maternity shoot

 Over Memorial Day weekend I was in cahoots to pull off one of the greatest surprises ever for my tall guy.  Since our move, he has been begging his sister to come and visit before her migration to the south Pacific this summer.  Very quickly, time and weekends were dwindling away and he was convinced that she would not be able to come.

Little did he know that we had a plan...

The Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I lied to my husband that my brother, a pilot, had a layover long enough for dinner here in Atlanta.  This was how I got Mr. F to the airport with me.   A lie.  I think he's forgiven me.  When we got to the airport, he dropped me off at the terminal so I could use the bathroom (because, well, I'm eight months pregnant...), and go find the Stud.  He looped the airport and when he came back to baggage claim, there I was, not with my brother, but his sister!  There were some screams, hysterical laughter, and huge smiles.

I have no photos of them that weekend because they went and played on their own the whole time.  They went to a music festival near Augusta to watch pig races and hear one of Mr. F's favorite bands.  They ate ice cream, toured town, walked, talked, shared YouTube videos, and just had the time of their lives.  I loved when they came home at night brimming with smiles.  With major changes on the imminent horizon for both of these siblings, the odds of them being able to have time like this again is very slim.  I am so glad and grateful that they had that weekend together!

My one request for the weekend was that Sister bring her camera so she could take some maternity photos for us.  One morning, the three of us rolled out of bed with the sun, got dressed, and sauntered into the nursery.  Sister sat us down and took some of the most wonderful candid shots of us that I am always going to treasure.

When I thought about maternity photos, I wanted something that felt more natural to me.  While I love the shots of women in flowing gowns, grasping their bellies in the middle of long-grassed fields, that just wasn't me.  I wanted photos that captured my memories of this miracle pregnancy.  That meant my hair in  a top knot, because I'm too tired to do my hair beyond that, my favorite white blouse, the nursery that I have been pumping all of our hopes and dreams into as we get ready for baby girl, and my best friend.  I absolutely wanted Mr. F with me in the photos.  

Watching my gentle giant prepare for the birth of his first child has been incredible.  He has been so gentle and patient with me.  In the mornings as he wakes up, the first thing he always does is reach across the bed for my belly.  He talks to his daughter constantly, shares his daydreams for her future with both of us.  His capacity for love has expounded ten-fold and it just amazing to behold.

So there are no fields.  No flowing gowns.  Just us.  In our favorite room talking about our favorite girl.  Just us and her books, the chair we'll rock her in, the gown we'll dress her in.  Just us and our girl.  And all the cheese (:

to market, to market

Kind of fitting as my first print to sell at the market, don't you think?  It's taking all sorts of courage to get me to Thursday.  This will be available as a 5x7.

ciao!

 

  

Dude!  Today is our last day in Germany!  How in the heck did that happen?  Those three months went unbelievably fast!  We fly out tomorrow morning for the Great Two Week Family Packing Moving Abroad Visiting Drinking Coke Bonding Over Banana Cake Extravaganza of 2011.  It's gonna be intense. 

Today kicks off our pack-a-thon, though we're doing a marvelous job of avoiding it like the plague.  Luckily, we don't have all that much with us.  But we intend to eat some brotchen, go on a walk, maybe pick up some more cookies...ya know, the important stuff.  Once we touch down in Floridaland, we have a crazy list of things to do.  I have to get my passport renewed with my married name in the next two weeks.  I don't even want to discuss how much that is going to cost. Then there's boxes to go through, hairs to cut, family to pick up from the airport.

Wait, have I mentioned this?  This deserves mentioning.  Due to the fact that we got a job (WOO!!) that is taking us halfway around the world in two weeks (eat that, Jules Verne!  80 days, that's for pansies) everyone is coming to Florida to hang out and go through boxes with us.  Mum and the Tall Guy are flying down from the D and Sista and the Stud are flying out from Salt Lake.  It's going to be nuts, but I absolutely cannot wait to see everyone!  All of my family in one place?  Bring. It. On.

Okay, I should stop procrastinating and least go to the bakery if I'm not going to pack.  Can't pack on an empty stomach, right?

See you Stateside! 

 

what if?

Apparently, I am now a grown-up.  This epiphany just dawned as I have been sitting here for hours, overwhelmed beyond belief because of one itty bitty little thing.


Mr. F got a job offer!


This has been in the works for about a week but we got the official offer today.  It's a killer offer for us and especially for Mr. F.  If you could have asked him what he wanted to do with his political science degree, he would have said this, and this is exactly what we have been offered.

Why is this freaking me out?  Simple.

The job is in Cyprus.

Maybe you're smarter than me, but I had absolutely no idea where this was until two weeks ago.  Turns out it's right in the middle of "Huh???", "Oh!", and "Woah....".  More specifically, an island in the Mediterranean Sea about seventy miles south of Turkey.  (Hence the "Woah...")

Now, Mr. F and I have never had real jobs before.  Yeah, we've both worked, but this gig comes with benefits!  I had almost given up the dream of having health insurance again and the idea of paid time off has got to be revolutionary.  People get paid time off?? Really?? "Woah...."  This alone is a lot for me to handle.  I feel like I've come home from school with permission slips and health forms and need my parents to read over them.  "Is this a good deal?" I want to ask.  The thing is, none of us really knows!  Why?

Because the job is in freaking Cyprus! 

So now we're not only trying to figure out if This is a good offer or  not, but if Cyprus will let us come and live there.  Weird...

Just for the record, when we used to play the "What if?" game, Cyprus was never mentioned.  I think we covered parts of the Middle East, lots of Asia and Europe, but never Cyprus.  You better believe Cyprus is now dominating the "What if?" game.


What if we moved to Cyprus:

Is the Church there?  {yes!!!!!!}
What kind of outlets do they use? {zone G, or like in the UK}
Do they speak English? {yes}
Would we need a car? {TBD}
Do they have bundt pans? {....}
What kind of foods are available?
Are there art supply stores? {yes!}
What about libraries? {yes!}
How big of an apartment could we afford?
How much stuff do we take?
Are there English bookstores?{yes!}
Is the temple nearby?  {no..but travel is pretty easy from the island}
Could Engquist handle the heat?  {umm......maybe?}

So everyone pull out your globes and find the Mediterranean, because so long as we get visas, that's where you'll be able to find us sometime in the foreseeable future!  In the meantime, we've got boxes to go through, yard sales to host, housing to find, and all sorts of crazy outlet adapters to procure.

family tree

 Mr. F and I are about to ride off into the cloudy German sunset for a night in Frankfurt.  We've had a lot on our minds so we figured it was time to visit this place.  I'm incredibly grateful that this opportunity is even available to us!  Before we depart, I wanted to share these wonderful images I just stumbled across from EvaJuliet.  I sense some serious family history and projects in my future!

Happy Weekend!

tack så mycket!

We go back to the States in less than two weeks.  Can you say crazy?!  When did that happen?  My goal, as piddly as it may be, has always been to get our wedding thank you notes written and addressed so we could just plop them in the mail when we returned to normally priced postage. I am pleased to report that I have been writing them fairly steadily, but the addressing leaves a lot to be desired.  As in...I haven't started it.

I just reached the end of my note list (Mr. F is nowhere near done with his.  I won this competition, but no, I'm not keeping track) leaving me with nothing but the addresses.  And then I realized how tedious this process is going to be.  In the nearly six months we have been married, a great many things have happened besides our own numberless moves everywhere.  For the sake of my own sanity, I needed to share the great many changes that have transpired from my end of the thank you list alone to make addressing more complicated.

At least three people on my list have passed away since our wedding in March.  At least.  There may be more.  Two of these three are my grandmothers.  One of these two made my wedding dress and provided the bulk of the decorations for our reception.  She died the day after her birthday.  She never got her thank you note.

My other grandmother's gift arrived in two parts.  Her health began deteriorating rapidly just days before our wedding preventing her attendance.  When I made it back to Florida after Nana's funeral, a giant box was waiting for me in the foyer.  It was a quilt from Grandpa J and L's home in Oregon.  She remembered my fondness of the coral pink quilt and wanted me to have it as I began to set up house.  As if it needed to be mentioned, I sat on the floor wrapped in the quilt surrounded by everything I still had to pack for Germany and cried violently.  Two grandmothers in three weeks.  Really?  Is that necessary?

The second part of her gift arrived while we have been abroad and I'm looking forward to seeing it in person.  An oval serving bowl in our china pattern.  Luckily, I can still write to Grandpa and thank him.  That's been done.

Personally, I don't want to know if anyone else has died.  I don't think I could handle that for a little while.  The other changes to the mailing list are far more joyous, luckily.  Many of my friends have moved since our nuptials took place. Several to Texas and others to places I'll find out as I send them emails.  A few have gotten married, some have had babies, and at least one is now expecting.  A couple have just moved across town.

I've really enjoyed writing these notes actually.  I have such fond memories of our wedding and the people to whom these letters are being written.  It's mind boggling to me that we have been married for nearly six months already, let alone that we have been in Europe for roughly three.  It seems like so little time has passed by, but so much has happened.

In honor of the occasion, here are a few images of our life the past few months.

  

 

paint

This is how I spent my Friday, in between some serious ironing, future planning, cleaning, cooking, a bit of errand running, lots of reading, giggling, talking, and general happiness. If I were a better photographer, you would be able to tell how awesome this is. But, since my vanity has officially been reinstated, I am a painter, not a photographer. I should get a picture of me doing my "I DID IT!" happy dance. Booyah watercolors! Boo to the yah!

P.S. Michigan has a Library Science program...I'm just sayin'....

creatively processing

Nearly every art history class I have ever taken has begun with the Greeks, the fathers of Western culture. One of the greatest components of their society was the dramatic arts. Oratory, comedy, and tragedy, these were what the Greeks treasured. In the latter of these genres, the performance was considered successful if and only if the audience experienced catharsis.

To our modern sensibilities, catharsis resonates with the idea of healing and restoration. While this is true, the Greeks understood catharsis to be so much more. It was a process of purifying, purifying the soul through the exhuming of extreme emotions. Unlike a movie today that may make you cry, a cathartic Greek piece made you feel to the utmost. Grief, sorrow, pain, joy. After this, this period of purging, burning the soul, came renewal.

I have been undergoing this ancient tradition for over a week now through a piece of my own art. Buried knee-deep in old journal entries, letters, and stories, I tackled my current demons through those of my past. I reread much of what I have written over the past couple of years. It hurt. Physical pain consumed me for a couple of days as demons ripped at my heart.

After everything had been read, I cut it all up into little pieces. I reexamined it and the fragments of my soul suddenly made more sense. My heart felt, above all else, a renewed and strengthened capacity to love. Catharsis, my friends, is a horrendous, painful, therapeutic, rejuvenating, peace-inducing process.

amen

Lemons keep falling on my head, but I think I'm finally learning how to make lemonade again. This is thanks in large part to the loving support of family and friends, many of whom read this blog. I have been bombarded with emails and phone calls from many of you offering your shoulders. For this I thank you most sincerely.

I am pleased to report that I am handling the news of OSU well. Other things happened in the subsequent days to downplay the significance of the refusal. My best friend, The Nurse and her fiance SHLM came to visit me from D.C for the weekend. We ate. We laughed. We conquered C-bus. It was a great comfort to me to have The Nurse there, but more to see her so happy. The light in her eyes when SHLM looks at her is intoxicating.

Sunday through Monday night nearly killed me physically and emotionally as a couple of lemon trees landed soundly on my head. Staggering under the weight of the trees, I limped through the days with the persona of a zombie. Calls came in, calls went out. I felt little and what I did feel just hurt.

I've found myself on knees often, pleading and wailing with my Father in Heaven in search of answers to all that has unfolded. Answers were lost in transit as I hardened my heart against it all. I was hurt, but more than that, I was mad. I didn't want to feel the peace my Father was willing to offer because that meant I couldn't be mad anymore. And the anger made sense when nothing else did.

Late last night I got a call from my Liver, a dear friend of mine from days gone by. I cried. He listened. Then he spoke. My Liver talked to me about the wonders of the atonement and the necessity of affliction. As I listened, a wonderful thing happened. I began to feel. Peace soothed my soul and the anger dissipated. Then we shared in what has very quickly become one of my favorite activities: long-distance group prayer.

I've done this several times recently and am extremely grateful for it. Praying together with a friend, loved one, or family member miles away while on the phone together. These prayers have offered me great strength as I not only confer with my Father, but feel the strength of those I love and share in their humble pleas. I have learned more from these simple conferences than I can even begin to express.

With a heart softened and thoroughly beaten after praying with my Liver, I embarked on today. And get this...I laughed! I smiled. I served. Made a new friend. Fostered old friendships. Talked. Prayed. Painted. Lived.

The trucks have definitely left a deep scar, but I think the wounds will heal nicely. Plus, who doesn't love hearing a good scar story?

Thank you again to you all for your love, prayers, and continual support. It is thanks to you that I am on the mend.

I feel like I've been run over by a truck

Better yet, an entourage of trucks. And then they drove over me again just for kicks.

The past few months have been emotionally draining on me, to say the very least. But I was somehow able to pull it together, get my application turned in, and I felt good towards the world.

Then the last couple of weeks hit. Financial chaos. My dad loses his job. Dr. D began his surgery rotation. The Spirit yelled at me. I got massively ill for no good reason. And to top it all off, I came home today to a letter from the Ohio State University telling me....

I didn't get in.

No, this is not some sadistic joke. If it is, no one's told me the punch line yet. After dropping everything, packing up and moving, becoming a resident of Ohio, taking the GRE, and dealing with Buckeyes, I didn't get into the master's program at OSU.

Right now, I'm just at a loss. I'm completely confused, hurt, and dishevelled. My emotional arsenal is completely empty right now. Most of this week was spent in tears as it was, and now this. There are so many options still available to me, but none of them make sense at the moment.

Despite my lamentations over my move here, a constant consolation for me this evening has been the knowledge that I did the right thing. For some reason utterly unbeknownst to me, I am supposed to be living in Columbus, Ohio. So, here I'll stay. I am grateful for my faith, for the knowledge I have of a loving Father in Heaven. Luckily, He has a much better sense of what's going on than I do. I am also fortunate to know how much He loves me and how much faith He has in me.

How can I say this as I've just been rejected from graduate school?

Easy. Life was meant to be a test, to push us to our limits to teach us to reach our potential. Heavenly Father is throwing a torrent at me and I am near what I believe to be my breaking point. But He sees my potential and for some reason it requires these tests.

So, I'll cry. Lament the opportunity to go back to school this fall. And I'll pray. And I will continue to search out a way into school. The bridge might be out, but I have the tools and resources to make the repairs and cross the river. Faith. Family. Hope. Love.

in which I get excited about the future

Remember way back when I got to volunteer at the Springville Museum of Art? Those were happy days in my geeky existence. Well, the geek is back because...

I just got an internship with the OSU Urban Art Space!!

My excitement runneth o'er! I'll go in weekly, get some killer experience, and be surrounded by a bunch of incredibly talented individuals in my desired field of study. All because I sent out some emails and made myself sound a lot cooler than I really am. Little do they know...

scarier than the undertaker, we are meeting the matchmaker

This has happened at least three times since I've moved to Columbus. About three different people.

Me: Something witty, intelligent, or totally off the wall. Probably about gnomes.
Person: Speaking of such and such, do you know Guy?
Me: Yes...
Person: What do you think of him?
Me: I don't think of him.
Person: Do you think he's cute?
Me: Why?
Person: I just think you two would be good together. I'm just sayin'..
Me: Okay. Thanks?

This is verbatim how it happens every time. Different guys being recommended. Different matchmakers. Same questions. Same awkward feelings on my part. And it always ends with "I'm just sayin'." What in the name of all that is good and holy does that mean? "I'm just sayin'." I'm not a mind reader. My estrogen card hasn't come in the mail. Please, please explain what that means! Am I supposed to go and pursue all of these guys now? Is it my responsibility to do so because you not-so-subtley name dropped them to me? Am I so pathetic when it comes to dating that I now need all of Columbus looking out for me? I don't get it. I'm just sayin'...

because I love you

Over the past month, the topic of mammography has been frequenting the headlines and political agendas of the media at large. This is coming at the same time as Health Reform is coming under heated debate. I am not here to give my opinion on the bill up for vote, rather, I would like to share a few thoughts on breast cancer prevention.

This has never been an easy topic for me, but grew increasingly more burdensome nearly eight years ago when my own mother was diagnosed. Since then I have been overly sensitive to the topic. A recent study resulted in new guidelines for mammography in the United States. The base age was pushed back to the age of 50 from 40 where annual screenings would be replaced with biannual ones.

My initial reaction to this news was nothing short of outrage. The radio report I heard explained that the reasoning behind this was that annual screenings were too much of an inconvenience for the patient. Discomfort, undue worry, things like that. Knowing my mother's experience, several explicatives came to mind about these cop-out reasons. Women, in my mind, need to be screened. Period. Screw the discomfort and "undue" worry. My mum would not be here without them.

Thanks to my good friend The Nurse, I have been given additional information, including the report in full, which I am in the process of reading. Because of this research, I now know the following. These guidelines are for the average case, meaning that the rate of screening for most women will really not change. Women with higher risks, such as myself, will still have access to annual screenings beginning at an earlier age. Mammograms are not being eradicated, but in a sense, being made available to more women by changing the standards.

Here's what I see to be the problem. Not enough women get checked. Lack of insurance, fear of the boob-vice, far reaching communities; any number of these things prevent a vast percentage of American women from getting screenings.

Here is my plea. Sisters, girls, cousins, aunts,daughters, grandmothers, mothers, friends, women-get checked. Find out what your risk level is. Speak to your physician about the matter. Know what options are available to you. There are too many options out there to not take advantage of them. While the nature of health care is changing, access to mammograms is still available. There are ways to beat this vicious disease, as these reports are proving. Use them. And if you can't get to a doctor for some reason, use the old-fashioned method and feel your boobies.

With all my heart,

the boob-loving engquist

pivot

packing
planning
praying
photos.

papers
professors
planes
pitfalls.

packing.

pilots
ports.

purpose...

pods
purses
people
pretending.

packing.

picking
pruning
perspective.

projects.

planning
plaster
painting
pencils
placating.

praying
permitting.

mother's intuition

I have never been the girl who was over the moon excited about being a mum someday. I never chose potential baby names for future offspring. Kids and I have never really gotten along all that well. Mind you, I have always wanted to be a mum, eventually. After I learn how to cook, manage my finances, find the right guy who can handle being with me, and earning several degrees of varying levels all in overly academic fields.

Lately, though, a cute baby makes me go weak in the knees and my ovaries start freaking out. "Reproduce! Reproduce now!!" my body seems to be yelling at me. It's weird! I have no idea what to do with this! And it just keeps getting worse. Lebanese children with almond eyes and curly dark hair, black babies with nappy hair, my little cousin Lydia who says "toot" in place of "cute." Do these darling creatures understand how heartless their existence and sporadic appearance in my life is? Apparently not! Just this morning I caught sight of a pudgy baby while running errands.

My ovaries are just going to have to learn to deal with disappointment.