this happy nest

I pressed my cheek against Aaron’s chest and snuggled in a little tighter, burrowing my cold feet under his warm ones. It felt like we were dating again, a never-ending snuggle-fest and hours of discourse on any range of topics from the superficial to the spiritual. I roll to my side to check the time – 12:30! We had gotten in bed at 9pm. I yawn contentedly and snuggle back into the security that I enjoy this man’s companionship more than any other human being on the planet.

Our recent evening of “pillow talk” (hey, get your mind outta the gutter!) reminded me of a conversation that I had with a co-worker a couple years ago. He had gone on a date with his wife the night before and made a rather ironic comment. “We were having dinner, laughing and just having fun, and I remembered how much we like each other!” We chuckled, but as I look back on it, his comment rings true. We get busy and go on autopilot. Married couples need to be reminded, not only of the romance, but the friendship. My guess is that the happiest marriages are the ones that invest equally in both.

I read once that you can be married even 15 years and still learn something new about your spouse. This was not meant to frighten, but to encourage us that we should never stop “dating” our spouse. Remember when everything was exciting? You asked questions, listened to bands that he likes, watched movies he recommended, tried new restaurants together. You were spontaneous! As I have been gardening this week, I can see some parallels. The key to a great garden is time. Time spent in the garden, tilling the earth, weeding it, watering it, being vigilant for predators, and nurturing it. The most dangerous enemy to any garden is an apathetic gardener. In the old days, apathy equaled starvation. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE a 9pm bedtime! And sleep is important, but maybe a few hours a week is worth remembering what an amazing person sleeps next to you.

~lauren

This morning at 6 a.m., I was breastfeeding my 4-month-old and scrolling through emails on my iPhone, I discovered that my boss had dinner with the President and  Michelle Obama last night! Talk about a once in a lifetime opportunity! She’s still in D.C., but I cannot wait to hear about it after she gets back! (Can you tell? I’m ending every sentence with an exclamation point!)  And we’re always excited about opportunities to get Rocketown‘s name out there, and how often do Nashville non-profit’s get a chance to go viral across the country? Of course, there’s a wet blanket to this story. I texted my mom this morning to share the titillating news, and she seemed a little less than enthused, firing off a l lot of questions. Granted, I sent the text knowing my parents are staunch Republicans and belong to the “dethrone Obama” club, however, you assume people can look past their differences to recognize that having dinner with a president, any president, is the story of a lifetime and definitely worth a handshake and a pat on the back, even in a campaign year. Feeling a little deflated after the text conversation I had with my mom, I worry about the inevitable onslaught of judgment and critique bound to rush in once the news circulates across our red state of Tennessee and not to mention our donors. My hope is that extremely raw energy from this week and naming Rick Santorum as Tennessee’s Republican representative will not make our supporters see red in the way of Rocketown blood. There is bound to be backlash, that’s what politics does, it divides. But I hope and I pray, that the collective “we” of Rocketown will see this as an opportunity to share the same grace with one another that we extend to the kids that come through our doors. We should remember that love, grace, and a shared mission unite us. That not only the teens that we serve, but the community will be watching us. And our actions and our words will reflect this place. This is an organization that we offer to kids as a “safe place”, a “come as you are” establishment, regardless of race, gender, religion, status, socioeconomic standing, political stance, sexual orientation and personal preference. THEY will be watching and measuring our acceptance of one another. Where we draw the line, what we argue about, what we find “unforgivable”. All that comes to mind as I write this is, “United we stand, divided we fall”. No one ever said grace was easy, we live life with people who think, act and look different than us. It’s a challenge, but it’s worth wrestling over. People are more important than affiliation. And we are one, under God, His children of equal value, no favorites. And I will start praying now, that the amazing grace that was shown to each of us, will flow forth from all of us.

Shalom, Lauren

Little Katie Briggs runs as fast as her 6-year-old legs could carry her, which for a first grader was pretty quick. She can run faster than most of the boys in their class at school. This time, she’s not being playing tag or red rover, she’s trying to put as much distance between herself, that man, and these strange feelings. He had pinned her the corner of the basement again, her brain registering nothing but white noise when he started to touch her. The broken record in her brain started playing, All wrong, all wrong, not again, not again, all wrong, all wrong until all at once a moment of clarity pierced the static, I don’t want to. I don’t want to. “No. No, stop!” she gasped out, as if afraid she might miss her chance to say it. Before she could  look up and register his response, she spun around on her saddle-shoed heel and ran.

Katie finally collapsed at her favorite climbing tree, practically hugging the ground for comfort. She tried to catch her breath, inhaling deeply the smell of grass. I’m in trouble, she thought. When they find out, I’ll get punished. Her eyes start to sting as tears pool in their bright green orbs and spill down her cheeks. Not if you don’t tell anyone, a voice suddenly springs up in her thoughts. No one has to know what you did. Katie pushes herself up and crosses her legs more comfortably, indian-style. She impatiently wipes at the salty tears lingering on her chin, leaving behind a streak of dirt. Lifting her eyes, she spots a green gecko perched on the knotted root closest to her. “Hi, little guy,” she says tentatively at first, afraid her enthusiasm for company will scare him away. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” she asks. As if to answer, the gecko creeps on to the toe of her shoe. He’s so cute and little. He looks like a Petey, Katie thinks, her thoughts now consumed with her new green friend. “Do you want to come home with me?” she asks him. Without waiting for an answer, she scoops him up swiftly and fumbles with the zipper on her Barbie backpack. “Don’t be afraid of the dark, Petey,” she tells him. “But you have to ride back here.” She makes up her mind, straps her new-found friend on to her back, lifts her chin and heads down the dusty gravel road toward home.

“Ugly hairy spikes jut out from what looks like a head attached to a lumpy and splotchy mound of flesh with reptile-like limbs. The creature’s head flops backward, its useless gray eyes rolling open, unfocused. Its talons flex instinctively, burrowing deeper into the soft flesh of a young woman as she sleeps. She exhales softly as she rolls to her side, her short red hair cascading across her brow. A murmured “No” escapes from her lips as her mind hovers between the dream world and real life. Only this particular dream is about her life, and its a nightmare.”

So…my husband wants me to use my blog to write fiction. That means that you may get to read various clips of spontaneously written excerpts like the paragraph above, or maybe one day I will actually write an entire novel and release it chapter by chapter via the web. (If my husband has anything to do with it, you will have this opportunity as well!) If you are curious about the creature or the girl in this particular story, I will continue developing this short story and post it here. My lovely handful of readers can be the audience for these little writing exercises. So thank you and stay tuned for more!

The long wooden table stretches the length of the frosted storefront windows. The rough hewn, chapped and splintered, lacquered surface alludes to a repurposed life and a weathered soul. Frosted window panes sweat between the winter morning sunshine outside and pressing body heat of patrons inside. The liquid trickles down and congregates in small puddles at the feet of latte sipping, Mac users. A bubbling brook of childish chatter and clicking computer keys ebbs and flows over and around the soft reggae music playing overhead. Plain gray walls stretch soothingly upward with only the occasional blemish left behind by past art hangings. Bundled and mittened patrons blow in and bustle out to desk jobs, college lectures and the next big business venture.

The coffee shop is a complex organ. It is an open vault of intellectual wealth. Coffee shops across America are in the business of getting individuals into grad school, out of debt, into mortgages, out of slumber, into relationships, interviewed for jobs, reconnected to old friends, or simply to pause over a newspaper, a book, or a blog. It’s where people assess where they are, where they’ve been, and where they’re going – and then they get to it. With caffeine pumping through their veins, they charge into their day.

Carpe diem.

I’m a new mom, and Shutterfly is rocking my world! My daughter’s only 3 months old and I’ve already used multiple promotions from Shutterfly to make gifts for grandmothers and print photos for scrapbooking! Its only February and I’ve already made a FREE Mother’s Day card for my mom, check it out! I’m addicted!

5×7 Folded Card

View the entire collection of cards.

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Regardless of what my title implies, this is not to be a diatribe about chauvinistic husbands keeping their wives barefoot and pregnant (which describes this particular woman perfectly and I am quite pleased about it!). Instead, its about getting my husband in the kitchen. Sure, I can count on one hand the number of times Aaron has cooked, and when he has, it has always been in the role of “sous chef”. (We picked up that term from watching a lot of Top Chef.) However rare these instances, they have been precious.

I think my love of cooking was nurtured by the countless hours spent beside my mom in her kitchen growing up. Many miniature pies were clumsily yet lovingly crafted from scraps of pie dough and raspberry jam. I also loved pouring over cookbooks and Taste of Home magazines, dreaming about all the scrumptious things I could make. Twenty-odd years later, this enjoyment holds true. As a wife, I have learned that the key to shared cooking ventures is to let my husband get excited about an idea or a dish on his own. Like the time he thought he’d “invented” plantain lasagna, only to find out that it was already an extremely popular Puerto Rican meal. We didn’t let the lack of novelty get us down, and thoroughly enjoyed both making and eating this cheesy plantain concoction with hint of nutmeg and citrus flavors. Aaron acted as resident food photographer, showing off our hard work via social media before we dug in to our well-earned meal. And so, the “recipe” for getting my husband to cook was revealed.

Months passed and I was full term in my pregnancy when the next cooking inspiration came to him. After spending time researching ways to induce labor, Aaron discovered a recipe for eggplant parmesan. An Italian restaurant became notorious for its eggplant parmesan, boasting that over 300 women had gone into labor within 48 hours of dining of this particular dish. Our experiment began with me printing the recipe and Aaron purchasing the needed ingredients on his way home from work. Tonight was the night. Another fun evening of dicing and mixing together, documenting the process for our family and friends, and three meals later, I was in labor. Now this was hardly a controlled experiment. We can’t be sure it was the eggplant parm or perhaps the five miles I stubbornly walked the night before. Either way, this recipe is delicious and comes highly recommended by, expecting or not.

Our most recent kitchen experiment is credited to the upcoming Superbowl. As of late, Aaron is obsessed with pairing football and wings, so as his loving wife whose duty it is to make his wildest dreams come true, we spent our Friday evening testing spicy buffalo and thai flavored wings. Our wings were succulent and flavorful, however, we scribbled in our chef’s notes to try an egg white bath next time to hopefully master a crispier skin. These handful of kitchen adventures together were full quality time and laughter, not to mention the added bonus of sharing a household chore. We’ve discussed making this a common activity at our house. As long as I keep the “formula”, I think it could stick. Maybe some of our future projects will include drinking Red Stripe while making Jamaican beef patties in honor of our honeymoon, or tackling Aaron’s favorite dish, Thai Coconut Green Curry, or experimenting with entrees that feature different kinds of fruit. Whatever gets Aaron motivated to cook with me, I’m looking forward to the next experiment. I think one of the worthwhile challenges of marriage is finding out how to take the pedestrian things in life and make them exciting opportunities to make memories together.

And just for fun, if you’re interested in any of the recipes I mentioned in this blog, you can find the links below. All of these dishes come highly recommended from the Rayburn Family! Happy Cooking!

Plantain Lasagna: http://recipes.sparkpeople.com/recipe-detail.asp?recipe=174841

Scalini’s Famous Eggplant Parmesan: http://www.wchstv.com/gmarecipes/eggplantparmigian.shtml

Thai Flavored Wings: http://thaifood.about.com/od/thaisnacks/r/BBQchickenwings.htm

Oh that joyous moment when a blue plus sign appeared! I remember it so well. And so does my husband, only his memory is of being abruptly woken at 6am on a Saturday with a “pee stick” waving in his face. Needless to say, it was difficult for him to dredge up excitement through the grogginess and flood of financial worries. It was my first day of confirmed motherhood, and I was smack dab in unfamiliar territory. Only weeks pregnant, and I was already tired by 3 o’clock in the afternoon and peeing throughout the night. The most bitter pill to swallow, however, was that my breasts started growing, IMMEDIATELY. For those of you who loved being pregnant for the single fact that you became the voluptuous woman you always wanted to be, put yourself in my shoes for a minute. Imagine you are a woman who already hates her chest size, often researches breast reduction surgery, and you are watching your C-cup creep upwards to a D, and then to your mortification, a DD. Many tears were shed in front of a Victoria’s Secret mirror. “I look like Pamela Anderson,” I mournfully wept in front of my onlooking husband. To his credit, he did a great job hiding his emotions on the subject and played the part of sympathetic husband. He held my hand and walked me to Soma Intimates and enlisted a matronly saleswoman to outfit me with something that I felt comfortable wearing. It was a successful venture, although I was far from performing any strip teases in my no frills, full cover, “mommy bras”. Shortly after I relented and moved up a panty size and had a full on “mommy ensemble”. Pregnancy is wonderful and humbling all at the same time.

By this time, I was barely squeezing into my jeans, even with the rubberband trick. My slender figure put on 14 lbs. in my first trimester! Can you imagine my devastation when my doctor advised me to “slow down” and watch what I ate? (Aaron and I blame the rapid weight gain on my addiction to Subway veggie subs.) I survived the summer by swapping most of my wardrobe for garbage bags full of thrift store clothes. Summer tops that graciously hid my new buxom figure and bottoms that slung low enough to fit under my thickening waistline. By August, Aaron talked me into splurging on nice maternity skinny jeans. I balked at the $100.00 price tag, but considering that I wore them everyday for the last 3 months of my pregnancy and then 2 months post-pregnancy, I’d say they were worth their weight in gold. I guess my husband understands that the occasional splurge can salvage his wife’s sense of self-worth. Nothing prepared me for the post pregnancy blues when it comes to dressing yourself after giving birth. Those jeans you blissfully think you can wear again don’t budge past your mid-thigh, you’re still wearing your granny panties, and those cute tops do a great job accentuating your now deflated stomach bubble and love-handles. God bless my husband the day before our friends’ wedding when he walked in on me, tears streaming down my cheeks, eyes puffy and bloodshot, as I stood over a pile of discarded outfits. He wrapped his arms around me and promised that first thing in the morning we would take a shopping trip to buy a new dress. You know its real love when a man who hates shopping is willing to spend 3 hours patiently watching his wife try on dresses, shawls and shoes. I didn’t even care that my dress was a size-Large, I felt like the most cherished woman in Nashville that day.

Ladies, let’s be honest. Pregnancy is a journey through conflicting emotions and battles with self-worth, no matter who you are. I recommend having a sense of humor and a supportive spouse. I attribute coming away unscarred to my husband. He enjoyed every soft and fleshy inch of my pregnant self and constantly begged me not to exercise too much after having the baby. As much as I scoffed at 10 months of his beseeching request, secretly I loved him more because of it. So if your spouse isn’t already your safety net, train him up to be one – you’re gonna need it.

~Lauren