Happy Anniversary, STL!

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of my move to STL. I've gotta say, it's been a good year, totally validating my decision to move here.

A few things I love about living in the city (because I also love to make lists):

* My friends, obviously. We've had spontaneous game nights, we've celebrated birthdays and babies, we've grown together through Bible Study, we've met up for breakfast club. We don't see each other every weekend, but it is so good to know that there's almost always someone I can call to meet me for dinner.

* THE FOOD. From Food Truck  Fridays to The Hill to tapas restaurants to the Mexican joint within walking distance from my house to amazing pizza to all the restaurants in charming old buildings to billy goat chips . . . I never tire of eating here. Which explains why I gained five pounds within a month. I'm proud to say I've mastered a balance of eating delicious food and staying healthy, though, and I've shed those five pounds plus another 17 . . .

* Which is kind of a point in itself. Living in the city, you encounter a lot more health-conscious people. It was annoying at first, because I felt like the most overweight person my age, but it quickly motivated me to actually get off my butt and quit being so complacent about my weight.

* All the old houses and the varied architecture. The gingerbread houses in South City are the best.

* The parks! Seriously, no matter where you live, you can walk to a park. Or at least bike to one. I'm pretty sure I spent the entire spring season floating on a cloud over Tower Grove Park with daisies in my hair.

* Forest Park deserves its own section, because there's the Zoo and the Science Center and the History Museum and the trails and the Boathouse and Post-Dispatch Lake where you can rent paddle boats and kayaks, and there's the World's Fair pavilion and there's even a few things I haven't done yet like SLAM and  the Muny and ice skating.

* I finally understand why people from St. Louis would complain about the Columbia Mall in college. Seriously, I've never dressed better (although not at all claiming to be fashionable).

* Cardinals games! I love being able to think, "We should go to the game," and actually do it that same day. No advance planning, no taking off work, no hotel room.

* There's something going on every single weekend. I find it impossible to be bored in this city. I've been to a  food-tasting festival in the streets of Maplewood, watched a concert under the Arch and bundled up for Christmas lights at the Zoo, just to name a few.

* City Museum, because where else is it acceptable for grown adults to climb through an obstacle course made from re-purposed building supplies?

* I've been exceptionally lucky here. Through the STL Social Media Club, I got to go to a restaurant opening, where they comped our entire meal (I'm contractually obligated to recommend everyone eat at Vida in the Galleria). A Board member's business was celebrating their anniversary with a street party, where food trucks were serving up free food. And after I dropped my business card in at Noodles & Company, they treated my entire office to a free tasting lunch. Um . . . all of those things had to do with food again. Oh well.

* And finally, no more long-distance relationship! For the first 1.5 years of dating, J and I only saw each other every-other weekend. Being able to see him almost every day has obviously strengthened our relationship and helped us move forward. Plus, now I get to see the dog every day, too.

I think it's safe to say that my love affair with this city is just beginning. And also, that St. Louis doesn't suck. 

PS, Sorry this post doesn't have photos. I tried. Blogger and Picasa are not my friends right now.

Thirty.

It’s been said a hundred times: Thirty seems SO OLD until you get here.

If I think about where my mom was at thirty, or even where I assumed I’d be, my life seems totally off track. I always figured I’d be married, be done having kids and totally have the hang of running a household. At 24, I was well on my way, and then I essentially decided to start over. I could easily be allowing myself to have a nervous breakdown today because of how far away from those goals I am now.

However, I refuse. I am not old. I am not even halfway done living. And while I may not be married, I may not even reach my new goal of done having kids by 35 and my house is a mess 90% of the time, I have so much that I didn’t even realize was important.

Getting off track has really forced me to figure out who I am. I’m more confident in myself than I have been since I was a kid. I have deeper, more meaningful friendships. I’m living in such a way that I won’t have to look back in two years with a heart full of regret. I’m constantly self-aware and looking for ways to improve. I’m eating healthier. I’m spending more time on my faith. I’m living in the city I love. I can finance multiple vacations in one year without going into debt. I’m more compassionate.

During our girls’ trip this summer, Erin pointed out that THIS is the time when good things are happening. Three of my friends have just gotten dream jobs. A few more are getting married, and I believe they will reap rewards from waiting a little longer past college. And yes, some of my friends have one or two kids and are flourishing as moms. I know it will happen for me.

Why on earth do we think we have to have it all figured out before we hit thirty? If your twenties are all about finding yourself, then your thirties are all about being your awesome self.

So to everyone who’s about to join me in the fourth decade of life (okay, typing that was a mistake, it sounds horrible), get ready. Thirty is not the new twenty. It’s better.

Note: Did I write this entire post in an effort to avoid that nervous  breakdown? Possibly. At least I know myself well enough to know I needed to.  

The Path of Most Resistance

Nobody said it was easy / No one ever said it would be this hard
-Coldplay

My first night in St. Louis included a 2 am wake-up call by tornado sirens. Huddled in my 5’10” basement, I watched as water seeped in and puddled on the floor. Tears welled up in my eyes. I hate tornadoes, and this was hard. Two hours later, I woke up again to the sound of hail hitting my already rattling windows.

A couple of days later, after my landlord finally installed my dryer, I was relieved to catch up on laundry. I had gotten all caught up before moving my first load to the new apartment, and after more than two weeks, I was out of everything. I ran down to pull out my towels and discovered … they hadn’t dried at all. My landlord came back and realized that the gas line wasn’t hooked up. The next time I used it, it was leaking gas. Over the next several uses, I learned that only one setting actually has heat, and it doesn’t shut off automatically. I should mention this all spanned about three weeks. To date, I haven’t gotten totally caught up. I don’t mind doing laundry, but this is hard.

When we tried to install my cabinet shelves, they didn’t all fit. The first time I used my dishwasher, it didn’t drain all the way. My antique lock broke, and I locked myself out overnight. My bathroom mirror was up so high, I could only see from my chin up. The first time I used my oven, it set off the smoke alarm. I loved the idea of a newly renovated apartment, but this was hard.

Once I learned to sleep through the rattling of my bedroom windows and the traffic on my street (which had appeared desolate when we first viewed the place), I was awakened by a whole new set of noises. Creaks, pops and groans seemed to echo through my house at random, all night. By the time I realized it was caused by the heating duct work of two apartments snaking across my basement ceiling, I had worked myself up to the point where I was lucky if I got five hours of uninterrupted sleep. Sleep had become stressful. Even knowing it was the heater, and that the noises were worst right after the heater turned off, every noise sounded like someone was in my back stairwell.

I sat on my bed and had Jeremie open and close both the front and the back door so I’d know what it sounded like. It sounded nothing like the noises at night. I slept about three hours that night. After waking up every hour the next night, I called Jeremie at 3:45 am, desperate for any distraction. He remarkably woke up, even though he’s the heaviest sleeper I know. Fifteen minutes into our phone call, someone tried to break into his house. I’m not even kidding. He heard two loud bangs on his front door, his dog went crazy, and he called the cops. Nothing else happened, but the next day we saw two muddy kick marks on his door.

I’ve wanted – so badly – for YEARS – to live in St. Louis. But man, this is freaking hard.

I finally said out loud what I’d been embarrassed to admit. When I lie in bed and hear those noises, even though I know it’s just the heater, my tired mind goes to ridiculous places. Here’s some example dialogue: I wonder why the last lady moved out of this apartment after 20 years. Maybe she died. Maybe she died in this apartment. Maybe she was murdered. Maybe that’s why my landlord renovated. Maybe she doesn’t like that I’m living here.

In case you’ve ever had thoughts like that, try telling them to someone else. Their reaction will help you realize how preposterous you sound. Those thoughts out of my head, my parents came to visit. They had several suggestions and ultimately loaned me a noisy fan. Finally, I’ve slept through a couple of nights now and I’m hoping I’m over it.

They say it’s not worth having if it’s easy. They say good things come to those who wait.

I could have chosen not to get a divorce. Say what you will about whether it was the right decision or not, but I definitely chose the hard way.

I could have skipped DivorceCare, but I wouldn’t have learned anything from my mistakes. I could have rushed into marriage with the first viable candidate and been past all of this a long time ago, but I would have ended up exactly where I started.

I could have stayed in Jeff City, but my life would have been stagnant. I could have looked at apartments in the suburbs, but that would have been giving in to fear. I could have moved in with Jeremie, sacrificing everything I’ve been trying to build within myself for the past two years. I chose the hard way.  

I believe that when you push yourself, you grow. When you choose the hard way, you learn more about yourself. When you deal with difficulty, you become more confident in your abilities.

When I started considering changing my life, I remember thinking that just thinking about it was hard. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I know I am changing. I am growing, and I am a different person than I was. I’m choosing to do things on my own. I’m making the life I want. Not because it is easy, but because it is hard.

Goodbye, JCMO!

With as much as I've complained about Jeff City, I've found myself pretty nostalgic the past couple of weeks. I've lived/worked here more than half of my life. I still think I'm meant for a bigger city, but there are a lot of things I'll miss. Yes, they're mostly food-related. So I like food. There are worse things.

- Arris' Pizza and now Arris' Bistro (on my brain because my parents treated me tonight)
- The chocolate chip cookies at Brick House Deli
- Katy Trail
- My parents
- The spiral-cut homemade chips at Lutz's BBQ
- Chim's Thai Kitchen (seriously the best Thai I've ever had)
- All the Cubies in Cubeland
- My three-minute commute to work
- Having a dishwasher at work
- El Jimador and marg nights with Katie Lynn
- Pizza and wine nights and long talks with Johanna
- Chipotle lunches with Rob
- Walks on the greenway
- My apartment: the ridiculously low rent, garage and 40 square-foot walk-in closet especially
- Being able to walk to Barnes & Noble, Old Navy and Pier 1
- My parents. Did I already mention that?
- Having only a "rush minute"
- The sunsets
- The tiny sailboats on Binder Lake
- Schaefer House
- The enthusiasm of Jays sports fans
- 4th of July
- Summit Lake Winery

I think Jeff City will always be the place where I grew the most. It's where I struggled to make friends and eventually evolved into a confident, happy teenager. It's where I rebelled and probably scared the crap out of my parents a few times. It's where I got my first job and my first REAL job. It's where I had my first date and my first kiss. It's where I first fell in love and first felt real heartbreak. It's where I learned to drive. It's where I danced in the Capitol fountains the night before moving away to college. It's where I got married. It's where I first lived alone. It's where I struggled to pull myself out of depression after the divorce. It's where I have felt safe. It's where I have felt at home.

In less than a week, my only possessions that reside in Jeff City will be a drawer full of Babysitters Club books and a few boxes of old schoolwork. And years and years worth of memories.

Goodbye, Jeff City. Thank you for loving me even when I didn't love you back.

Letter to No One

I had to drive to Branson the day before my birthday, alone.

I spent the whole trip replaying other road trips we took. It made me think of the times we laughed until we couldn’t see the road through our tears. But it also made me remember the times we fought and sat in silence for hours. Mostly, it just made me sad.

My heart still speeds up every time I see a red Chevy truck. What if it were you? Would you acknowledge my existence? Would you pretend not to see me? Would you use the opportunity to drive the dagger even deeper?   

I still think of you often. My aunt Glenda still asks about you. People will talk about you sometimes and I never know what to say. One of my World Games athletes still asks about Duke and Izzy every time he writes on my wall, even though I’ve told him several times that I don’t have them anymore. Their picture still sits on the shelf in my cube.

We spent Christmas in Spokane. I was there just over a year ago, but somehow, this time it felt like you were haunting me. You were my own Ghost of Christmas Past.

“No, dear brothers and sisters, I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing:  Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.”   Philippians 3:13

“Be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”   Ephesians 4:32

Sometimes we feel that if we can forgive, then we can forget.  Forgiveness is not really about forgetting (which is often impossible), but about surrendering your right to hurt another person back.  Forgiveness allows you to release the bitter desire for retribution and frees you from anger, hurt, and bitterness.  After someone has wronged you, time will either harden your heart, making you bitter and unyielding, or it will soften it, giving you a desire for healing and restoration.  Willingness to forgive is the only way to achieve these. 

Forgiveness is a hard thing to describe. I’ve forgiven you for all of the pain from the marriage and divorce. You say you’ve forgiven me, but it feels like all you’ve done is try your hardest to forget. I want to forgive, but I’m not free of the hurt that followed after the ink dried. I guess I don’t know exactly where I stand. There’s a fine line between forgiveness and letting you take advantage of me. At some point, I have to look out for myself, and I think I’ve reached that point.

I refuse to forget, but I AM looking forward to what lies ahead. I’m moving, all by myself. I think you’d be proud of me. 

I hate it when something happens that reminds me of you, but I can’t tell you about it. Maybe that hurts more than anything.

Recently, I read A Severe Mercy. The author and his wife come to God after being atheists. The wife comes a lot further than the author, who is still distracted by worldly things and more in love with her than with Jesus. She dies. After her death, he realizes that God was using her to speak to him. If she had lived, he never would have fully turned over his life. I know God doesn’t punish us, but I know that He uses situations to teach us powerful lessons. I had to be completely broken to get to where I am now. I still have a hard time believing that this was his plan for me, but He knew this was the path I’d take. He knew this was what it would take to bring me to him. The divorce was my own severe mercy. I hope you’ve found yours.

Note to anyone who’s not No One: I am at peace with my life. I’m not looking for sympathy. I find healing in writing, which is why I started this blog. I’m going to continue to be real on here, and sometimes that means I’m a little sad. I want this to serve as a true account of what it’s like to go through a divorce. I want people to know that the pain is deep, and it lasts long beyond what you could imagine. I want people to find God without having to go through this.

11 in '11

Well, we’ve reached mid-December, and I’ve blogged about maybe two of my trips this year. Instead of beat myself up about it, or pretend I actually have any illusions of actually writing an entire blog for any of my trips, I’m going to make a list. I like lists, so it’s a win-win.

My Top 11 Events from 2011 (in somewhat chronological order)

11. My New Year’s resolution was peace, love and happiness. I was still battling a lot of demons, so I enrolled myself in DivorceCare at The Crossing. I went in hoping for some closure. I may have come out with more questions than I started with, but at least I felt like I knew the right questions, finally. I made a lot of progress toward forgiving myself. And I think I have a really good grasp on what it takes to make marriage work, because it’s far too sad and cynical to think that I’d never get married again.

10. I traded in the late-March snowstorm in Missouri for sunny San Diego for the Team USA Training Camp. I blogged all about this here, but the highlights include riding around a gorgeous golf course in perfect weather, hanging out the back of a van on a bike trail and, of course, falling in love with the athletes who would represent the USA at World Games.

9. Kimmie, Erin and I set out on the first road trip of the year for Annaleigh’s bachelorette party. Erin got hit on by a 90-year-old man, I conquered my fear of driving across the Lake Ponchartrain bridge and we didn’t even get lost. Um, let’s see, what is printable about the actual party? Well, we ate a lot of good food. And we danced a LOT. And we laughed more than we danced. There was Lady Gaga and a beach bar and sunburns and street art and beads and champagne and frozen drinks. It was kind of everything you’d expect if you’ve met Annaleigh and ever been to New Orleans and/or a bachelorette party. (Except the only stripper in the hotel was actually trying to break into our room. We didn’t hire him. I promise.)

8. Erin, Eric, Jeremie and I set out for Alabama for Annaleigh’s wedding a few weeks later. We made the requisite stop at Lambert’s and then talked about nothing but Hunger Games until we gorged ourselves at the first seafood joint we could find. Then we arrived at the Craft house, which happens to be right out of a movie set: big white colonial right on Dog River surrounded by droopy trees. Annaleigh continued to prove that everything she’d ever told us was, in fact, true. We reunited with our Alabama BFFs and the girls headed to a nail salon, where we munched on chips and sipped beer. The rehearsal dinner was delicious and picturesque, and I got to ride on Bob’s boat back to the house. Then we all went to Meghan’s where we played beer pong and proved that Mobile is not better than The World. (Seriously, beer at the nail salon and beer pong the night before your wedding? There is NO ONE in the world like my Annaleigh. J) The morning of the wedding, we watched the coverage of William and Kate while we got our hair and makeup done. The 13 bridesmaids were all soft and lovely in their dresses, and Annaleigh made us all cry when she came out in her dress. The wedding went off as planned, I gave a compelling reading from Genesis 2, and Annaleigh got married – just like I always knew she would. The weather was perfect for the backyard reception, where the wedding party made the grandest of entries on a yacht. We ate delicious Southern comfort food (I’m thinking I should blame the 2011 brides for my inability to lose weight this year) and drank from mason jars. We danced harder than maybe I’ve ever danced in my life. We threw dynamite in the river. And then, when the reception was over, we walked downtown – Annaleigh still in her wedding dress – and danced some more.  

 

7. I made a ton of trips to St. Louis this year, but none were more memorable than for the nuptials of the city’s most-missed couple: Erin and Eric. They had inadvertently set their date on the day of rapture, so that almost ruined everything, but luckily that guy turned out to just be a kook. This ceremony goes down as the least-traditional wedding I’ve ever witnessed, and every detail screamed Erin, right down to the squashed penny on the program. Annaleigh officiated, and there were readings from both Hemingway and Where the Wild Things Are. Erin was stunning and so relaxed, and she never even had to grasp at her throat for air. If I thought my friends brought the party to the dance floor in Alabama, we were matched by the rest of Erin and Eric’s guests, including his adorable grandpa. It was one of the happiest, biggest celebrations I’ve been a part of.

 

 

6. In June, I headed to Baltimore to depart for Special Olympics World Games. I blogged about the entire experience on the SOMO website, so I’ll just share the outtakes here. After an excited Sendoff, we filled the international terminal at BWI, where games of Uno and beach ball broke out. TSA probably would have been horrified under any other circumstances. Once we finally boarded our two planes, it was a pretty uneventful flight to our refueling stop in Ireland. I think everyone stayed awake during the last leg of our trip, and nearly every announcement was met with an enthusiastic “USA! USA! USA!”

We arrived in the Isle of Rhodes, where the local law enforcement promptly confiscated our passports. We got them back the next day, but it was still a little unsettling. Michele and I set up in our suite, only to discover abundant issues with getting online. We finally got that situation mostly figured out, after basically rearranging all of the furniture. I’m sure the maids hated us. Other things about Rhodes: you can’t flush the toilet paper, we bought the wrong kind of electrical converters, there are no guardrails, pedestrians never have the right-of-way, a desert does not make for a good golf course, and it is a terrible idea to pack 600 Special Olympics athletes into a seaside discothèque. All part of international travel, I guess. But man, it was gorgeous.

After a few days of training, we took a 16-hour overnight boat ride to Athens. I am pretty sure by the time we got to the other side of the Aegean Sea, nearly everyone would have offered to shell out the extra $100 or so it would have cost to get a plane ticket instead!

The Opening Ceremony was incredible. There’s nothing on Earth like walking into a stadium full of people cheering for you, and seeing the athletes’ faces light up in awe was probably one of the most emotional moments of my life. It all felt like slow motion. The trip out of OC, however, was not so delightful, and I actually feared that someone would be trampled. If Greeks are one thing, organized is not it.

Back at the hotel the next morning, Michele and I were relieved to learn we had a driver and interpreter to split between the two of us. However, the hotel would not clear him to drive up to the front door, so we had to walk down the drive past the gate. It was hot, so we were ready to enjoy a nice mist from the sprinklers, when suddenly we realized … they were irrigating their lawn with recycled sewer water. You have never seen two PR ladies loaded down with cameras run across a parking lot so fast! After a long, exhausting run-around trying to get our media credentials, we were pretty much deflated, so our interpreter took us to a Greek fast-food place, where we had heavenly gyros. Eventually, they stopped caring about media credentials, which made that first day all the more frustrating. The rest of the time there, we at “cheese rolls” which are basically a buttered hoagie loaf with one long piece of cheese. If you were lucky, there was also a slice of meat. The bocce team started hoarding lunchmeat from their hotel to take to the venue. I resolved to never complain about a SOMO turkey sandwich again.

Needless to say, between the long hours, long commutes and sketchy internet connections, I wasn’t getting much sleep. Our room only included one bed and one cot, and I knew I’d be sleeping hard, so I took the cot. Which was fine, except for the occasional collapse that startled me awake. I was happy if I  got four hours, so I used the time in the van to catch a few extra minutes when I could. I became very good at falling asleep the moment the motor started, or, as I like to call it, carcolepsy. I worried that I was becoming so conditioned to this that I’d never be able to drive myself anywhere again, but luckily I reverted back.

Greek people really like to argue. Or converse loudly with angry faces and lots of exaggerated arm gestures. It stressed Michele and me out, but they kept saying it was normal. The craziest was one day when our driver, Dimitris, was trying to get us to the softball and cycling venue. We arrived at the gate and he was told he had to drop us off there (basically like two arena-sized parking lots away). I was on the phone with a reporter, and Michele insisted we could walk. Dimitris said no, then continued to argue with the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper slid the van door open, so we got out. Dimitris motioned for us to get back in, then made a phone call. Our interpreter, Andreas, screamed into view on his moped, then joined the loud talking with arm gestures. Michele tried insisting again that we could walk, to which Dimitris and Andreas both looked at us and shouted “NO!” Then a taxi showed up with a couple who were trying to get to the badminton venue for their son’s match. The taxi driver was also told he had to drop them off, so they got out. Andreas and Dimitris continued talking loudly and making wild arm gestures. Suddenly, the couple from the taxi got into our van, the door slammed shut, and we were moving. I was still on the phone with the reporter. I stared at Michele wide-eyed, trying to convey my thoughts (which were pretty much WTH?!). She shrugged and we made a wide loop around the parking lot on two wheels of the van before dropping off the couple from the taxi. I finished my call, and Dimitris dropped us off in front of the softball venue.

Okay, I’m taking up too much space here, so let me wrap this up. One of the best parts of the trip was on the plane ride home, finally descending, when a pillow fight broke out. Exhausted, cranky, ready to be home, and our athletes can’t pass up the chance to have fun. Despite all of the challenges, they reminded me that the trip was well worth it. I have a ton more pictures I could upload, but it's easier if you just click this link.

5. I had been wanting to go to NYC to visit Doug since he first moved there eight years ago. After his aneurism, it became even more important. And now that he has a posh apartment in Harlem, it was the perfect time. We visited art museums, shopped, drank wine and walked so much, I thought my feet would fall off. We saw the Statue of Liberty, Top of the Rock, Stone Street and the High Line. We went to Sister Act. I pretended I was a local and followed Doug and Roldan around a supermarket. Roldan cooked butter chicken and let us share his birthday gift certificate to one of the most elegant French restaurants in town. I’m sold on the city, and I’m determined to get back there at least every-other year. Oh, and I even managed to make the bus trip back to the airport all by myself.

4. Somehow, Kimmie and Ryan are the first of my friends to realize that the only way to get married is on a beach. Mary, Mark and I made the long journey down to Tybee Island with a quick overnight stop in Nashville so  Annaleigh and Shane could follow us. I had booked a four-bedroom house for the Marys, Leslies, Nancys and myself and Jeremie, but a few days before the trip we learned that it was under construction. I was pretty excited at the solution I negotiated: an upgraded house! When we arrived, we spent a good 10 minutes just wandering around and exclaiming “Wow!” Within a few minutes, we had spotted a pod of dolphins just off the back deck. Once the rest of our party found us, we headed to a popular restaurant, where, for some unfathomable reason, there are baby alligators that you can feed. I overcame my fear and posed for a few pictures, then swiftly walked to safer ground. We spent the morning of the wedding playing in the ocean, where baby Owen experienced saltwater for the first time. We showered and headed back to the beach for the wedding, which was so understated and beautiful, just like Kim. The food was delicious, again, and we overtook the dance floor, again. Jeremie had a meeting in Chicago with his new job, so he flew down and met us at the beach house right after the reception, where ¾ of the guests moved for an after-party. Sunday, the wedding party all piled their luggage into the house and we spent another afternoon on the beach. It was just like we had dreamed of in college – the first of many family beach vacations. In all, 17 of us sat down for dinner together and 15 of us slept there that night (even Julie’s boyfriend Rick came!). Once again, anyone who says that being in a sorority is like buying your friends has clearly not met my friends. We closed out the weekend with brunch at Mrs. Wilkes’ Dining Room in Savannah.

3. In October, I celebrated my birthday in three cities for 10 days. Andthen I learned that I would finally be able to move to St. Louis. And then the Cardinals won the World Series.

2. Thanksgiving marked my first official holiday with Jeremie. Upon arriving at his grandparents’ house in Kansas City, we were put to work, making a pumpkin cheesecake and deviled eggs. I was glad they found a couple of things that I was able to help with, since I am completely intimidated by their cooking! We celebrated the actual meal at Jeremie’s aunt’s house, where her boyfriend proposed! It was an eventful day, and fun to be a part of. That evening, we headed to the Plaza, where we watched Eric Stonestreet from Modern Family flip the switch to the famous lights. Friday, we picked up the kids and headed to Crown Center for ice skating. Then we did a little shopping before watching the Mayor’s Christmas tree lighting. Saturday, we did a little more shopping, then ate pizza and headed to see the Muppet Movie. We were proud to see that both kids enjoyed it.

1. All of that, and I’m still not done for the year. Friday, I will leave for Spokane, where the entire Steward clan will spend Christmas together. I’m sure it will hold its own set of stories, but I’ll save that for another time.

So, did I accomplish my resolution? Maybe not exactly. My bank account shrank from all the travel, and I may have a few more laugh lines around my eyes. But I would say I grew in friends, wisdom and happiness, and I can’t imagine much there’s more valuable than that.

*I realized when I got to the end that I had written the 11 in descending order, like No. 1 was going to be the best, but then I wrote them in chronological order. I considered switching them, but decided against it. Even if each event didn’t top the previous one, my year got better with each one.

Change is good

Remember when I said I’d wanted to live in St. Louis since I was a kid? Remember when I also said I don’t like change? This is, I suspect, the reason I’ve been alternating between euphoric excitement and all-out panic the past few weeks.

It’s also probably the reason I’ve started waking up in the middle of each night – sometimes sweating, sometimes certain there’s someone in my apartment, sometimes hanging onto a dream that I was cuddling with a puppy. Always annoyed.

The lack of continuous sleep plus the mounting items on my to-do lists scattered through my office, apartment and iPhone has me feeling like a college kid during finals week again. My stomach is in knots (or maybe that’s the four consecutive meals of pizza last weekend), I can barely focus, and there’s a strong urge to curl up in my bed and hide for a few days.

Honestly, the thought of everything I want being within reach is terrifying.

It’s pretty crazy to think back to where I was two years ago. I remember my last Facebook status of 2009 being something like: Good riddance, 2009. Things are still far from perfect, but 2011 has been one of the best years of my life. It took a lot of change to get here. I will get through this next set of changes, I will adjust, and hopefully it will be everything I’ve dreamed of. (Figuratively, not those dreams of people breaking into my apartment. Oh gosh, now I’m thinking about someone breaking into my new place in STL. Must stop.)

Change is good. Change is good. Change is good. I’m going to keep repeating that to myself every time I start to freak out.