mexico.

Someone told Sara Bareilles that dreams live in Mexico. I guess I can see that. 

But for some reason, I don't think my dreams live in Mexico. I don't think my dreams have a permanent address. Scratch that, they do. They have their own place. They pay rent, utilities, water, and they even cut the grass after it rains. But they like to leave, they like to go, they like to get out. And then, with a souvenir, a lesson, or a picture, they come home.

My dreams are frequent flyers. They are madly in love with airports. They fly just so they can write at 30,000 feet. They're more motivated there. And so, they board planes as often as they can, they sit in window seats, they stare out into the sky, they reach out and touch the clouds. They get tattoos and don't care who objects, they have perfect hair, they have all the time in the world to get ready, and they exercise often. They dance and sing all day long. They're never scared. They crave big cities and all their mystery, but secretly long for the dependability of a wide open field in a small town.

My dreams play the piano. They hit one key, wait, and hit another one, one that's farthest from the first. My dreams string the first key together with the second, as if they belonged together, as if they were created to be played, together. 

My dreams get the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They don't have to worry about making sense out of two different sides, both with supporting evidence, compelling research, and fancy letters crediting their names. They ask a question and the answer is theirs. 

My dreams own a smoothie shop and make smoothies all day long. They hand out love letters and give two to disbelievers. They make amends with people from their past, ones they let go of after holding on for a long time. They speak out, they are strong, they are healthy {I guess the smoothies help with that part}, and they are constantly growing. 

After my last post on the magic of dreams, I hope you don't mind this continued dream rambling of mine but as I began to write tonight, I caught myself staring off into space, my head rested on my hand like this...which if you ask Joseph, is pretty typical for me. And while staring at one of baby girl's toys that creepily sings whenever the room is completely quiet, I realized that we're flying this weekend and I suddenly got really excited. There's something about airports, I guess you can say they live in my dreams. Well, baby girl's never flown before, so we'll see if she likes soaring through the clouds as much as her mama does.

I think my love of flying was born when I was sixteen and flying to New York for the first time. I had a paper due for AP English that I decided to write on the plane. I still think that essay is one of the best things I've ever written. I only wish I knew where it was hiding. I'm not sure if it was the actual writing itself that I'd categorize as some of my best, but rather, it's impact was incredibly unforgettable. It resonated confidence by redefining purpose, so much so, I wish I could have mass produced it's shimmer, only until I realized it's sparkle was due to it's rarity, and well, mass producing that sort of gem would only devalue it's worth. Impacts like these are hard to come by. The way my sixteen year old self felt when I clicked, "save," and closed my laptop, was like I could do anything, be anything, dream anything, or accomplish anything, as long as it was written within me. I felt creative. I felt capable. I felt worthy. I felt alive. It's that feeling that resonates within my dreams. And I don't know about yours, but as I alluded to above, my dreams seem to have similar habits, they tend to dress alike, and they like to hang out in the same hot spots.

Although we're not going to Mexico this weekend, we are flying, and that means if baby girl grants me a quiet second, I will probably meet my dreams somewhere in the clouds, think with them, pray with them, and catch them at some of their favorite surroundings. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll write with them on the plane, like I did my junior year of high school, but my mama self knows that's probably a little unrealistic with a 10 month-old wiggle worm sitting on my lap. But one thing my mama self's got that my sweet sixteen status lacked, is a little one tugging at her leg asking mama to show her the way. Maybe, on one of baby girl's next plane trips, we'll stare out the window and talk about her dreams and what they look like and where they live. Maybe, her dreams will wear princess pajamas and mismatched socks and camp in forts made out of pillowcases and towels. Maybe, hers will wear ribbons in their hair and eat cereal for dinner. Maybe, hers will be even more random than mine. And maybe, just maybe, her dreams will live in Mexico. But on the off chance they don't, my dreams have first class tickets to wherever hers are.
::

the magic of.

The word, magic, may very well refer to acts of illusion or even deceptive tricks, but the magic of something, a moment, a feeling, or a realization, is as real as it gets.

Our little family went to Magic Kingdom last week and it was really nice to have a mini-family-vaca. It's fun going to Disney World as a parent, especially when you realize the excitement, adventure, and stride you once had as a child, eagerly destined to find Mickey Mouse, is still very much alive. Except in it's full-fledged existence, that childhood spunk which lived for so long in the solo quarters of your own happiness, is now craving company in the form of this new little person. My own experience of the magic of Disney is no longer enough because, as a parent, it's all about bottling it up, wrapping it in the biggest box, and anxiously sitting and watching as the magic unfolds, while your little one unsuspectingly unwraps the sparkle.

Granted, as much as baby girl was captivated by all the smells, sounds, and spectacles of the world of Disney, the magic of Cinderella's castle may have barely primed her dream land walls. {Can you tell we're in the middle of re-doing our home?} Anywho, even though Marabelle was unable to run to catch the princesses, or beg us to ride Dumbo one more time, she sure enjoyed strolling around as she took in all the magic of a land of giant stuffed animals, who walk, and talk, and sing celebratory songs.

This week I've been reminded of the magic of certain situations, like the magic of sunglasses on a sunny day, the magic of your head hitting the pillow after a long days work {working with a baby is rewarding, but it can also be oh, so tiring}, the magic of a yummy dessert after dinner, the magic of a clearance sale, the magic of being productive, the magic of a good conversation, the magic of getting organized, the magic of a baby sleeping through the night, the magic of hard work paying off, and the magic of dreams coming true.

The words, dreams come true, always used to ring the perfection gong, shaking all of me, from head to toe. If my dreams come true, then everything will be perfect, right? Insert the obnoxious, hot pink buzzer sound from the game, Taboo...buzzzzzz! Wrong! Wrong! Totally wrong! It's easy to look at other people's lives and make judgments, or come to your own conclusions about what it's like to be them, and how perfect their lives seem to be. But with any dream come true, or happily ever after, there's a whole chunk of story in the middle that plays out, little by little, and that's the beauty of it all. So, even if someone's dreams may look like your own, and it seems they've arrived at their perfect facade, remember...your dreams are yours, and yours alone, and no one's horse-drawn carriage ride is free from bumpy hindrances. The real magic of a dream is fighting to get there, choosing to believe, and regardless of what may come, or what obstacles await, affording your dream with a fighting chance. Because happily ever after's are not perfect, they're not flawless, and they're not ideal, but they are real. And the magic of a dream is like walking into Disney World with a goofy grin on your face and leaving with that same bright smile, even if the lines to all your favorite rides were way too long, or your favorite ice cream was annoyingly missing in action, or your legs felt like they were about to fall off, because that which is imperfect, can still be a dream come true.

lovin her waves.

::

rest assured.

We're back from our family road trip and unfortunately, we didn't run into any baby bucket swing relatives but all of us, including baby girl, somehow managed to get sick.

And whenever we're sick, we love playing any of the whiny - "I don't feel well," "hold me, please," and "I just want to sleep" cards. So, what happens when everyone in the family feels entitled to play any or all of these needy cards at the same exact time? We throw a welcoming pity party and delegate sleep shifts, soup shifts, cuddle shifts, tea shifts, and even more sleep shifts. Welcome to our sick world...what can I say?

Since baby girl's sleep shifts have required mama's company, (please, don't leave mom - I sleep better when you're near), I've had lots of extra thinking time about life, writing, and this little blog of mine. Like I've mentioned a few times - I've really come to love this blog and to all of you who have reached out in your own special ways to make it a point to let me know how much you love reading - your enthusiasm for my writing makes me want to write more, more, and even more. So, as always, thank you for keeping me company along this writing journey of mine. Rest assured, your company is the kind that I feel safe enough to throw on my favorite sweat pants, put on my glasses, tie my hair back, snuggle up on the couch and just write it out...which, in this commonly superficial world frequently lacking authenticity...me feeling encouraged to write and just be me, is a huge gift you all have given me and I will always, always, always thank you for that.

With that said, I will continue to write here because of how much Marie Tea has meant, not only to you but to me, but there may be less frequent posts {in the next few weeks}, as I aggressively work on finishing up my first book. Rest assured, it's not because I'm not writing, but it's actually because that's exactly what I'm doing...writing. As much as blogging has been incredibly enjoyable, I also have to be faithful to my lifelong book writing dreams...because like I've mentioned here a few times, if we're not faithful to our dreams, who will be?

So, rest assured, I will continue to write blog posts and share parts of my heart here with you, just like I've done from the very beginning. I only ask you to be patient with the frequency of my next few posts. I have a baby girl and a dream and neither one of them are getting any younger...so that means I've gotta chase them both now, while I still can.

Have a great weekend - I'm sure ours will look something like this.

 ::

brave.

You may have noticed that I've been writing more frequently these days. Not sure how I find the time, but this little blog has become really important to me. I've realized it helps my heart breathe {inhale in & deep breath out}, it helps my heart heal, and it helps my heart process all the gravel covering the broken roads. It helps keep me grounded and it helps me believe in the power of bravery. For in life, being brave is half the battle.

I sometimes arrive at this grungy place some of you may be familiar with, the hole in the wall I like to call discouragement. And once you arrive, it's one of those situations where you wish you had bought insurance to secure your refundable tickets because the run-down place was infested with rodents galore. The stench makes you shake in your boots (well, mine are still in storage) but if I were wearing my boots, they'd be shaking. And the worst part about discouragement is it's caretaker is this mean, scary, and intimidating boogy monster named doubt. And his odor is incredibly toxic.

As I breathed in the lethal fumes of discouragement and doubt, the gravity of the dangerous situation hit me and I knew I had to...Get up. Leave. Fast. Now.

There are quite a few things I'm passionate about, but one devotion I'm completely invested in is writing. As much as I love knowing how much it influences other people, like I mentioned in the beginning of this post, it helps my heart breathe. But when it comes to disappointment and doubt, they're scariest when the mirror shows your own image in the reflection. "Am I good enough to fulfill my writing dream?" "Are you really cut out to be a Doctor?" "Do you have what it takes to walk away from him forever?" "Can you truly forgive her for what she did?" "Will they see the good in you or will they stare at your flaws?" These discouragements and doubts may break down our strength by attacking our bravery, awarding them victories in a few ammo-less battles, but no fear - we're not letting them win the war.

I get discouraged and doubt things more often than I'd like to admit. I dwell on things not worth my time. I focus on frivolous meaningless concerns and I let them break me down. It all boils down to the realization that I'm not perfect and I never was, nor will I ever be. I'm me. Imperfect. Flawed. Me. I know me is more than enough for Joseph, but is me good enough for me? Is me good enough for all I want to do and all I want to be? Is she? This girl who's made more mistakes than she can count, who finds it difficult putting herself together these days, who can hardly believe she's really a mom, who stresses out whenever she's late, who analyzes the smallest vain things, who secretly wishes she had all the answers, who struggles with not feeling good enough, and who wants to be better than she is. She needs someone to believe in her, she needs someone to forgive her, she needs someone to be brave for her. Why not the beautiful woman in the mirror staring back in her eyes? She needs to believe in her own dreams so the world can feel her passion, she needs to forgive her own disappointments so she can experience true freedom, and she needs to be brave for her own sake because her imperfect, flawed, and beautiful heart and it's maker are holding their breath.

letting brave win.

::