They know their Daddy is going to be at Harvard this year. They understand we are moving to Boston. They ask when we get to go home. They ask why we moved.

There is no real way to hide it. Our house is really big. It is a 6 bedroom, 5 bath house. Packing up the house, selling stuff, putting things in storage was a ridiculously monstrous task. The renters requested we leave certain furniture. We did, requiring an additional deposit. Many, many people questioned our decision to not split up as a family, to have the Hubs go to Harvard by himself, to have me stay in San Diego with the kids. After all, it is only for a year. Actually, it is only really for 10 months. But the Powers That Be give the Hubs travel time on either end of our trip. Why, why, why would I take my kids away from family, from "stability?" Was this really good for the kids? Hubs could fly back on his breaks.

When Hubs called to tell me he was accepted as a fellow at Harvard, I asked what his plans were for the family. He did not even hesitate. He said we were going with him. My stomach turned. Truthfully, I had the same thoughts. Was this the right choice? That night, I stood four inches from him and asked if we were making the right decision. He kissed me on my forehead and told me I gave him three beautiful boys. He wanted them AND ME with him for the year. There was no way he was going to be without us. My stomach settled. My heart was at peace. Every woman wants to be wanted. But it goes back to our story of the "Hut in Africa" in front of the Snow White Castle at Disneyland fourteen years ago.

The year was 1996. Hubs and I were dating not too long. On a particular breezy day in California, Hubs and I had gone to Disneyland. While standing in line for rides, we talked about where we had been, where we saw ourselves going. We talked about grad schools. He was a PhD student and I was an undergrad at UCLA. The year before he had just finished his Master's at Columbia University in NYC. He worked for the admissions office while he was there. He told me I probably could get admitted. I started to see stars of an Ivy League degree. I talked my timeline for grad school, what kind of job I wanted, where I saw myself going. And I went on, and on, and on. He was awfully quiet. And I went on, and on, and on. And he was frowning. I asked him what was wrong. He stopped in front of the Snow White Castle. I still remember it so clearly. He asked me what I thought about US. Well, I told him carefully, given MY potential plan, we could be married by 2002. His eyes got really wide. I back pedaled a bit. I reworked MY plan out loud, and said for him, I could see us married in 2000. That was still four years away. He very carefully thought out some words, and spoke sincerely. If I couldn't see myself marrying him for four to six years then I must not be the one for him. I was really shocked. Then I was mad. What was so wrong with wanting what he already had? He explained it had nothing to do with that at all. It was that MY plans did not include him. Essentially, what he was telling me was that I was willing to leave, but not to cleave, the very things God asks us to do in marriage. I was willing to leave being single, but I was not willing to cleave, to be one minded. He did not use those exact words. No, he used a more simple analogy. But in hindsight, that is what he meant. I wanted MY plan, not an OUR plan.

In front of the Snow White Castle, he looked at me and said, "I would live in a hut in Africa to be with you." He said he was willing to put aside his "MY" plan and make it an "OUR" plan. So that has been a mantra in our marriage, living in the hut in Africa. I eventually did complete my Master's from UVA, a public Ivy. He supported me completing my education. He would still support my decision to complete more education, because it would be an OUR plan.

So we are moving to the Boston area together, because my husband promised me he would live in a hut in Africa to be with me fourteen years ago. That is it in a nutshell. We sold much of our furniture, because it is just STUFF. It can be replaced. We rented out our hugest asset because it is just a house. Any damage can be fixed at a cost. But one thing can never be bought, sold, exchanged, or replaced even at a cost is the idea of the hut in Africa.

Yesterday, I shared just a little of my heart with my five year old. When he asked me WHY we were moving, I plainly told him because Daddy is my best friend. I made a promise years ago to him that I would go where he goes, that we would make plans together, and that one day, I hope he marries his best friend, and she goes where he goes. She better be willing to live in a hut in Africa with him, but I didn't lay that on him quite yet.

A Bed of Roses

Everyone remembers their wedding day, but how many can say they remember the days following? The days leading to The Big Day are BIG. But the days following shrink in comparison. I don't remember too much about the days immediately following our wedding, and before our honeymoon. I remember falling asleep a lot. I was so tired, and our honeymoon was still days away. But I remember one late July afternoon just days after we were married. My mom invited my new groom and me to a furniture store. She had a surprise for me. She paraded us through the store and led us right to a cherry bedroom set. I love cherry wood, and I grew up with a cherry bedroom set. My parents still use it in their guest bedroom. But for some (not too logical) reason, I did not have a Va Va Voom! reaction to the cherry bedroom set. My mother quickly spoke up. I could apply the money from this set to any set I wanted in the store. Now, the next time you see the Hubs in person, ask him to show you just how I reacted. He will nearly skip out of his skin and squeal in delight all starry eyed, just like I had twelve years before. I scoured the store for a very long time, until I finally picked a bedroom set I loved. I picked a California King oak set, with a sleigh bed, with detailed rose carvings. I had no idea it was the most expensive set in the showroom. Let's just say it was practically the cost of a family vacation for four to Hawaii, including food and hotel stay.
But furniture fashionistas, tell me I am right. Supposedly, bedroom sets are a thing of the past. I read that it is all about the bed frame these days, and other non-matching pieces to outfit a room. Tell me that is the truth. That is the Farmer master bedroom furniture plan in a year. So since we are cleaning house these days, we wanted to let the set go, and acquire something new.

Needless to say bedroom sets lose their value. We posted our whole set for 15% of what we paid for it on Craigslist, and we additionally included the fancy shmacy pillow top mattress. And, since I am telling you all of our secrets these days, I will even tell you a juicy secret. Hubs and I bought that mattress off an old man who had just lost his wife. I am NOT kidding. They had other vacation homes and had only slept on the mattress in their California home a handful of times before she became ill, and no longer had a use for it. YES, we bought a dead woman's mattress. It was nearly brand spanking new and we were strapped and newly married.

I was practically giving away the cedar lined bedroom set and mattress. So when the Hubs wanted to post it on Craigslist, I just groaned. Ugh. I did not want to field phone calls from wheeling and dealing bargain hunters. But then I got a phone call from Wynn. I just wanted to jump through the phone and hug her. She was just the sweetest lady, the kind you instantly know would be a great neighbor or a great friend. She told me about her kids, about where she lived, and she was so flexible with my time. I never tell Craigslist people anything, but somehow we got to chatting about my kids and husband. I know! Totally unnecessary.

She arrived and the Hubs did the talking. You know where I was? I was seriously sitting outside watching my kids swim in the pool. I was almost afraid to meet her because I did not want to hurt her feelings if she tried to wheel and deal with me. You know, our friendship was on the line. But Hubs came out to find me and tell me that she was taking the bedroom set, for our asking price. They needed to return in an hour with a couple of trucks.

She returned, and I came out to meet her. We talked for a long, long time while the men loaded the trucks. This retired lady and I had so much in common! Our lives were similar in many ways! And then my friend Wynn confessed that when she saw the set on Craigslist she nearly cried. She could not believe it. She had eyed the set years ago at the very same furniture store, and could not afford it. She has always wanted this very set and could not believe I had "her" set for sale. My heart just leapt. I am so thrilled that our "old" set has found a new home.

This Freeway Leads Somewhere

Leaving San Diego is very hard. I love this city. I love the weather. I love good Mexican food. I love the familiarity, the beauty, and the freeways. Is it strange to have your favorite freeway? I have two. I love the 163 and the 5. A stretch of the 163 wraps through Balboa Park with large archways covered by gargantuan trees and climbing vines, under the Cabrillo Bridge. I love where the 5 sweeps along the water, particularly the San Diego Bay near the airport, and up along Encinitas, Carlsbad, and Oceanside. I never noticed until Rachel pointed out that in Southern Cal, you refer to the freeways preceded by the article "THE". SO TRUE.

When we first moved here everyone wanted to know how hard it was to move from Hawaii. It was hard. Very, very, hard. I missed the very same things I will miss about San Diego. I missed the tropical climate. I missed plate lunches, Ted's Bakery on the North Shore, and the Grass Skirt Grill. My favorite freeway on Oahu was the H3, right through the lush and breathtaking Ko'olau Mountains. I know you are thinking about your favorite freeway now. So what makes it special for you?

This city is special. It is my home. My parents taught me to love miles and miles of endless coastline, to adore the Spanish architecture of Balboa Park, and to love the diversity of downtown San Diego. The same little train I rode in Balboa Park as a child my parents rode as children. It is the same little train my children love. The San Diego Zoo, the Wild Animal Park, and Sea World are all places I went as a child, and now I share with my children. And in a few days we will not just jump in the minivan and zip down the 5 freeway to downtown.

My third beautiful son was born at the same hospital where I was born. He is nine months and not crawling. He scoots and rolls from one end of the room to the other, squealing like he has climbed a mountain. I am convinced he isn't crawling because he is held A LOT. He is so precious. This time we are all too aware that time with these babies is so brief. I have enjoyed his entire infancy. And soon he will be a toddler. And just like our time in San Diego, his infancy will end.

Not too long ago the Hubs asked me to start blogging again. He is getting sentimental on me now. He wants our kids to know our Family Journey. Shortly after he told me this, he was on a business trip. Son1 fell fast asleep on our couch. I tried to scoop my Kindergartner in my arms. He is only 12 or 13 inches shorter than me. I laid his head on my shoulder, and his toes dragged across our tile floor. His nearly 60 pound body was so awkward for my short frame to carry. I am only 5'1" on a good day. I started up our 17 vertical steps to his room and realized he could bowl me over with his dead weight. So I gently placed him on the steps, shook him a little, and asked him to walk. The second I said it, tears burned in my eyes. I was shocked. I did not expect the grief I felt for an instant. I could no longer scoop up my eldest son without planning how to carry him without dropping him. Or killing me. Granted, he is in the 98% for height and weight and I am smurf sized. Well, not really. I would love my waistline to be smurf sized. What would life be without goals?

I knew as I watched my Kindergartner trudge up our stairs I needed to start blogging again. I knew when I stumbled upon pictures, let out a gasp, and covered my mouth I needed to write again. I was overwhelmed by a preschooler and a toddler that were no more. The little boy that came to California a preschooler will soon start First Grade on the other side of the country, and Lord willing, that toddler will soon be a preschooler, bundled in snow boots and jackets this year.

Is it wrong to miss this house? I already know the answer to that. NO. I will miss this house. I sat in the back yard on the flagstone love seat the Hubs and I designed and cried and told him I will miss this house. Most of all, I will miss the memories I have shared here with so many, that my children have shared with other children. We placed an offer on this home sight unseen. What a transformation this once stripped foreclosure has undergone. Our backyard was designed completely for our children. They have loved every inch of this house, inside and out.

Time in San Diego has about run out, but our Family Journey has not. So I am back to blogging, back to sharing our stories, back to sharing our lives. But tell me something. What is your favorite freeway? Where does it lead? Have you ever left somewhere special?

Bean Town Bound

Friends, I have HUGE HUGE family news. It is a shock. In some ways it is bittersweet, and in some ways very exciting. We are MOVING AGAIN!

Today the Hubs was officially offered a research fellowship at Harvard University, full time, for one year. My heart is completely, selflessly happy for him. When he applied, he did not think he would be selected. He was wrong. He called me from work to tell me, and I wanted to jump through the phone I was so happy for him. Harvard suggests that he arrive mid-July. We will drive across country, so for now the plan is to leave in June.

So, are you as shocked as we are?!?

San Diego Winter

It really is Winter here in San Diego, even if it has been in the mid 70s all week, which is only a teeny unusual. This time of year the high winter temperatures average in the 60s to low 70s. I cannot figure out how our trees lose so many leaves with warmer temperatures, though. I took my kids to a park a handful of miles away out in the 'burbs, where we live. This park wraps around part of a golf course, so it is huge with different trees on different sides.
At the same park on the same day, we saw these palm trees.
The boys and I were GOING to ride the train. See the train tracks? We missed the last train and I nearly broke their little hearts. The hours of operation on the web were not accurate. Sniff. Needless to say, folks in San Diego do not put away shorts for the winter, like in other parts of the country. We have only two seasons, a wet season and a dry season. It was 77 degrees on Sunday when I took this picture, in January, at nearly three in the afternoon.
This picture was taken by my Hubs yesterday, so I am "sharing" with him. The sun was setting over the harbor between the Embarcadero and Coronado. Another mid 70s winter day in San Diego, but with very cool water temperature, of about 60 degrees.

You Capture is hosted by Beth at I Should Be Folding Laundry

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Día De Reyes: A La Farmer

And you thought Christmas was over December 25! Not when you are Mexican. We still have more days to go. On January 6 el Día de Reyes is celebrated. This translates to Day of the Kings. It is what many other parts of the world celebrate as Epiphany, the day the Wise Men arrived to bring Baby Jesus gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Many Mexican families do not add the Wise Men to their nativity scenes until the evening of January 5 for Día de Reyes.

I cannot believe I fell for this holiday as a kid, but I did. At least Santa went to everyone's houses regardless of ethnic background, so no wonder he seemed possible. But the Wise Men only came to my house and anyone else that was of Mexican heritage. Why I did not think that was strange as a child I do not know. No one ever spoiled it and told me the truth. I believed the Wise Men actually came while I was asleep to deliver gifts. Our stockings hung by the chimney with care, but were never filled until January 6. This is not part of the Día de Reyes tradition I will pass to my children. I like Christmas morning stockings too much.

The evening of January 6, Mexican families gather for Merienda de Reyes, an early dinner celebration with friends and family. Typically Mexican food is served. We celebrated Día de Reyes the weekend before January 6 since my sister was in town. My mom and I shared the responsibility for pork tostadas. For dessert we served the traditional Rosca de Reyes.

Our Costco offerered these special breads by the truckloads. This is California, and San Diego no less. Many families of Mexican heritage celebrate with a Rosca. The Rosca is a very, very sweet bread baked in an oval shape. The Rosca is a tradition that was brought to Mexico from Spain. (Here is a quick history lesson...the Spaniards colonized Mexico, hence the Spanish influence.) The oval shape represents the Wise Men's crowns, and the dried fruit represents the jewels in the crown. In the picture you see the Rosca with a Baby Jesus figurine.
This bread was vacuum packed and sealed for freshness. Three little figurines of Baby Jesus came with the Rosca. The party host turns the Rosca upside down and pushes in these little figurines into the bottom of the bread. The hidden figurines remind us of how Baby Jesus needed to be hidden and protected from King Herod. The knife that cuts the bread reminds us of how Baby Jesus was in danger of being killed after his birth. But the Rosca de Reyes is actually a game. The person that finds a Baby Jesus in their bread must host a party on February 2 for all of those in attendance for the Rosca de Reyes. See, I told you it was a long Christmas season for Mexicans! I will tell you all about the February 2 celebration closer to that date. My extended family will host a party on that date. They had another Rosca party on January 6 I did not attend. Since it was just my family, my parents, my sister, and nephew attending our Farmer Rosca de Reyes, finding the hidden figurines were just for fun.

Later in the evening, the adults went outside and helped the kids roast marshmallows around our fire pit. We made s'mores. Día de Reyes is not complete without chocolate. Chocolate was a gift from the natives of Mexico to the people from the New World, or Spain.

One Year Ago on the Sixth of January

One year ago we lived on Oahu, preparing for our big move to the Big Rock. Our boys sensed excitement and anticipation. But there was more to come than just a new city and a new house. One year ago in Honolulu, our doctor announced that a new life was indeed growing inside of me. She pointed to a flashing heartbeat of our exactly 6 week old baby, just 8 millimeters long, on an ultrasound screen. She let us linger in silence, in amazement, and in love. She knew we were moving. She knew it might take me awhile to find a new doctor. And she knew how very important this appointment was for us to see this precious baby right then.

Months passed. The baby grew, and we grew, too. We grew eager to meet this precious one. My family all wanted to touch my belly, and they asked questions about all I felt from the inside out. He rolled, he tumbled, and kicked every which way.

But as the weeks surrounding his arrival neared, I became anxious around bedtime. I would start to doze off, and be startled into alertness. I often reached for Hubby's hand and asked him to pray RIGHT THEN. For the first time ever I was nervous about the delivery of our baby. I asked our church to pray. I asked others to pray, too.

I recalled a child I knew thirteen years before. She was a first grader at a school where I volunteered. She was wheel chair bound, unable to communicate with spoken language. Her story was that a faulty monitor during labor prevented the doctors from detecting loss of oxygen and a decelerated heart rate, resulting in her permanent state. Her story haunted me at night during my last trimester. So we prayed for peace and God's protection during delivery.

September 3, 2009, I laid in the hospital awaiting the birth of my son. A nurse was monitoring my contractions. She checked the monitor tape and frowned. It was just a momentary decelerated heart rate. Nothing prolonged. Nothing to worry about, she said. A prolonged deceleration might indicate infant stress, a wrapped cord, or other danger. But no, my contractions were normal.

Son3 was born shortly thereafter. He was born with a double chord around his neck, and around his body. But he was absolutely well, with no signs of distress. What an experience, to know I had prayed for the Lord's protection for this baby, and despite his chord experience, the Lord indeed protected him.

He is healthy. He is beautiful. He is one year bigger than when I first saw his heart beat on that screen. Except he has grown into a 4 month social yet easy going baby. He is so loved by our family.
A few times last week I was asked what I will remember most about 2009, or for what I was most grateful. Without a doubt I will remember how the Lord chose to bless us with a third beautiful, healthy, and happy baby.