Lois and Clark

Saturdays have come to be the peanut butter m&ms of my life. Delightful. Absolutely delightful... every time. Zach takes the day off and we set out on adventure. Today, it was Aztec Falls.

His book bag was filled with cookies, granola bars, a gatorade, two camelbaks, a change of clothes, and a towel. I was wearing my chacos. Obviously, we were ready to go. Not entirely sure of what awaited us, we climbed and climbed out of the valley we have now started calling home. Windows down and one direction playing, our arms slicing through the smoggy air and felt the temper drop with the high elevation. Rain clouds were ahead of us. It. was. PERFECT!

Muddling through the navigation as we have a habit of doing, we decided Alejandro, the name of our Ford Focus, had had it's fill and we pulled off to the side of the road to accompany the buick (whos owners also felt inclined to end their car journey and begin on foot.) The rest of the unpaved and quite uneven terrain was ventured by foot. A brief 5 minute walk lead us to the start of our trail! Now, Zach had done some research and informed me that the path was only about half a mile long but lead to a swimming hole that was supposed to be rated pretty high in the US. That was all I knew going in... but I went in with great confidence. After all, I am in the middle of reading My Side of the Mountain. Now if that doesn't equip someone for a moment like this, I don't what will. Sam Gribley had taught me all I needed to know.

(Keep in mind our habit of navigation). We start out wondering what was the trail. Now if that is not foreshadowing at it's finest, I don't know what is. We followed something that looked like a beaten path and found ourselves under a bridge about 60 yards later. No hike contains a bridge that is not crossed, so clearly, we need to get up to it. It couldn't have been 30 feet after crossing the bridge that we lost the trail. Well, that victory was shortly lived.... We decided to follow the creek and forget the non existing path all together. So from rock to boulder to boulder to rock we walked, swatting flies with each step. This went on for fifteen minutes; every time we felt nervous that we were lost without cause, we would see an empty bottle of some sort and find comfort knowing that someone else had taken these same steps. However, between you and me, most of the empty bottles were not water and I couldn't help but think we were in less than the best company... perhaps the company of some people looking to be off the path. We, on the other hand, were hoping to be on the path and couldn't find it. I guess thats the innate rebel inside Zach and I coming out.

Okay, so I am going to save you many of the details and jump ahead to this: we have come across rock cliff on both sides of us and water too deep to walk through in the middle. Our only decision, obviously, was to rock climb to the other side. Noting the dangers of this, we decided that it'd be best to find the trail than to find ourselves in a situation likened to the one we just left behind us. Zach pulled out his phone and said, "the trail is just to our right." So we began to climb the ravine. If I had you in person for an unlimited amount of time I still could not paint you a picture worthy of the hilarious disaster we endured. The climb was treacherous! Parts of it were at least a 70 degree incline. We were using our hands and feet to crawl through the dead brush that acted like those awful short metal brushes to our shins. It was hard weaving our way up and my chacos had become a shifter for the dirt passing through it's straps and allowing my toes to cradle the small rocks as an unwanted foundation for my already blistering feet. But really I didn't care; it was hilarious. Zach and I were spouting out jokes with each lengthy yard we climb and the adventure was accompanied by a song of laughter. Surely we were getting close to this path we thought... and then we saw it. There, descending the much elevation we just climbed, across the creek and a little ways upward, was the path. NO WAY! Zach and I just lost it. But he said, well maybe there is one over here too. Plus, worst case scenario, we'll just get to the top of the ravine and walk across it until we come across the falls. And with that type of birds eye view, we are sure not to miss it. No way would walking back to that path over there be quicker or less toilsome than just finishing our climb to the top of the ravine. And so we did. About 15 minutes and 6 breathers later we finished those last 100 feet..... only to find the top was wild brush allowing no trespassers to move forward. Our only decision was what we were both secretly fearing/laughing about. We had to climb back down the ravine we just conquered, cross the creek, and hike the other side to the trail. "The good news" Zach said," is that we could very well be the only ones who have ever walked this ground before." "Surely there are people out there who are just as navigationally challenged as us who have passed this way." I said. "Yes. But are they are determined as us?"

(the top of the ravine: unwalkable)

Once we finally got to the path, it took us about 50 steps to get to our destination. It was the biggest joke. But super fun and insanely gorgeous. But the walk back literally took us 6 minutes to get to the parking lot. Our 2 hour hike took us 6 minutes on the way. One word comes to mind: Typical.

Welp, didn't see that coming #2

This weekend, Zach and I went to this pot luck and met a whole lot of potential friends. When we first got there, there were only a handful of people there (my apologies Zach for having a disease that inhibits me from being late anywhere which can often lead to awkward moments). It was the classic, we walk up and quickly realize that everyone knows everybody so immediately they recognize us as "newbies", or as we felt "outcasts."It's hilarious the conversations that are struck up at a time like that... it's like everyone is dying for something to be said so, as a result, filters are tossed to the wayside. For that reason, I found myself looking at a picture that this guy had taken of his classmates freezer. (She was one of those hyper organized people that we all dream of being one day, and had planned out like 40 meals in advanced... all perfectly stacked and awaiting her devourment at whatever time she chooses.)

That really has nothing to do with this post... only to allow you to see where it is that I'm coming from when I write my actual post. For you see, WDSTC (Welp, didn't see that coming), happened the first week we moved into our new place. The honeymoon phase was very much in effect, times when going to the grocery store was exciting and delightful and thoughts of it being a bi- or tri-weekly drag was unthought of. So, on this one particular night of making our first dinner, using our new dishes, pots, and silverware for the first, and new utilities of course, I bee bopped my into the kitchen to work my magic. Now, I know that this can be an intimidating thing for most young brides, but my mom did her piece on me and the kitchen was more than familiar stomping grounds. Plus, I wasn't even making a hard dish... just throwing some leftover fried chicken into the oven and making some mac and cheese and broccoli. Perhaps I was teetering on the side of adventure as the 3 different things kept particular attention in splitting up my time and concentration but I met that challenge with great confidence.

So, I tossed the chicken in the oven because it was going to take the longest, I started boiling the water for the mac and cheese, and then pulled out the cutting board to do my thing to the oversized head of broccoli. Easy Peasy... until, shoot, what's that smell? Check the oven, the chicken isn't burning, check the burners, no food is caught in there. Shuki, that is definitely something burning, no denying it... I think it's getting worse. Also, what is that orange flame in the oven... I literally JUST checked it. Open the door again. "CRAP, Zach, come here!!!"

Apparently our oven here has a warming drawer and not a storage drawer. My bad unwrapped and oh so new cookie sheets.

Not for the weak at heart

Marriage that is. Marriage is certainly not for the weak at heart.

You're probably thinking... Oh, you and Zach had your first fight. Or, you're beginning to feel the the faint and unending tug of daily, ceaseless chores... or buying groceries even. But nope, none of those. I am talking about the immediate logistical aftermath of marriage: the name change.

MY WORD!!! How many people in all of eternity have been married and had to go through this process? I mean, you'd think it'd be a little more user friendly by now. It's like they're trying to discouraging marriage.

Anyway, I did it. 10 hours, 3 DMV visits, 2 major headaches, 2 written tests, several doubts if Zach and I were actually married, and one interchange with a lady who I don't care to cross paths with again later, I now hold a California license.

So, this is how it all unfolded. Jolly and perky (well as perky as one can be when they are headed to the DMV), I packed my book and my snacks and I left the house at 6:20 to make it to the DMV by 6:30, as it opened at 7. I showed up and there were only 5 people ahead of me in line. I was like... OKAY... thanks everyone for warning me about how packed it always is but they obviously didn't have the upbringing of Becca Flowers for she would have probably even been disappointed that I only went 30 minutes early. Well, I proudly sat down on the communicable disease infested sidewalk, careful to not allow any of my skin to touch anything, whipped book number two of the Chronicles of Narnia series and got to work. 7 comes, 7:05... nothing. Hmm... oh well, maybe there was an emergency inside and it's delaying them a bit. Well, by this time other people had started lining up and then I caught wind of this place opening at 8! Thanks internet! 'Preciate your lies! Oh well, I'd probably just be reading at home anyways; not much of a difference if I do it here or there. Wishing I had brought a chair for the next hour, I was relieved when the doors finally opened. But man, you would have thought it was black friday at Walmart or something. People were nearly running in. I waited in line again to hand the lady my papers and explain to her what I'm here for. She looks at my marriage certificate and says

"Oh. I need your actual certificate."
"Hmm. That is my certificate"
"No, that is the one from the church."
"Oh, well that's odd. I didn't think I got one from the church. That is the one that I went to the probate court for and had to pay money to obtain it."
"Ok, well we usually don't take these but we'll see. Here's your number. G11"

I take my seat, wait another 2 and half hours, my number is called, and I eagerly head to the appropriate counter SO thankful that I only have to do this once.

"Can I see your papers."
"Sure" (hand the man at the counter my papers)
"Oh okay. I'm actually gonna need your real marriage certificate."
"That one is my real one."
"This one right here?"
"yes sir"
"No, this is just a copy. I need the actual document from the records department."
"I was told that when you get married, you get a license from the probate court. That is where I got this, I paid money for it (thinking in my head... it has a seal on it), the lady said all I'd need to do is show these two papers to anyone for a name change (implying: indication that it's the proper paperwork)..."
"Ok. well we'll see if we can take it. Oh, it appears you haven't been to the social security office yet?"
"no sir."
"Yeah, we can't help you. You'll have to come back."
"oh.... well, thank you anyway."

Wishing that someone just gave you pamphlet of this type of information after you got married, and mega frustrated, I headed over to the social security office. I walked in and it was like popcorn crammed into a bowl too small. You didn't know where one person ended and the other started. If you got up to throw something away, your seat was taken within the second. It was crazy. But the next thing I noticed was that there was just a giant area to sit in and then bank teller like stations. No one to check in with. And the bank tellers were only calling people's names out, so something wasn't adding up. I walked up to a lady, "excuse me ma'am, can you tell me where I check in." Apparently, there was a kiosk around the way and in a corner. Again, the lack of user friendly vibe these places have is astonishing.

 As you may have guessed, after I had waited and given the man my papers, he looked at me and said "Do you have your REAL marriage license?" Oh mylanta, I was about to lose my mind. Thankfully, he sent me to another man who helped me out lickety split. But in the meantime, I was texting Zach all that had happened. He was like, well what are you gonna do? I'm like, I don't know, cause I don't even really know if we're married or not. California certainly doesn't seem to think so. After it was straightened out though, I found out that it takes the new social a day to process which meant I couldn't go to the DMV that day and knock it all out in one full stroke.

The weekend came and I had a few days of regrouping and mustering up the courage to go yet again. I learned from my earlier mistake and only headed out to the DMV by 7 oclock... I was little further in line but in the end, I thought, it was all going to come out in the wash anyway. (p.s. By this time, I was on my last book of the seven book series... if that tells you how much waiting took place). The doors opened at 8 and I headed in to the first counter where you get checked in and handed a number. After this you sit down in the waiting area until your number is called and then thats when things actually start rolling. So, I'm at the front counter and I tell the lady that I need a California license. She asks to see my papers.

"Ok, we don't accept these. We need your actual marriage license."
"That actually is my marriage license"
"No. This is just the souvenir copy. We need the one you get from the vital records department."
I give her a very puzzled look.
"Vital records. They are the ones that give you your actual license. You need to call them and order one from there."
"Oh, okay. I'm just really confused because in Georgia I thought you get it from the probate court. Because this is the one I got from the court and she said that this was all I needed for the name change process."
"No, not from there. Look, where do you go when you lose your birth certificate?"
"Ummm... I'm not entirely.."
"It's the vital records!"
"Ok. I've never lost my birth certificate so I'm not really sure."
"Well, it is! Am I right?"
(thinking... you know, I actually still haven't lost my birth certificate, so..) "Ma'am I'm not sure."
"Well, thats where we need it from."
"Okay, well I'm just a little confused because I was in here on Thursday and they gave me a number and I went to..."
"They gave you a NUMBER? They let you through with this!?!?? With this document?!?! We were going to accept THIS right here?" (holding the license)
"Well, that's what I gave the lady beside you on Thursday and then I sat and waited then walked to clerk number 13 and.."'
"No! 'We were going to accept THIS document' is the question that I am asking!"
"I am in the process of answering that question... so, I went to clerk 13 and he said that yall don't normally take that type of license but he'd see what he could do. Then he put me in the system but saw I needed to do my social first so sent me away."
"So YES! YES is the answer to the question I was asking."
"MA'AM, I cannot give you an honest yes or no because I am not that man. I cannot tell you if he was or was not going to accept it. The best I can do is tell you the circumstances which surrounded the situation and then you and I can make the best assumption. And that is what I did, I told you the circumstances."
"Well, I'm not sure how that happened because we don't take these."
"Alright, well I'm still baffled because they took this at the social security place."
"Well, why didn't you get your license there?"
(utterly confused and thinking to myself: You're kidding me, I didn't have to come back here. Seriously, why don't people advertise these things better) but all I did was make a confused face.
"because you can't. Because we're TWO different offices that take TWO different paperwork and I'm TELLING you that we don't take this."

Oh, I was a swirling tornado of anger if there's ever been one. It's not that they can't take it, but the lack of help that was offered and the putrid attitude her words were dipped in.

So, I marched out of the office, called the probate court only to find out that they ARE the court that also does birth certificates (ergo, are the proper licensure office), and then called my mom to vent/ get a pep talk/ get some of the ga lovin' I certainly didn't receive in that office. Then I got right back in line and was given another clerk who let me right on in. However, because of all of this debacle, I was given the number G56. (Oh, and they go by alphabet as well as number).

Yeah, it ended up quite the all day plus affair! I'm still recovering.

Welp, didn't see THAT coming...

If all goes accordingly, I believe I will start a series of blogs that intertwine the rest, called "welp, didn't see THAT coming..." It will be more of a short story time with daily happenings here in the sunshine state.

1. Last night I took a class at our local gym with my new friend Anna. We both had never gone to a step class before but took to it quickly. Walking in, our goal was to not stand out like a sore thumb, so we followed the regulars to the back of the room to grab a step and then did just as they did, made the step one stilt higher. All was going better than expected in the class. We started slow and Anna and I were not missing a beat. Like all instructors, intermittent his directions, he was looking in the mirror at all of us his Monday night guests. The moves are picking up and the sequences getting more lengthy as time passes but she and I are going to town. However, it was then that I noticed that the instructors eyes were more often on she and I then not. Now I cannot believe that I am the only one who frequently looks at the instructor in this position as to make sure that if I do mess up, I am not caught or either can quickly communicate that I have all under control... So, it was by this that I came to notice his not so much glances as stares. Sure enough, the sequence came... the one that tripped us up. But we kept to and watched a bit more carefully to recover. Only, the instructor left his spotlight and came to us. Bewildered, we kept going with the routine only now having lost the person we were mirroring. And then, right there in front of the class, stopping those in the class, he bent over and took the stilts off our boards. So... essentially we were doing the "Step" class on a bath math. Yep, didn't see that coming. I've been to classes where the instructor greets the new comers and answers any questions they may have (especially when he and I were outside waiting for the door to be unlocked together) but this is the first time I've had one approach me only for the sake of communicating to me that I am not proficient enough to do the regular course #iam #youretheinstructorofaSTEPclasstakeitdownafewnotches
#we'renotingeorgiaanymore #hostileenvironment #itwasn'ttheextra4inchesthatmademeforgetthesequence

2. Zach and I went to this welcome back bash #freefood, on friday night and it turned out most enjoyable. We were able to hang out with these two couples that we had met earlier, one of whom Zach went mountain bike riding the following morning with. But even more, we met more friends! In fact, while we were in line for food, Zach mentioned that he went to Lee and one guy a few people back was like, "no way! I went to school by there. Plus, I used to bike ride with a couple of professors there." Turns out, the bike club that Zach started at Lee was the very one that this boy rode with only a year later! So, Zach also went on a bike ride with this new friend that following weekend as well. Anyway, as refreshing as it was to see friendly faces, our table was too big for us and our already made friends. This meant we had to welcome newcomers as well. Totes no prob, this is my jam... i thought. The seat next to me was open and this girl kept eyeing it and then after meeting my eyes asked me if anyone was sitting there. I said, "Nope, all yours." She sat down and lifted her head again to exchange names but her eyes met my face and I could tell that the words she planned on coming out were hindered by a, clearly, much urgent message. "Oh! You...are..........a....ginger!" Yeah, didn't see that coming either. #boldstrategy #nottrue #youcanmoveseatsifyouwant

Love and distance

PART TWO

Dad had this trump card growing up. You see, when he was about my age, he started on a journey of his own. Only, much less enchanting than mine, he decided to walk the appalachian trail... All of it. Georgia to Maine. Pretty cool, until your 11 years old and (what seemed like) all the kids and definitely the Coach ridiculed you for your beliefs; so, naturally you want to quit. But, because of this card, he would say "you're 11 and privileged enough to be on a soccer team. You'll get through it. I walked 1900 miles with boots so worn you didn't know what they were if they weren't on my feet and blisters the size of golfballs." Although paraphrased a bit, he insinuated that I didn't know what "hard" was... and he was right. And although now I still have yet to venture northbound on foot further than to the local gas station, I've come to find that "hard" has introduced itself to me in another form.

Today I got a letter from my sweet Wynona Judd (most refer to her as Fiona). She simply wrote that she wanted me to come back from California and that she was really excited about sleeping in my room... that was the deal, you see. Once I left, I cleaned my room out and it became the nieces. They are so dear though and keep calling it MY room. Secretly, a little part of me hopes that that will never change because if it doesn't, they'll remember the times we spent in it playing barbies, dress up, tickling on my bed, or having dance parties.... but most importantly, they'll just remember times when I was there.

And that was all. That was all she had to say. A few simple sentences that my mom wrote as Fiona was saying them alongside a personal signature in her own handwriting. And then all of the sudden I knew "hard". It wasn't as toilsome on my body as my dad's. It isn't as uncommon as my dad's feat, nor is it quit as noble... but man, it's rough all the same. In fact, I would take physical pain over this any day. Physical pain has an end in sight, or hope of a near end... or at the very worst, medication to help. What is supposed to be subscribed to a person who holds all of their heart in their chest but knows that pieces are missing.

And you know what strikes me the most peculiar, here I am an adult... fully capable of making my own decisions, visualizing the future, and then making those said decisions to create the future seen. That is not a hard thing, it's done everyday. Today I think, oh, we're low on milk. Then I picture myself working that errand into my tomorrow activities. Finally, when the sun comes back up again, I simply conquer that mission set out before me. Elementary right? Until BOOM! Four little babies come into my world, alongside one handsome young man. They are innocent and precious and pure. They need you and you take much delight in their presence. And although they can't yet talk or function really, all along, they are sneakily confiscating little bits of your heart unnoticed until one day you wake up and the thought of days without them takes your breath away, much like a surprise punch to the gut. And all of your plans have been changed. A once enchanting adventure of lands unknown becomes bittersweet. And as an adult, I never quite saw that coming.

But it's beautiful really. To quote the ever loved philosopher Winnie the Pooh- "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." But I don't just have something... I have an army of something's. I am coming to find that once you love a certain depth, you can never really have one home again. You are a bearer of many homes, of many loves. And that my friends is a most splendid heart throb! A throb that if you've ever experience, you know you've been blessed.

IT'S BACK!!!

PART ONE:

A young new bride... naive, bags packed and head full of dreams. Dreaming about the new med school and her part to play. The badge of "Wifey" she wore proudly and dreamt of how heroic  her role would be. A housewife whose job never ended. A stage manager, if you will, who silently prepared the way for the man in the spot light... allowing nothing for him to worry about so as to leave his full focus on his school work. The ironing of shirts, washing of dishes, folding of laundry, doing the laundry, sweeping the floors, making the bed, setting up house, vacuuming the floors, getting the mail, and paying the bills would be my means of laying the red carpet.

Um, yeah right.

Reality hits, bags unpacked, naive mindset stripped from me like a splash of cold water waking you up. If anything, I have become more like that red headed freckley kid who hangs out at the pool with his sunscreen not rubbed in, walking up to the high dive. Now he knows good and well that because he can't swim, he shouldn't be doing it but the taste of adventure gets the best of him and just like the other times that he's tried, it results in an urgent call of mayday mayday, and someone has to come and rescue him.

In short, non metaphorical terms. The bacteria is back! And Zach had to take me to the ER for the second time this month, and once again has forcibly been put in charge of charting my medicine taking, warming up the soup, counting the bottles of liquid that I've taken in that day, and making routing calls of checking in so that he may properly inform the army back home that was channelling many of their thoughts on me. Psh, red carpet my foot. How silly of me!

But it's neat how the Lord works that way. How He humbles you to a point which should be claimed embarrassment so that you may properly see the blessings that are showered upon you daily. I mean I hadn't even been in the urgent care for two hours before I had a Costco size pack of water and multipack gatorade awaiting me on my doorstep. And then Zach so graciously had given up his dinner (which, if you know the boy, you understand the severity of the sacrifice made) time, plus extra overtime, to keep me company on the less than comfortable "pad" (that they kept mistakenly calling bed) they had offered me. Although he was fighting near starvation and all of him wanted to be in a place other than this (a feeling I am sure is commonly held there each and every day), he pushed that aside to be his goofy self and keep me distracted for the torturous pain my stomach was so generously offering me. And then, there was the boatloads of love from home.... I mean Zach was more or less putting in full time on top of his school work to answer all of the texts. I especially liked the one from my sister that he got at 5 am that said "how is she doing?"                 "Oh... just remembered the time difference, my bad." Now THAT is red carpet. I knew all I needed to do was to pick up a phone or computer and within 15 minutes, I could have whatever my heart (or most importantly) stomach, desired.

Marvin Gaye and Theology

This morning in church the pastor was weaving in and out of scriptures. At one point in particular he was talking about the life of Paul and the trials he endured. The pastor went on to parallel the life of Paul while still Saul and then his life reborn. Both radically lived. How can one man do such a complete 180? From desecrating all that glorified Jesus to extreme physical and life style sacrifice in order for Glory to be revealed. Well, the pastor said it was because once you've found the real thing, there is nothing that can replace it.

"Ain't nothing like the real thing baby.... Ain't nothing like the real thing."

Marvin Gaye's words of past experiences started playing in my mind... What can I say, I am my father's daughter, I can't help it.

But emotionally warring, it didn't stop there. The song continued as it usually does for me...

"I see your picture hanging on the wall but it don't seem to come to me when I call your name and I realize it's just a picture in a frame"

And then I saw the sweet faces that covered my fridge on 4x6's and I felt a smile grow on my face. A smile rich in feelings for the thought warmed my heart as much as it brought it sorrow. It brought light to my blessings yet sharply reminded me of this newfound distance. Planting my focus on those three blondies, that boy with freckles, the one we call Little,  and the cutie with the fro, I felt what Mr. Gaye must have been feeling when he wrote those words. There is, in fact, nothing quite like the real thing. No one will ever take the spot in my heart that is reserved for those dearly beloveds. Shoot, no one is even going to come close. But that's okay because I have tasted the real thing. I know exactly what it is, and I know it's worth the fight of keeping it alive. When I call their name, they may not come to me from the pictures, but unlike Marvin, I can just as quickly pick up my cell phone and give them a call. Or listen to the messages that they've left me. Or watch videos of them posted on face book. Or skype with them. So, we'll be just fine.

But you know what it brought me back to? This distance between me and my nieces and nephews has just been created and, as a result, has changed our relationship. But hallelujah, moving provides no altercation in my relationship with the Lord. Distance has no power over Him. California is not something new to Him. This place of unfamiliarity has not left me without Him nor does He consider it unfamiliar. In fact, He has lead me here and even still, continues to hold me...To talk to me during church sermons through means that pluck at my hearts chords (70s pop songs).

I can tell that Satan keeps trying to sneak in and prod my heart and taint my thoughts while I'm not looking but every time the Lord wins me over with His love letters. Some days I'll be home by myself and start to get sad when I hear the CD change to another song such as Church Clap and I begin to laugh out loud as I picture my friend Marsha dancing next to Madea and her pals. Or I'll be thinking about dinner and wishing that I could have another one spent with my family at our table on Barnsley Walk, so I pick up a book for a distraction when all of the sudden, the story takes me to a familiar place on Quinbery drive in 1994 as my older sister, Amy, sends Emily and me off to bed with one of her extravagant tales much like the one found in this book. Satan may try but He will prevail and remain victorious... for He is the real thing!

The way I see it is, I can either be sad for the things I do have or grateful for the memories I carry. In one is defeat, the other, victory!

Duty Calls

Our 2300+ mile road trip was in less than 35 hours and my stomach of steel decides to fail me. Hello diarrhea. So, as I do most things, I labelled the irony of it hilarious and laughed about it with my mom, not giving it another thought. Well, apparently this was my stomachs 15 minutes of fame and ignoring it was something less than appreciated. The next day, the day of our warm up road trip, my stomach was down right vengeful. (While planning our big move, Zach (my husband of 10 days at this point) and I decided that the best way to prepare for a cross country road trip was doing a pregame one the day before. His twin sister Anna, and my best friend, was graduating 2 and a half hours away).

 My first mistake was eating an apple the morning of graduation. The fiber did not bode well to say the least. Fortunately I had chosen to drive with his grandparents (please read this soaked in the sarcasm it was heavily dipped in), as my body's defiance forced me to ask them to pull over several times. Finally, I just let the ugly truth spill out and told it to them straight. And that's when it hit me, what I had become: it wasn't but 11 days ago that I was the beautiful new bride who was given the name that this very couple gave to their son who passed it on to my husband to entrust to somebody... and he had chosen me. What a divine inheritance of much celebration and harmony... but the music died and now I'm the girl in the back seat with the runs! (Of course all of this was in my mind, birthed from insecurities; in actuality, his grandparents were mind blowingly understanding and fabulous). Now, I could go on with all of the gory details about how I physically couldn't sit up straight during the entire graduation ceremony, how I had to leave the auditorium so I could go lay on the grass just to feel a moment or two of relief, how graduation lunch was spent only a piece of bread as my body would allow nothing else, or how a carload of people had to end the festivities early to get me home quicker as the sight of my sickness was like (to quote pitch perfect) an elephant dart to the face of all who saw me... but I'll bypass those little stories to present the real issue at hand: we were 10 hours away from our mega road trip: 15 hr driving day, followed by another 15 hr driving day, followed by a 7 hr drive. I could hardly stand the 2 and a half that was just given to me, how was this marathon supposed to work?

So, Zach and I had to decide: Was I going with him or not? The night of graduation, we came home to finish packing the truck. (And I use the term "we" as loosely as you can when married.... my mom, dad, and Zach finished loading, while I sat fetal position on my brothers bed.) Zach brought it to his house to seal the deal and say good bye as I followed him an hour later with my car to be hitched to the back. Driving up in my car and nearly rolling out of the drivers seat while barely managing to lift my head as I muttered a goodbye... only to roll in the back of his grandma's car and lay down offered us the answer we had been looking for. There was no way I could do it.

And that's how our adventure started. Without me.

I told Zach and I couldn't go and because we had scheduled no wiggle room for an event such as this, he had no choice but to leave Atlanta the next morning and head to the West Coast. To use his words "Mom, all I know is that at 6 am tomorrow, I have to be in that car come diarrhea or high waters." I know he didn't want to leave me behind but duty calls. And so the next morning, he left for Cali with his dad and I went to the ER with my mom.

In my mind, I had it going a bit morning romantically. I mean, he and I had been anticipating this adventure since the phone call of his med school acceptance. We had a cooler packed, Dad bought a gadget that allowed us to stream music from our iphones to the radio, my little brother Evan, had made us 8 road trip CD's, Zach's mom packed us a cooler of all our favorite goodies, and Zach downloaded 21 hours of a Harry Potter audio book. We were set! And I don't care how much you loathe unpacking and moving boxes, no girl would trade that for a gown that shows your butt, hours and hours of freezing cold rooms, and handing over a stool sample that looks identical to the 7 viles of blood the doctors already took. Which, sidenote: turns out I had dysentery. Thanks Mexico! 'Preciate it.

Anyway, it turned out to be full of blessings, despite the two days of agony. As a result, Zach's Dad, Coachie, was able to drive out with him and help him drive the truck. Not only that, he was able to help with the unloading, help set up, and help fix house before he flew out. Zach's schedule did not allow for him to do such things and so we would have been without for much longer without Coachie's help. On the other end of things, my mom was able to fulfill her duties as being my primary car taker one last time before Zach took over. She was able to come home from work and check on me, bring me drinks and food when I needed them, remind me to take my medicine, bring me blankets, and all the other nurturing things she had done for me for 23 years. And my dad was able to take me to the airport to send me off. He tenderly parked the car and walked me in all the way to security like he would have done when I was 10 and I was his little girl... because I may not be 10 but I definitely am still his little girl.

Now I'm not saying that if I wrote the chapters, I wouldn't have bypassed some of the pain, but that four day tornado was a whole lot sweeter than it was disastrous, which sang it's own kind of hallelujahs.