A truly awful sweetness.

I have versed and outlined and put this post into rough draft at least a dozen times.  I’ve talked it out in the car as though you were there, trying to unearth a way to explain my absence that is apologetic but grateful, relevant without being egregiously revealing.  I want you to know what’s been going on, but I don’t want to drag you through the mire – especially not in your cute outfits. J  See?  There are still smiles.

The root of the root is this… After several months of trying at all costs to avoid this eventuality, my husband and I have, with heavy hearts, decided to separate.

In previous posts I mentioned that the road for my husband and I has not been easy.  We are a couple that came together despite obvious, and some would argue, fundamental differences that may have, in times of greater clarity not blinded by consuming 20x26 year old love, been reasons to amicably end a burgeoning relationship, rather than push it ever forward.  We have always been on the cusp of a new transition, a life-altering change, and with that we would habitually say “As soon as we this… that will be better.”  Stress, change, and trial have always revealed our weaknesses as a couple, rather than enhance our strengths.  We loved each other, we spoke a language that was uniquely our own, and the thought back then of ending a relationship where love really did exist seemed the most illogical of all culminations.  It never occurred to either of us that perhaps the most loving act we could do for each other was simply to let go.

There has been hurt and wrong-doing on both sides.  There are regrets and remorse that I will carry with me for a long, long time, and that I imagine, and maybe selfishly hope, so will he.  There is a continuously running reel of mistakes and shortcomings, moments of doubt and indecision playing in my mind, weighing on my heart, and rather than try to explain what is essentially our life, I will just say what most of us already know - that no one but no one can ever fully understand the intimacies and idiosyncrasies kneaded within the daily bread of two people.  I can hardly make sense of it myself.

We have these moments now.. now when my departure is within a few short weeks and not months.. moments of kindness towards one another that absolutely ache with the knowing of what’s to come.  Knowing we will each miss our friend, our lover, our companion, the holder of all the memories yet to be made in the life we thought we would have together, the only person who knew our grandparents when they were still alive.  I wish I could collect these moments in a jar, keep them on the night table by my pillow, hold some in my pocket throughout the day… but there are some things for which there is no real comfort, which must be felt completely, in the length of their entirety, wept for until your lungs go dry.  Before, our arguments meant we were still engaged, still here, still choosing life together.. the kindness now, though precious, feels like defeat.

I wrestled with whether or not to share this news.  This blog is a tiny little half-written diary that hasn’t yet found its voice and I thought who even cares or wants to know?  This post, this letter to anyone out there, is a bit of a catharsis for me, but in many ways close to my heart, this post is for you.  I have cherished each and every email I have received from readers and followers – those received most recently expressing concern, or just plain desire for me to come back and write, especially… These unsolicited kindnesses are an immeasurable comfort, and a sweetness I’m not sure how I can repay.

Enter the decision to share and disclose, and hopefully continue on.  Deep breath, preview, publish…

This is Home.

Hubs and I live a pretty simple life.  We are two city mice who long to live in the country, so of course we own a second-story walk up in the 'burbs.  Sometimes it would appear that everything about us is a non-sequitur.

Our accommodations for the time being are humble, but every spring the landscape here turns resplendent.  The trees bordering our apartment appear in full bloom overnight and you can hardly see outside.

It's magical and restorative to the soul.

Coming home on bloom day.  I do love this hallway with its smeary walls and cool, green stairwell.

The window at the end of the corridor.  Sometimes I wish we had held our wedding right here.

Curtains would be a crime with a view like this.  Takes frying up the bacon to a whole new level.



Going outside to stroll and photograph.  Notice the 2nd story windows completely covered in delicious pink petals.  Yup, that's us.

Heaven.

If I had to choose one palette to wear for the rest of my days, this would be it.

The lilac lady along the path the winds around our building.

I have read many a book perched under this canopy.

Happy Spring Loves.

xoxo, Kristen

Just let the bird build a nest.

Hello friends!  

It has been too long.  And I have to tell you, I am very emotional writing this post.

I've had a house guest all this week.  She is impeccably neat and well-kept, but holy Moses and the bush that burns, she is loud as all get out in the morning.

Here she is...

Can you see her?  There in the middle sporting one of spring's bolder style choices - the brilliantly orange-hued beak.  She sits there, elegant as pearls on a philanthropic debutante, mocking me by her very being... Ahh Kristen, so simple in your blue jeans and toddler-level digital camera. Don't fret, one day you'll wear color too. Oh yes you will.. beige is a color... to some...

Gah! humbling nature, how you best me.

She arrived on Monday morning, startling me right out of a lazy spring break sleep.  There was a timed, almost methodical sound of something hard hitting a window across the house.  At first I thought I was under attack by an unruly brigade of agitated chipmunks recently put out by the annual grooming of the neighboring treeline, fueled by the quest for social justice, and violently adept with an acorn. It was also quite possible that hubs forgot his keys, yet again, but I figured if that was the case he would come to his senses and throw stray objects at the bedroom window instead of the kitchen.  I mean.. it's 8am on a Monday morning and I have no plans or outside commitments.. do you not know me at all?

But it was not hubs and the sound persisted and soon the dogs were barking out of control, anxious to defend our home against all enemies, wild and domestic.  So I stumbled, bleary-eyed but looking fabulous (pssht, not), from the boudoir to the room where we keep the good, good coffee and there she was, a ravishing lady cardinal perched on the tip of a branch, wings bulked in grim determination.  

And then... PLUNK!  She flew right in to the window, appearing to charge directly at me.  I swear it just about stopped my heart.

She was fine though.  Hovered for a bit, flapping those wings with impressive fervor, before settling back on her branch.  Every 7 minutes or so she would try again and I sat in a chair watching her for an hour, totally and completely bawling into a steaming hot cup of Columbian roast.

My grandmother, my Mom-Mom, was the most incredible, gracious, accepting, and loving woman person I will ever know.  She had such a refreshing way about her, a lightness that lifted burden and worry from the soul.  Every single dream I had was not only important, but also legitimate in her eyes, from the ballerina who wanted to ride lions and join the circus to the high school senior who desperately wanted to forgo college and find herself abroad.  She never once told me to think twice and perhaps risk living only half the time. She raised us to be good, to cherish and love one another, to not fear change, and to remain resolved in whatever paths we chose.

And here comes the shed of tears once again...

The world is never the same without your grandmother.  And it's not even the Christmases and the birthdays that she used to anchor with her presence - no, it goes so far beyond.  It is the pervasive missing goodness from all the otherwise inconsequential days that make me realize, if she is to remain a part of my world, my life, it is now upon me to resemble her in any small way.  This realization is deafening.  I wonder if I know enough.  

And every time I stumble, I inadvertently stop, close my eyes, and lift my shoulders up to the sky, hoping to feel her hand - worn and wrinkled and the size of the universe - touching down on me.  A reminder that I not only carry with me her chestnut hair, but also 25 years worth of her life, and that I can do this.  I can do this for her.

It has been three years since she died and I have been in the mindset of trying not to dwell.  To think of her and then let her go.  To let grief and longing land for a moment, but never build a nest.

Cardinals were her favorite bird.


If you ever drove past my grandparent's house at the corner of Edmonson and Greenlow you would have seen her following - a smattering of trees full of bright red wings and melon beaks.  They would come right up to the back porch and pluck the raisins that we placed on the railing.  There were babies every year and at least one or two proud mamas who would sit at the gate and watch - I'd like to think over our family as well as their own.

And so, now one has come to stay with me.  Knocking at my window every morning and keeping watch over my tiny home at night.  It is enormously overwhelming and perhaps the most staggeringly beautiful sight I have ever seen.

I do so hope she plans to stay.

Lust disguised as Peace Offering

I promise I will be back soon!  Life, this beast, has had its grips on me.

Meanwhile, feast your eyes.  My birthday is May 19th.  Just. Sayin.

Boutique 9 'Gena Rose' Platform Sandal

(size 7 in the taupe, if you find them you have a friend/bodyguard/sugar mama fuh life!)

Can we talk about fat?

I know, I know.  Tsk-tsk-tsk and a big "no-no", right?  I'm with you - I hate the "F" word.  It's just horrible - dismissive and demeaning, literally and figuratively weighted down with the worst of the worst negative assumptions and connotations.  I know we're not supposed to say some of the things you're going to read here, but I want to be honest and I figure that sometimes even the right words need to sound wrong.

"She really doesn't need that dessert." ... "How did she let herself get that big?" ... "She shouldn't be wearing that dress." ... "Well at least I'm smaller than her." ... 


Sucks doesn't it?  If we're not thinking it about ourselves, we're thinking it about each other.  Not all of us, and not all the time, but every so often, perhaps when we've had a particularly stressful day or are lacking that sense of emotional security in our own lives, we lash out and turn a harsh and judgmental eye on our fellow woman, then seeing our own reflection we rip ourselves to shreds.

I'm guilty.  I saw a picture of the actress Mischa Barton the other day, looking fuller in the hips, thighs, and face than she did back in the days of "The O.C.", and I think I actually mouthed "wow" as I was standing there in the check-out line.  I looked down at my own thighs (because we all know the absolute best way to appraise the relative size of one's thighs is to look at them from the top down) and raised my eyebrows a bit as I thought, "Well, if Mischa's my size now then I guess it's ok to be me."

Yeah.  It was beyond flame-worthy.  I should have had my rights to womanhood yanked right then and there.  How absurd and out of my mind was I to a) have even the slightest disparaging thought about an actress who used to be pin-thin and now actually has a soft, feminine, womanly figure, b) compare my own size and shape, from a distorted point of view I might add, to hers, and c) to actual use another woman's figure as a barometer for my own acceptance of myself??  It's insane.  And unacceptable.  I feel sick even retelling it to you.

Don't we all wish the body image struggle would just go away?  But it doesn't!  It never even wanes - and why is that?  We hate it so much, yet we keep the devil around?  Seriously readers - what's the breaking point on that glass ceiling?

And then there's the conversation about personal standards.  I can only speak to mine, so here we go... Right now, I am about as unsatisfied with my body as I've ever been.  And yes, I feel fat.  I'm carrying extra weight thanks to my own self-destructive, primarily impulsive decision to give up on my gluten-free diet which has wrought havoc on my digestive, nervous, muscular, and reproductive systems.  Gobbling up gluten proteins that my body cannot digest has lead to a back up in digestion of other key nutrients, resulting in a damn near-constant feeling of hunger and inability to feel full.  Muscle fatigue is becoming more common and longer lasting, and is also occasionally accompanied by muscle spasms.  I had been migraine-free for several months and in the past few weeks I've had two that put me out for the night and most of the following day.  And not that you want to know, but my friendly lady cycle has gone and lost its damn mind.

The key thing, however, is the weight gain - and I'm sorry for checking off all my celiac symptoms for you, it's just that one does not seem to come without the other - I've gained weight without even remotely consistent exercise, so it's all just sort of settled around my mid section in the most unflattering, bulgy paunch since Winnie dipped into the honey pot.  My backside, though not entirely hopeless, has lost some shape (or gained some shape, depending), and no matter how much I yanked my jeans up by the belt loops, I could not avoid a muffin-top while getting dressed this morning.

Luckily for me (more sarcasm) I've been heavy before, so I know how to dress around this.  But that's hardly the point.  Because I started the morning a bit disgusted and wholly frustrated with what my body has become, I spent the rest of the day looking for reassurance in others, and some might argue, also at their expense.  Maybe at my expense too.  I know what my body could, and would be if I followed the diet that I know is best for my health, and that's what makes me look at myself in the mirror and say, "Unacceptable." If I was eating properly I would be better able to manager both my hunger and my portions, would subsequently not be experiencing this draining fatigue or migraines, and would be back in the gym like I used to be, pissing people off camping on a treadmill for 45 minutes, working the circuit, and punching the nuggets out of a standing bag in kick boxing.

There are some women my size and larger who I consider to have flawless figures; whose weight appears natural, healthy, and intended.  I don't know what was going through my mind that made me judge so harshly, and instantly.  As wrong as it is, both to think and to admit, knowing that I could look better gives way to the preposterous notion that I also know the anatomy and physiology of every other woman and I think to myself, they could look better too.   I found that picture of Mischa Barton again this evening and looking at her now, at the end of my night, when I'm in my forgiving yoga pants and husband's Navy t-shirt, I think she looks lovely.  Comfortable and more grown up even - ironic, considering that's also how I feel right now, as opposed to the mental case I was this morning.  But I definitely judged her first and I hate that.  It's as though Hollywood presented her as our standard of what a skinny girl should be - she went from actress to accuracy test and seeing her today, however many pounds heavier, broke my mental odometer.

I have been thinking about this post since the afternoon and my thoughts have gone in a dozen different directions.  I don't have any grand, concluding ideas, but I would like to hear what you have to say - and feel free to say it all.  Where are you with the weight issue?  How do you check your judgment and cultivate acceptance, tolerance, open-mindedness, and respect?  I admittedly need your help on this one.  I suppose it stands to reason that seeking to improve myself will also improve my outlook on the world and thus lessen my contribution to the woman-on-woman hate crime, but that seems so self-serving and I'm looking for more than that.

"Who's the big winner here tonight at the casino?"

Ashley, that's who!  Ashley's the big winner!  Ashley wins!

(If you haven't caught the Swingers reference yet, that's ok, we're still getting to know each other)

Random.org had a thing for lucky #2 today, so the lovely auburn-haired Ashley of The Thing About Daisies... is the winner of my very first giveaway!

Ashley will be the recipient of this sexy-hot bracelet from Etsy Artisan Tawniwold....

...as well as some excellent beauty schwag I scored at Ulta just the other day.  I promise a big send-off picture before I mail it all out in a few days.

Congrats Ashley!  I love reading your blog and am glad to see you'll get some enjoyment from mine too!

This cocktail's for you...

Enough with the whining

Time to do something about this house.

One of the blogs I read daily is Fetching Fashions with the adorable Justine.  She's a Dallasinian and an aspiring psychologist who recently outlined the stages of grief and loss here.  To echo her sentiments, there is no disrespect intended in this post, but I think we women have all experienced transitions in life where internal desires and outside forces don't match up and you find yourself desperately seeking those things which used to be dependable and familiar.  It may not equal, but it certainly does echo the feelings of helplessness and despair that the loss of a loved one can bring, especially when you think of the loved one as the comfortable home you used to share.

I've gone through all of the stages of grief when it comes to the state of things in our home.  Denial that it was as unorganized and unmanageable as it felt.  Anger at myself, my husband, the dogs.. for daring to leave signs of our existence here, there, and everywhere.  I've definitely bargained.  I can check Facebook, blog, search for things on Ebay, call my friend, and go out to dinner with Mike tonight, IF I get up tomorrow, down a pot of coffee, and buzz through the house cleaning like a madwoman until everything is DONE.  This never happened, or at least not to a satisfying degree.

It started to affect my relationship with my husband, which you can read about here.  Knowing that I was breaking my promises and letting him down lead pretty quickly to depression. Depression is like quicksand to motivation, and I went into a bit of a survival mode, doing only what I absolutely had to do in order to function, reserving my energies for school.

Now, I think what I'm beginning to experience is acceptance.  I know that New Year's tends to be the popular time for resolutions and renewals, but I find that I am much more apt to reset my resolve in the spring, when the whole of Earth is coming up for fresh air.  Sorry, but trying to convince me that the dead of winter is a good time to take up spinning and give up comfort foods just ain't gonna happen.  But!  Show me blue skies and hint at summer vacation, and I can see the logic behind two-a-days at the gym, cutting carbs, and downing spinach shakes dusted with protein powder. Likewise, I'm realizing that there are definite behaviors that have gotten me to this point, and if I want to turn things around (which I do) then I need to wake up and make some changes.

It's very easy to forget that with adulthood, and even more so with marriage, comes a baseline of acceptable behavior.  You cannot, for instance, decide to leave your job, go to school full time, and forget that you still have a household to maintain and a marriage to support.  You cannot adopt a student's schedule and a student's mindset.  It will be harder than it was when you were 20.  It will take more effort for less thanks.

Thank God I can blog about it. :)

So that's my loose plan.  I'm going to go through this house, bit by bit, and start to put things right.  I'm not going to use this forum for support, but rather for accountability.  Interspersed with whatever other inspirations I decide to write about will be the occasional post on my progress, the challenges I've tackled, what worked and what didn't, failures and victories.  At the end, hopefully what we'll have are a clean and organized home, balanced life, and a healed and happier marriage.

Here comes Spring.

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PS!  Don't forget about the giveaway!  You can enter up until Tuesday night, right up to the stroke of midnight, so if you're looking for some new spring schwag take a peek and leave your info accordingly.