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 (:

watch and listen

Pregnancy has changed me more than I thought possible.  I had been warned about morning sickness, stretch marks, and swelling ankles.  Luckily, these experiences have not been part of my journey.  There has been fatigue, nose bleeds, and the need to slow down.  Our weekend walks look like Mr. F is escorting his geriatric counterpart from the nursing home I move so slow.  But I can still move. 

My nesting urges have been insatiable at times.  I will feel an insane amount of guilt and anxiety if I am not painting wallpaper in the nursery, hanging artwork, or foraging for furniture.  I am learning to ignore these urges to some extent as my body requires more rest and bedtime.  The baby's wellbeing is not contingent on floating shelves, I have to tell myself.  Some days I listen better than others.

The most fascinating change in me, aside from my daily recognition that somehow my body is capable of growing another human, is spiritual.  Almost as strong as my need to nest is my need to know where I come from.  This began with a hunt for names for our child.  Very quickly it became clear to me that I didn't just want to use names from family history, I needed to, even though I could not explain the need. 

So I began searching.  I started with Mr. F's family, as his relatives have done an incredibly thorough job tracking their legacy.  I followed them through North Carolina, Ontario, England, and Scotland, eventually landing somewhere in the 12th or 13th centuries in France.  Nearly 1,000 years of my husband's forbearers stretched out before me.  Their names and locations gave hints at their stories and I could see the traits come to life in my husband.

Then we looked at my family, which was much harder, and is still in process.  I called my dad and he gave me access to his online files.  For the first time in my life, I saw his family tree beyond my great grandparents.  The history I thought I knew was so different.  There were photos and some stories.  Names, dates, locations.  Family.  For the first time, I had a clearer sense of where I came from.  My Anglophilia was justified, as well as my mild addiction to Brigadoon and the Outlander series.  I stared at the computer screen, soaking in the spider web of a pedigree chart and all I could think was, Are they proud of me?  Do they know that their hard work is ushering in another generation?  

My maternal ancestry has been harder to track, due in large part to me losing a printed file full of work my mom had put together.  As Anglo based as my father's side is, my mother's is even more Swedish.  Both of her parents are first generation Americans with records for her grandparents and beyond being either still in Sweden or in Swedish. I am the first descendant since the immigration to pick up Swedish again, and my skills with it are rudimentary at best.  (I can wish you a happy birthday and probably order a hot dog.)

In the midst of my search for my Swedish kin, the most remarkable gifts for baby girl have been pouring in.  My grandfather's infant sleeping gown, sweaters made by my great grandparents, handmade blankets from relatives living and gone.  We have inherited a sweet little rocker that Mr. F was rocked in by his grandfather, not to mention toys Mr. F played with as a babe.  Each time one of these packages arrives, I am filled with the same sense of connection to who I am, who we are.  This little baby we are so excited about is the joy of many, even those came long before her.  

Not long ago, my great aunt and uncle were in town visiting their children and grandchildren. It is a great joy to me that living in Atlanta has afforded more frequent interaction with these sweet souls.  After a delicious dinner, I ended up in the kitchen with my cousin and my great aunt, the three of us catching up and dreaming together.  All at once my aunt disappeared to her room, returning just as quickly with an armful of sweetly wrapped packages.  The largest was beautifully festooned by her other daughters, with calligraphy inscriptions and baby-inspired stickers.  Inside was a tiny little stuffed animal for the baby from one daughter and a handmade blanket from the other.  "As soon as she heard about the baby, she started knitting!"  I was so overwhelmed by the love of these cousins that I know so little of.  We are family and that was enough for them to share in our joy.

The remaining two packages were wrapped in pink tissue by my aunt.  In one was a circular tin photo of my great-great grandmother, whose wedding invitation hangs on my bedroom wall.  The photo is of her as a little girl and I could briefly glimpse what my own daughter would look like.  The last package was my great grandmother's baby book.  In it is delicately inscribed the precious memories of her first year.  There are newspaper clippings in Swedish and English announcing her birth.  Some of the pages are in English, others in Swedish.  Simple phrases marking her growth.

All at once, my Swedish family who I have been trying to find was there with me, celebrating with me, teaching me.

The author Linda Hogan wrote, "Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”  This is what pregnancy and the promise of motherhood has given me.  It is not just expanding my family with Mr. F, it has given me all of my family.  I can feel them with me, carrying me, supporting me, praying and cheering for me.  I hear them calling to my daughter, You are the result of the love of thousands.

first mother's day

Very slowly we're starting to realize how drastically different our lives are going to be in just a few short months.  Beginning an MBA program is one thing, but starting that program at the same time as welcoming your first baby to the world is something else entirely.  Two will become three and one on one time will be a scarce commodity.

With that in mind, Mr. F and I went on a staycation for Mother's Day this year.  Taking advantage of one of the few free weekends we have left before the baby comes, we hightailed it to Lake Lanier for a few hours of sun, floating, and togetherness.

It reminded me so much of some of our adventures in Cyprus.  Whenever we had a free Saturday, we would hop in our trusty little Mazda Familia and drive all over the island until we found a place that suited us.  My belly has been limiting distance and ramblings, but we still found a perfect spot for the day.  We talked, Mr. F napped and read.  Me?  I floated.  For hours I floated in a chilly lake, embracing the fleeting sensation of weightlessness and an ache free body.

This will sound very, very cheesy, but the best part of the day was just being with Mr. F.  We know our time is limited now and seem to be savouring it more than ever.  To have a day to just be was bliss.  To leisurely find moments for conversation, to laugh over things only we find funny, to feed a mutual hankering for Mexican food.  To do what we wanted and do it together was such a sweet, wonderful gift.

cousins gettin' marriaged

In our extended family, I'm the oldest cousin..by a lot.  The closest in age to me is The Stud who is four years younger.  Growing up, it seemed like I would have a "first" and then the others would catch up about a decade later.  Now that many of them are college aged, it seems like life is catching up with all of us.  Two cousins are on missions, two more got married over the summer, The Stud in a week, and yet another cousin in January will tie the knot.

In May I was able to join one of my cousins on her wedding day, a last-minute surprise for both of us.  She has been more of a kid sister to me and it was such a treat to be there on her special day. I was gone for a week packed solidly with family time and, as Kitty would say, making memories.  At my cousin's wedding, we, her unruly family, planted ourselves on the lawn outside the venue and basked in the beginning of summer sun.  I can remember just a handful of times in my life where I have laughed as solidly as I did that week,

Now it's time for The Stud to get married and I can. Not. WAIT!  I'm en route to meet up with him and Kitty to get the wedding prep underway.  I will be out of commission for a few weeks but have some really amazing posts lined up in my absence.  (Think an entire week of DIY projects!)  Let the laughter, bonding, and memory making commence!

why having photographers in the family is awesome

The answer to why it's amazingly awesome to have photographers in the family is easy.  They take photos like those above of our trip to Epcot while mine come out like this...

And we were both using iphones.  I rest my case.

Thanks for taking such awesome photos, Sister!  Can you come back now?  I miss you!

going once, going twice!

CAUTION! Do not scroll down if hungry or on a diet...

I warned you...

I went to a cake auction and spaghetti dinner at church with Dr. Mom and David.  It. Was. AWESOME! Holy cow!  The event was a fundraiser for the youth in the church to get them to camps and other events over the summer.  Members donated cakes and baked goods to auction off as well as chipped in a bit for one smokin' awesome spaghetti spread.  I had been told that this auction was a serious to-do, but I had no idea how extreme the bidding got.  My strawberry lemon cake went for $130, and that was pretty much an average bid.  The highest I heard was about $225 for some glorious looking french bread and homemade jam.  Crazy, right?

My favorite part was watching the actual bidding.  I couldn't sit down through any of it, afraid I'd miss someone's hand flying into the air.  It was just so much fun!  And the place was just packed!  A couple hundred people all came to support the youth.  How cool is that?  I keep thinking of my young women back in Cyprus, wishing I could have done something similar for them.  The event was a huge success in so many ways.  I'm so tempted to figure out how to come back every year just for the cake auction.  What a hoot!

snow, snow, snow...

{turtleneck: pull&bear, vest: salvation army!, scarf: vendor in prague, jeans: ann taylor(old), loafers: target(old), bag: mossimo dutti}

Christmas day we did something we never thought we would be able to do in Cyprus; we went and played in the snow!  The whole drive up to the village of Troodos was sunny and fairly warm.  All it took was one bend in the road (truly), and suddenly Mt. Olympus was a wash of slushy, white snow.  On a day that had nearly been warm enough for two midwestern kids to wear shorts, the snow was a wonderful treat.  Well, okay, Mr. F did wear shorts...he got looks. Severe looks.  We both laughed heartily because all of the natives were bundled like it was Siberia.  It was definitely mid-forties.  Totally balmy still, right?  Still, compared to the extreme heat of the summer, feeling even chilly was pure bliss that made our hearts grow by two sizes.

meanwhile in michigan: greenfield village

Greenfield Village is truly one of my favorite places on the planet.  All of the historical buildings are original and have been brought to the location piece by piece.  I love the variety of it.  At one end there is a Victorian farmhouse, home to the Firestones of Firestone Tires.  On the other end is Noah Webster's home, the father of the modern English dictionary.  As a girl, I learned all about glassblowing, printmaking, potting, and smithing from the various volunteers and onsite workshops.  And every time we went, my family appeased me and stopped at the milliner so I could try on a minimum of five beribboned hats.

Last week my family treated Mr. F and me to a day at the Village.  For me this was an especial treat as I got to show it off to my history loving husband.  I don't know if I loved trying on the hats or seeing Mr. F's reaction to muskets being fired more.  (Maybe the muskets...)  The Village in summer is a lot of fun as they have weekly vintage baseball games, workshops, and war reenactments.  On one day we were able to see a baseball game from the 1800s and an enlistment camp for the War of 1812. (Hence the muskets.)  And I got to try on a couple of hats.  Really fantastic day.

If ever you make it to the Metro Detroit area, be sure to check out Greenfield Village.  It is great for families of all ages (we  have pictures of my brother and I there as toddlers) and never disappoints. 

.....

 A few tips:

If your group is large enough, check out an annual group membership.  Your one day visit will alone cover the cost of it.  If you live close enough, you should just have one.  Always.  No really.  

Pack a lunch.  A cooler.  A wagon.  Stuff a stroller.  This place allows you to bring in your food, picnic blankets, water bottles, whatever.  So while you might want to eat at one of the restaurants once you're inside, you don't have to.  Saves a few dollars and in a way, picnicking on the green really adds to the experience.

Be prepared to walk.

Go in the fall for Harvest Days.  It is one of my favorite times to visit.  The working farm is harvested and are there all sorts of hands-on activities for young and old alike to participate in.  

Go at Christmas.  I don't believe the whole village is open at Christmas BUT Eagle Tavern is.  They put on a special Christmas feast straight out of Dickens.  Amazing food and even better atmosphere.  Book tickets early, they go fast for this.

Ride the train.  

Remember to act like a kid and ask as many questions as you can think of.  The things you'll learn in a few hours will boggle your mind!

Schedule another visit for the Henry Ford Museum next door.  Especially if you have boys.  Check out the website and you'll get why.  (Hint: planes, trains, and automobiles!)

Send me pictures when you go (:  Pleeeeeeasseeee.....

dream cruise

Once a year, the world descends on Metro Detroit for the be-all and end-all of classic car parades, the Woodward Dream Cruise.  Close to 10 miles of main road packed with cars from the glory days and sidewalks stuffed with a million admirers.  We just happened to be in Detroit for this weekend, too.  It was Mr. F's first Dream Cruise, so we introduced him to it with a smaller parade the night before the main festivities.  He oohed and ahed like a true Detroiter.  I daydreamed about owning one of the pickup trucks someday.  Mr. F leaned toward the Corvette.  I'd be happy with either one.

This parade reminded me of how much I love being from Michigan and the Midwest but also how much I love being an American.  Hot dogs, taco trucks small towns, block parties, bar-b-cues, flip flops, barber shops, 7-11, Motown music.   All of it swept over me and made me so proud of who I am and where I come from.  And then we got a $5 pizza from Little Caesar's and I really had to stop and wonder why we live on the other side of the world.