A Celebratory Lunch

I surprised Nathan! I did it! We had a little PhD party at Sam and Emily's, and they came to the door wearing party hats. In my excitement to get everything ready (drinks and cookies, really), I forgot my camera. Our friend, Katie, is visiting from Atlanta, and she was able to capture these moments on her iPhone.

Nathan wasn't sure how to use the iPhone and ended up taking this picture of himself. I love how you can see the tiny tip of his red party hat.

The sign says, "The Doctor."

Congrats to my love!

Earlier in the day, we went on a tour, and Katie took our picture on Palace Green. I couldn't keep my eyes open because of the sun.

"You can just call me Nathan... PhD."

He did it! He passed his PhD viva with flying colors! He's Dr. Parker! He said, "You can just call me Nathan...  PhD." That's a reference to the movie Meet the Parents, by the way. 

We celebrated straight away in our usual way, with Gilesgate Tandoori. Yum!

A little later on we celebrated with cookies and milk and ice cream and beer with good friends.

And we got our dance on! He's movin' pretty fast. He was excited!

I am so, so proud of him, and I can't believe that he's finished. 

Questions?

1. When will you be back in the States?

Well, I'll be in Atlanta in April for my dear friend Beverly's wedding. She gave me the honor of asking me to be a bridesmaid, and someone in her church anonymously paid for my plane ticket. How amazing is that? 

But you weren't asking about that, were you?

Nathan passed his viva with no corrections, which was a bit of a scary thought for this reason: When you complete a degree in England, you have 60 days to leave the country after the university notifies the UK Border Agency you're finished, regardless of when you visa says it expires (which for us is August 2014). However, his examiners were gracious and are allowing him to turn it in in three months' time, which means we can leave after my school year finishes on July 6th (three months + 60 days = July 11th). 

2. Where are you moving next?

We don't know. We seriously have no idea. We could be anywhere in the world. It would depend on if/where Nathan and/or I got a job. We could be in the States. We could be here in the UK if a job opened up for him... or if no jobs opened up and I keep my job while Nathan keeps looking. That would require us getting new visas though, which is a complete headache on a lot of people's parts. I don't want to think about that right now.

3. What kind of job is Nathan looking for?

Nathan's gifts include teaching and preaching (and dancing and dish-washing and lots, lots more), which means we're looking for jobs at universities and jobs at churches. We're in the beginning stages of a new phase of searching (the first phase was before Christmas, which culminated in a lot of closed doors), and I'm trying hard not to nag, annoy, and/or pester him about filling out applications every day. But I kind of freak out about the unknown sometimes.

4. So, what will Nathan do until July?

Besides look for jobs? Well, he teaches two classes at the university here. He'll work on trying to get some stuff published (book ideas, articles, etc.). We are involved with a weekly Bible study with college students, so he'll get to spend a lot more time with the guys on his table. He's been lifting weights with Cullen a few times a week, which has resulted in a lot of flexing in front of the mirror. I'm hoping he'll take this opportunity to learn a bit more about cooking and perhaps practice making dinner once a week. So far he's just suggested that the two Italian boys I teach come over to cook for us. That's actually not a bad idea...

Dr. Parker doesn't know where the camera is on the iPad, but hey, there are all kinds of smart out there. I LOVE THIS GUY!

Love Songs

Let's continue our journey to loving Valentine's Day and talk about love songs. I love love songs. 'Tis true. When we weren't listening to church choir music or Steven Curtis Chapman, my parents were instilling in me a love for Lionel Ritchie, Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, and others. In high school and college, I used to listen to Delilah on the radio (an ironic name for a love guru/soft rock DJ) and enjoyed hearing people's dedications and the songs she picked out for them.

This one always reminds me of Nathan's and my pre-marriage relationship, which was long-distance from the day we met to the day we married. It was my ring tone for him. :)



I remember my dad saying once that Jon Secada wrote the best love songs. This one of his is my favorite.



What an awesome 90s flashback!

And geez... this one almost always makes me want to cry, especially now that they're not making music together anymore. :(



What are the best love songs out there these days? And I'm not talking about ones that aren't for children's ears. What are y'all's "our songs"? Other favorites? I'm curious...

Happy 2nd Birthday Winnie!

This is very belated because I couldn't figure out how to get someone else's (my sister's) Instagram photo to load onto the blog, but IS SHE NOT THE CUTEST THING YOU'VE EVER SEEN?!?!?!?!

Happy, happy 2nd birthday, Winnie! Love, Auntie Coley and Uncle Nathan

Mumers Comes Through for Valentine's Day (Again)

It's no secret that we LOVE care packages. In fact, it's well-documented. The only care package I haven't properly documented since we moved to England was from my friend, Serena, who sent us lots of yummy food, Mary Kay samples, stationery, and a really kind note. Sorry, friend! I still remember everything though! Right? :)

Anyway, just like Valentine's Day a our first year here, we got one a care package from my mom. There was a huge faff with this huge box because we had to pay customs tax on it and then be home when it was delivered, but I paid the tax online and then Pamela was home to sign for it. Yet another bonus of having housemates.

What was inside but Taylor treasures! My mom was at my alma mater a few weeks ago and sent us some treats from my beloved uni. Nathan loves Taylor too... and golf. Hence the face.

He also got a sweet vest (gillet in British terms, pronounced like the French "zsheelay"). I had been on the hunt for one like it the whole time we were in the States, but I could NOT find one for the life of me. This was a great pick by my parents. 

Here he is in his new vest, posing with his extensive VHS collection. It's grown over the years, to say the least. For those of you haters wondering what we're going to do with them when we move back to the U.S., a friend here has already called shotgun on them (bagsied them, in British terms). All 80+ of them. VHS tapes are in high demand here, apparently.

I accidentally took a picture of my new boots, but I actually think it's quite artsy. Well done, me! They're gorgeous! Well done, Mumers!

More Taylor gear, boots (at the bottom of the picture), and some new gloves that allow me to play on my mom's iPad without my fingers freezing off. Yay!

Oh yeah, I French braided my hair for the first time the other day and was really proud. I feel like I'm turning into my dad.

And here are a few more snow pictures from around school...

The sun!

Me and my Narnia lamp post. If only it lead toward Narnia instead of my classroom...

Guest Posting/Thanks

I guest posted over at the Graduate Wife last week, but I forgot to tell you! Go on over and check it out if you'd like... I won't tell you what it's about, but the image below may be a small clue.

Credit

By the way, thanks to everyone who left us comments here on the blog or sent me e-mails, Facebook posts, cards, and private messages about our recent loss(es). As I'm sure you'll understand, it is emotionally exhausting to think about replying to everyone in a way that is thoughtful and personal, but I may get around to it eventually. Even if I never do, please know that we really appreciate your kindness. Like, really.

Thanks especially to those who have experienced infertility/loss/longing in a similar way and had the courage to reach out and tell me so. You are so brave!

Essay on Infertility

A thoughtful essay. I copied and pasted it into a post almost two years ago, and I think I'm ready to share it today. Sadly, I didn't document where I found it, so if you know where it came from, please let me know. (*Update: Thanks Abby! Here's a link to the source.) I can't say I identify with everything she says, but I've felt many of these things...

I resonated most strongly with this: 

Grieving a loved one is a process of sorting through all your hopes for the future, and slowly untangling that person from those dreams. In the same way, experiencing infertility requires a slow release of the dreams that you had of conceiving, carrying, and giving birth to a child. It doesn't mean you can't have a child. It just means that you may have to untangle your hopes of conceiving from your dreams of being a parent.

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Hi, I’m Becca. Although I currently spend most of my time playing peek-a-boo, wiping noses, and driving to play-dates, my life wasn’t always this way. The road to my children was long. So what I’d like to tell you about is the impact of infertility. Some people may think this is too personal of an essay to share, but I would quietly disagree. Too many people are affected by infertility, pregnancy loss, and just loss in general. And yet we talk about it too little.



I wrote this essay way back in 2004, right after I lost my mom to cancer and less than a year before we adopted my son, James. It was not a hard decision for us to choose to adopt. I had always dreamed of adopting at least one of my children and my husband and I both thought it silly to waste time, money, and emotional energy on treatment for infertility when there were so many children who needed homes. However, it *was* extraordinarily hard to come to terms with the fact that I might not also get to carry and give birth to a child.



I know now that things unfolded exactly as they were meant to. I wouldn’t change a thing, even if it meant experiencing every single broken heart all over again. Without a doubt, this is the family I was meant to have and it brings tears to my eyes to envision a world without my James in it. And yet, the grief I experienced way back then was real, and grueling, and pervasive. To ignore or deny that would be to discredit the pain of all those who continue to struggle on their journey to parenthood. With that in mind, here’s what I want you to know.



I have read the impact of infertility can be compared to losing a loved one. When I first read this, I thought it was a hyperbole, that infertility could never bring as much pain as losing someone you love with all your heart. I was wrong. I know this because in the past year, I lost my 53 year old mom to cancer and, in the same year, have realized that my dreams of conceiving a child will likely never be realized.



To those who have never experienced the emotions of infertility, it may be hard to see the comparison.



It became crystal clear to me one night as I was sitting at a football game, surrounded by a new mom and an expectant mom. The game was spent reveling in the miracle of childbirth, chatting about where the best place to give birth might be, comparing the best buys for strollers and baby gates.



To many, this may not seem like a hard situation. For me, it was tough. I was at the beginning of a new treatment cycle, and was still working through the fact that my last attempt to conceive a child, like the thirty before it, had not worked. With only one treatment cycle to go before we officially stopped trying to conceive, I was in mourning. Mourning for the little baby that I had always dreamed of growing inside me. Mourning for the infant that would have had my husband's eyes and my nose. Mourning the feeling of a tiny newborn, one that I had helped create, sleeping in my arms.


If it is still hard to imagine how difficult this situation might be, maybe I can compare it to losing my mom. Except, instead of the huge outpouring of love and support I got when I lost my mom, imagine if nobody acknowledged her death. Imagine that every day was Mother's Day, and everywhere I turned, someone was talking about what he was going to buy his mom. Imagine that I was sitting at that football game, a few days after my mom died, and my two friends spent the entire game talking about their moms; what they were going to do with their moms the next day, how much joy their moms brought to their life, how they couldn't imagine their lives without their moms. Tough situation, right? That's what infertility is like.


When I lost my mom, I couldn't imagine how life could go on. I had so many dreams for our future together.



My mom taught me everything I know about life, and I needed her desperately for all I had yet to learn. As time passes, I am slowly learning that life does go on; that there is happiness here. It's not a bad life...it’s just a different one than I had imagined.


Grieving a loved one is a process of sorting through all your hopes for the future, and slowly untangling that person from those dreams. In the same way, experiencing infertility requires a slow release of the dreams that you had of conceiving, carrying, and giving birth to a child. It doesn't mean you can't have a child. It just means that you may have to untangle your hopes of conceiving from your dreams of being a parent.


As my husband and I let go of our plans to conceive a child, we are pulled in the direction of adoption. I can't help but feel that my son or daughter is out there, waiting patiently for us to help him or her find the way home.


Infertility *is* losing someone you love. I have loved my unborn biological child for as long as I can remember. It is heart-breaking that I will never get to meet her. But mourning also requires moving past the "should be" and learning to live in "what is". Should I get to have my mom as my guide for many more years to come? Yes. Should she have gotten to meet her grandchildren? Absolutely. Should I be able to experience the wonder of a child growing inside of me? You bet. But there is no "should be". Grieving is a process of letting go of the "should bes" to make room for what is.


There are good things here, too. I am a much stronger person than I was a year ago. I have learned the value of my amazing husband, my beautiful friends, and my supportive family. I see with amazing clarity how precious life truly is. I have very little fear left, for the things I feared the most are coming true, and I am still standing. My compassion for those who are suffering has deepened, and I am no longer afraid to comfort them. I have patience for the small trials we go through each day, because I know how hard life can be. I can see God's fingerprints everywhere. I have met many angels in my journey, most them disguised as people here on earth. I am grateful for the truths that have been revealed to me.



Yet, through it all, I grieve.

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