All that's changed and remained the same

It's been far too long since I've written. I don't even know where to begin.

My evenings are spent with a giggling 7 month old, and her daddy is so in love with her that it makes my heart burst.

I spend my days in a public high school, 8 weeks away from graduating with my Master's.

So much has changed in the past year(s). I would like to say it's been the happiest of times, but as all life goes, there have been happy times and extremely dark times.

But here I am, loving my husband, loving my daughter, and loving my life.

Spring

The wind is a blust'rin', and the robins have come out.
Tryin' to stay steady while being tossed about.
The lilies are aching to open, the tulips want to bloom.
The sun is a shinin', and I hear a faithful tune.

Spring is in the air, friends! Spring is in the air!
Warmth is on its way, friends! Spring is in the air!

Counting

You say it doesn't count.

But it counts to me.

Months aren't the same as years. So what.

It's still an accomplishment. It's still the beginning of a journey. I still said yes to you instead of someone else.



You say it doesn't count.

But it counts to me.

Months aren't the same as years. So what.

It's still a month to celebrate. It's still the beginning of a race. I still like to remember I said yes to you instead of someone else.

How Can it Be?

How can it be a year and a half? Dancing, laughing, twirling. Etta James cooing in the background. The smell of fresh cut grass and hay. People laughing in the distance. The taste of sparkling cider fresh on my lips. Buttercream icing, waiting to be licked. A bouquet toss. A garter. An entire day's events strung together; a blur in my mind. Warm sun, excitement, destiny- all squished into something called love. Pure love. That's what's on my face and on yours too. Can we go back? No, but we can try.

Empty

Empty nesters they call us. We're supposed to enjoy this time.

No more children filling the house. No more schedules beyond our own.

Instead of freedom, there is silence. You smile at me from across the breakfast table.

Your eyes are smiling, but there's an emptiness behind them.

They are not the same eyes I married. They don't hold the same spark.

You reset your watch to tell you when it's time for your mid-morning nap.

Sticky notes cover our bedroom to remind you where your clothes are.

Rewind five years.

Not a citizen. No license. No purpose. That's what the judge said in his own words.

No jurisdiction. No penance. No punishment.

I still remember the tears blurring my eyes as I saw the defendant across the courtroom.

He had taken my husband and in one second across a center line, had turned him into a shell.

Gone was the man I married. All that was left was a glimpse of my husband.

It took you months to laugh. It took you even longer to say my name the way you once did.

Brain damage the doctor mentioned, over and over again. Patience. Understanding. Sacrifice.

I had no idea how a split second could change our lives forever.

How for better for worse, in sickness and health would be put to the test every single day.

Empty nesters they call us. Free to travel, enjoy, laugh, love. No inhibitions.

And instead, across the table I see your trembling hands and feel my trembling heart.

Some day. . .

Some day I shall get up the courage to share this blog with others besides my husband. . . some day.

The little blue house on Maple Boulevard

     In a little, blue house on Maple Boulevard, I grew up. Maples lined the street, and in the fall the leaves clogged the drains. Countless hours of making salads of whirly-gigs and leaves as big as my face took up my summers, and the asphalt saw many cuts and bruises from learning to use my skates and ride my bike. A little white picket fence bordered the front yard, and I'll never forget the giant Maple tree that took up its area.
     I'll never forget the year the tree came down. Ice storm of the decade, they said, and I remember daddy calling me out to see the magnificent ice fort nature had created just for me and my step brother. It was a beautiful thing to behold, and a child's delight.
     Sometimes I still drive down Maple Boulevard, curious to see how the current tenants have changed it, wondering if my bedroom still has the special treasure hiding spot in the closet floor, or if the yard is as big as I remember it being.

Drooling as I type....

Oh dear. Methinks I must have these.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/201214461/rain-boot-liner-with-bow-boot-cuff?ref=br_feed_35&br_feed_tlp=gifts

More than a shoulder

More than a shoulder, more than a man.

Bunny :)

A little doodling on a piece of scrap paper tonight...makes me wish I could go back to school!

Too Beautiful Not to Post

How gorgeous is this? I LOVE the colors, and of course the succulents. Succulents are my best friends- virtually indestructible, even for a novice gardener. I must try this in the summertime!

Mr. Darcy, the original McDreamy

Who doesn't want a proposal from Mr. Darcy? And now you can have one around your neck! :) I found these adorable scarves on Etsy.com.

 

Instantly in love! (unlike Elizabeth Bennet)

 

https://www.etsy.com/listing/175537549/mr-darcy-proposal-scarf-pride-and?ref=sr_gallery_19&ga_search_query=pride+and+prejudice+scarf&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery

Celebrating the Season

  

Babies.

All around are babies, babies and more babies. Babies running around, babies bundled up, and babies still in the oven. All of our friends are either pregnant, on child number two or three, or trying hard. Never before has it been such a struggle not to define my worth by those around me. I see how their husbands look at them and pay them attention. They have a purpose, a plan, a direction to follow, and here I am—working my job each day, fixing dinner, grading papers and going to sleep before my husband does. It’s hard. But it’s times like these that I must learn to celebrate childlessness.

A voluntary decision I must trust.

We have decided to wait, or I should say, the world has made us wait. Money. Stress. The Mortgage. The Master’s. One thing stacked on top of another. It is a voluntary decision, and one that I hope we don’t regret later, but one that I have to trust.

We’ve only been married a year. Silly to feel useless already, I presume, but it’s still something that women inherently struggle with. We want to please our husbands, and if we aren’t married to a vocal man, it is easy to doubt. What is the greatest way to please a man—we’ve been told to give him a child! But, are we good wives without producing children? Only one verse in Proverbs 31 directly says that the virtuous woman has children, but the verse after is what clinches it, “As does her husband who praises her: ‘Many women have done wonderful things,’ he says, ‘but you surpass all of them!’” The world wants us to think that you haven’t been truly fulfilled yet until you have children.

Finding peace.

I find peace in Ecclesiastes, which says that for everything there is a season.

All I can do is enjoy the moment I am in, and look hopefully into the future, for soon my season will change, and I will be looking back on this entry and laughing, and wishing I had the peace and quiet I do now. . .

Veterans Day

        Happy Veterans Day to my veteran and all the other veterans past and present. We celebrate and appreciate you not only one day a year, but every day that we enjoy our freedom.

Be Still, My Wandering Heart

                                                     
                                                             Gets me every time. Cue the ugly cry.

 

 *Sob* Pass the tissues, please.

 

 

                                                                     And in the end, he did.

Sanctuary

Hello, secret corner of the web,

Here I am again in what I like to call my "sanctuary" time. The kiddies are at lunch, and I have all my papers organized for the next subject, Spelling.

Today is what Winnie the Pooh would call a blustery day. The leaves are dancing and the raindrops are cascading down in angles through the whipping wind. I had to hold my umbrella at a forty-five degree angle on the way to lunch, and I am so thankful I am wearing clogs today. Some of the kids don't even have coats! They are drenched, and it is hard not to tell them not to run back and forth.

I walked outside my classroom a minute ago and there was an orchestra of croaking. I felt like the courtyard was wired with Dolby surround sound. The frogs are talking to each other, and I like to imagine that they are asking each other how they are doing and if they are ready for winter- just like we do.

Not much to write about today except that I am ready for Christmas, but first, two weeks 'til my birthday!

Entirely too long

     Hello, computer universe! It has been entirely too long since I have posted anything to my little secret corner of the web. So much has happened since July, I wouldn't have the time or patience to repeat it all. Therefore, I will divulge the Spark notes version: I quit my job at a bank, and embarked on a great adventure as a third grade teacher!
     I am still newish at my job, so I still have people asking if I like it, and I just laugh usually in my simply Suzanne way, and say, "Oh yes, some days I like it, some days I hate it." Hate is a strong word, perhaps the word irritate is better, however since I am the epitome of melodramatics hate is the word I mentally choose when asked.
     I have the wonderful privilege, and yes, teaching is a privilege, of teaching twenty-three rambunctious, silly and oh-so-tender third graders. Their dreams are as big as the sky, and their bladders are as small as acorns. They kill me. Not literally, thank goodness, but in the humorous way.
     Each day is an adventure. I've gone through already about one-hundred Band-Aids and it's only been the first quarter. I hear "Teacher, I'm bleeding." about five times a day, and luckily I've only had one puking instance, which didn't really produce any puke. Anytime a fly is in the classroom, I must kill it if I wish to get any knowledge across, and I never knew a handheld pencil sharpener could give someone so much entertainment.
     There is nothing better than the thirty minutes of lunch you get each day to take off your shoes, lock the doors, close your eyes and drift into your sanctuary of alone time. Who am I kidding? Most of the time, I spend any break or lunch getting my papers ready for the next subject, picking up trash, running to the bathroom to pee faster than a racehorse, standing at the copier, organizing bookshelves and getting the projector ready. I usually have about five minutes to stuff my salad in my face, and suck down a Capri Sun, all the while grading papers and emailing parents. My record book has grease marks where I've dripped and sipped my lunch off its pages.
     The prize of the day is the beginning and end. They are always happy to arrive, and always happy to leave. Hugs in the morning and hugs at night, and this is what makes teaching so rewarding and addicting. I could get a hug from those kids every morning and every night, and I still would wake up waiting for the next time that I hear them say in an excited voice, "Good Morning, Mrs. Deardorff!"

How to love a husband

How to Love a Husband

Ingredients:

1cu of understanding
1tsp of spunk
3tbsp of fun
1cu of patience
1 3/4cu of "sugar"
1tsp of stubbornness
1cu of faithfulness
2cu of hope
3cu of forgiveness
A pinch of dreams

Preheat your oven to Forever

In a heart shaped bowl, combine understanding, faithfulness, hope, forgiveness, and patience. Set aside. In a 9x13 heart shaped pan, press stubbornness on the bottom, and sprinkle the sugar on top. Pour in the previous set aside mixture, and pour the fun all over it.

Before putting into the oven, take the spunk and the dreams and whip. Place the whipped mixture on top of the pan. Bake for 20 minutes, and set aside and let cool.

Find a romantic place to eat and enjoy! Best served immediately, with a sweet voice.

Chick-a-dees

    

You're Mine

You'll never win a show. You'll never make the news. Your teeth are forever crooked, and your feet smell like leather shoes. Your beard is always wet; your breath leaves little to be desired. Your eyes are always gunky, and you seem eternally tired. Your little belly heaves and sighs, you know you don't really have to try, because in the end my little, Lucy, you'll always only ever be mine.