"Don't call it a comeback"

I wrote a three page prelude to this post, then the author told me he wanted to be kept anonymous.
I think the world ought to know the story of our friendship and the day we met, but I will comply. 
I wonder, does anyone else agree with this fella? America's best days are ahead of us? 
I do. 
Maybe I'm too optimistic for my own good, but I'm glad I'm not the only one. 




“The decline of our nation is inevitable.” If I believed that, I would have moved to Thailand after graduating college and never looked back. Instead, over the course of two years I went from being an idealistic, naïve Economics major at the University of Texas to a *somewhat* salted Naval officer coming home from eight-and-a-half months of delivering ordinance to the largest Islamic terrorist network the world has known. However, I’m coming back to a nation seemingly closer to the brink than it’s been in a generation. Racial turmoil; an election asking us to choose the lesser of evils; a federal government in complete gridlock. When we talk about the future of America, you see the polls reflect a citizenry devoid of hope. The vast majority now believe that the US’s best days are behind it, and when looking for the next president, it often feels like many are doing little more than trying to choose the best person to manage the decline. Of course, our politicians do little to quell this feeling. Until recently, most referred to the US in relative terms, explaining that we needed to share the “world stage” with others as our hegemonic status slowly dissolved and gave way to the new giants; BRICS. However, to say Americans are ready to give up on their nation is to ignore the movement Trump has begun. Like him or hate him, “Make America great again” has sparked a movement. It’s a movement of people tired of hearing how we’re losing on the world stage and within our own borders, and ready to take back what should be the goal of every sovereign – their right to strive for greatness. Do I think Trump is the answer for America? Actually, it’s irrelevant, because what gives me hope isn’t the man, it’s the people. Our people can still hope. They still want to believe. They want to have pride, and patriotism, and they want to be the best. The problem isn’t the people. It’s that the embers of their belief haven’t been stoked in so long. If a message as simple as “Make America great again” can produce such wide results, can we even imagine what actual ACTION would do? The moon landing spurred a nationalistic faith in our abilities as Americans to come together and do something great that’s so inspiring we continue to make films about every aspect of its production. “The decline of our nation is inevitable.” It was a sentence spoken by one of my fellow officers on the bridge of our ship recently while underway. I was Officer of the Deck, and we were getting pretty philosophical (as one is wont to do after eight months of conversing with the same people non-stop). I explained I believed America’s best days could very well be in front of it; she was less optimistic. In the tradition of the British, Spanish, Romans, Greeks, Phoenicians, and Egyptians before them, she saw what’s happening as the inevitability of a nation as powerful as ours. We’re spread too thin, the people are undereducated and overexcited, and no one really cares anymore. But she’s wrong, and the proof was there in front of her. Because I’m here. And so is she. And so are all 300 of these men who have sacrificed so much to defend their nation and wipe out evil so far from home. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah is well-known. God has given up on two major cities that have been overrun by their sinful natures. In a desperate attempt to spare the city of Sodom, in which his nephew Lot resides with his family, Abraham asks God if He will spare the city if just ten righteous people can be found within its borders. God agrees to spare the people of Sodom if only ten good people can be found. If a city can be saved from God’s wrath by ten, then I see no reason to doubt our nation’s own resilience. As long as I’m alive, evil hasn’t won. As long as I have hope, the embers aren’t dead. As long as I fight, the shadows can’t overcome. As long as I’m here, you don’t have to worry about America slipping into the abyss; because even in my lowly position, I promise to do everything I can to stop it. …but I sure wouldn’t mind a little help.

Strings

Every now and then the military world gets a nod. When a new movie debuts our world gets a sympathetic look of empathy, people try to understand us for a moment. Then, a Kardashian posts a new selfie. A Medal of Honor recipient retains a solid fifteen minutes of acclaim and then Kanye tweets. It's a cycle, but for most of us these moments don't fleet and they don't fade. Several of us connect and can't forget. An airport means coming and going, which means so much more than coming and going. A flag at half mass means twenty-one guns for you, and then somehow it gets really really beautiful. Transcendent, really. When someone asks for a photo ID, you feel yourself flashing them a peek at your whole life. You basically say, "here is a layer of my skin, look". These moments come and they stay, they stick to your bones and they cover your ID card with layer upon layer of memoirs. It's more than a viral photograph of a young child clinging to a uniformed soldier, it's the sixteen times you were the child in the photograph. It's hard to relate to the people that don't hold these memories in heavy arms at all times. I think it's okay to love but I also think its okay to leave. Like Tim McGraw recently crooned, "Don't take for granted the love this life gives you. When you get where you're going, don't forget turn back around, and help the next one in line". 

"This is for the people who find it difficult to leave, whether that is to leave people or places. This is for the people like me, that build homes out of everything we touch. Every inch of skin, every page in a book, every stranger's kiss. This is for the people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, and on their lips, and for those that carry it in the palms of their hands. This is for the girl with a hundred strings tied to her, tugging her in every direction except forward. This is for you. This is for me. We are nomads who find homes that temporarily house our hearts, we are travelers that never leave our home towns. This is for those who are afraid to cut the strings, for the people who are afraid to leave the places that our hearts have grown so comfortable in. Cut the threads, set yourself free. We'll find new places, we'll find new homes. " (a.y)

Don't forget. Turn back around. Thanks Tim McGraw for acknowledging that it's okay to "get where you're going", to cut the "strings" finding new places and new homes, but its also okay to not forget and turn back around. It's the military way of life, to jam your memory bank with old and new. The idea of jumping back in time while facing forward, it's an honor. It's almost like when they were inventing military brats, they said "Here, juggle this foreign thing. Wait, check out this brand new thing. Hey, what about me? What's your name? Open this box full of memories in this clean blank slate room. Know your phone number, then your other number. Remember when..? Will you be here like you were last time?" It's like we find tragedy in leaving and tragedy in staying, until we realize it's not tragedy it's love. We love what we are leaving and we will love what is coming. I don't predict the future, but what is coming eventually becomes what we are leaving. I say we cut those strings, but we double knot tie them to a really safe strong tree.

Brat to Bride Part 2

Another intro, this time coming in hot from EmmaMae, Gretchen's best friend. After Gretchen and I published her initial guest post, Emma wrote up a blurb and shared the post. Here are her words, they are the perfect follow up to Part 1 and the perfect introduction to Part 2.

"This hit me hard, I encourage you all to read and share this post about the army brat, specifically the special operations brat. Guest post by Gretchen Christopherson, my very first best friend growing up, but to this day I think of her as more family. We lived 3 doors down from each other for five crucial years, we absolutely relied on each other, it was nice to not have to explain our lifestyle to each other. I didn't have to explain my dad was gone again, and that I didn't know where he was or when he was coming back and vice versa. It was okay that sometimes life got hard and we had marathon sleepovers for 3 days or that I didn't do my chores at my house and her mom was yellin at me to go home and get them done. It's hard for me to talk about this timeline of my life without crying, but Gretchen does a beautiful job to explain our immense amount of pride in the sacrifices that our families have made for the greater good. She talks about her dad, who I still attribute as a very influential role in the person that I have become. He was intimidating as all hell, not just in stature but in demeanor as well. However, when he cracked a smile or gave you a high five after a great at bat he was Mr. Jim. Our dad's were gone a lot, but I don't remember that or I think I choose not to focus on that."

Now, read about Gretchen's journey from Brat to Bride. 

Brat to Bride (Part 2)

I grew up, went to college, and got my first real job in Fayetteville, North Carolina. 

When I was in 7^th grade I decided that I was going to become a golf professional and that I wanted to study professional golf management. Methodist University had the best golf management program in the country and at the time had the number one Division III women’s golf program in the country. It was the perfect school for me! Except, it was in Fayetteville. 

I graduated from Methodist University in 2011 after winning four team National Championships. After graduation I applied for jobs all across the country, some in Arizona, South Carolina, Tennessee. I was determined that this was my chance to get out of this place. I landed a pretty awesome job at a golf course in Southern Pines, North Carolina. Southern Pines is pretty much the next town over from Fayetteville. Why couldn’t I get out?

Dating in Fayetteville is hard enough, having sworn off 90% of the male population because of their occupation made it impossible! But I still tried. I just steered clear of any man with a buzz cut. After two years I found that the men I was dating just weren’t cutting it. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with them. They were all just missing something. My parents raised Kirsten and me to be strong independent women who would never need to be dependent on a man.

 “I will never surrender though I be the last. If I am taken, I pray that I may have the strength to spit upon my enemy. My goal is to succeed in any mission – and live to succeed again.”

My dad never quoted the Special Forces Creed growing up but he most certainly instilled its values in his daughters. It was proving to be very difficult to find a man who could handle a woman with these values instilled in her. 

Kirsten found her prince charming pretty quickly. Justin and Kirsten dated for a couple of years when they were in college. I remember she came home from school once and broke the news to me. She told me, “Gretchen, he wants to join the Army when he is done with school!” DO WHAT!!!! NO! NO! NO! I remember the look in hereyes during this whole conversation. It wasn’t one of fear, or anger, or “Oh great here we go again”. She was very matter-of-fact about it. Her look was the same one I saw countless times growing up. It was the one she gave my dad when he left. The look of, “This is what we do”. I knew then that she was going to marry him, soldier or not. She  obviously doesn’t know how to keep a pinky promise!  Kirsten got married to Justin in July of 2010 and I am so glad they did. Justin is like a brother to me, he is an amazing man, a great dad, and is the only person on this earth who can keep Kirsten in check! 

I remember the conversation I had with my parents after my last serious break up. I remember telling them, “I’m really nervous that I’m going to end up marrying a guy in the Army.” My mom laughed pretty hysterically and my dad just chuckled a lot. “What is so funny?’ I asked. My mom finally calmed down, turned looked at me with a serious demeanor and said, “Duh! That is the type of man you need!”  At this point I still wasn’t ready to give in. So I decided to join Match.com to find a nice man…who wasn’t a soldier. 

  After going out on countless awkward first dates that never led to a second (Thank God!) I decided I needed to reevaluate my situation. What was I so afraid of when it came to the Army life? I realized what I was truly afraid of was turning into my mother. Ok, that sounds bad. So let me clarify. My mom was the glue that held our family together. When my dad was gone she shouldered everything. Now being an adult I am starting to understand more of how amazing my mother truly is. I digress, that is for the next post. I was afraid that if I married a man in the military I would end up taking care of two children mostly by myself and be alone the majority of the time. Well I realized that was crazy! I was looking at the situation as the child not as the adult. As an adult I would rather be with a man who I love and who loves me even if they are gone a couple months out of the year. So I decided I would try and find the man that was meant for me and worry about his job later. 

On January 6, 2013 I was set to go on a date with a man I had met online, Sean. I was driving to our date talking to my mom on the phone. I was telling her how much I didn’t feel like dealing with yet another terribly awkward first date. I was thinking of standing him up when my mom said, “It’s not online dating if you never go out on any dates, that’s just called online!” I decided to suck it up and go. Hey, if it really ended up being that terrible at least I would get free dinner. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s the truth. Well it wasn’t terrible! Sean and I stayed at the restaurant until it closed that night and we went out on dates almost every night for the next month. We couldn’t stay away from each other. Early on both of us knew there was something special between us. 

On January 4^th 2014 just a few days before our first anniversary, Sean told me he was ready to spend the rest of his life with me, got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I of course said yes and we got married on October 11^th 2014.  It was by far the best day of my life and something I will never forget. 

Sean is the most amazing man I have ever met. I am so thankful to have met a man that loves me for who I am and who doesn’t want me to change. All of the qualities that had caused my other relationships to fail were the same qualities that Sean loved the most about me. He loves my ability to be independent and my strong personality and he shares in my patriotism. When Sean and I are together, I know we were made for each other.  

One of the qualities that I love and admire most about Sean is his selflessness. He always puts the needs and wants of others before his own. This is a quality that I believe was passed on to him by his mother! I think Sean’s selflessness is a big part of the reason he joined the Army and I know this quality is why he is successful.  

So in the end, I gave in! I married an Airborne Engineering Captain. Sean is a Ranger, Sapper, and a Jumpmaster. He just recently finished a company command in the 82^nd Airborne Division. I am so proud of Sean and everything he has accomplished in his career thus far. 

I used to think getting back into the Army life would be like getting sucked into a tornado tossing you around untilit finally spits you out. I now look at the life as an opportunity to go on countless adventures with an amazing man! I can’t wait to see what the future holds for Sean and his career and us as a family!

                         Gretchen Christopherson 

Howdy

Posts are on the way. 

God bless, 

Bette 

New Spin on Spring Cleaning

Spring Clean

more like 

Spring Projects

We are still pursuing a life sans cardboard boxes, but in the midst of unpacking and establishing room in our lives for things we haven't seen in ten years, we've found aslyum in projects. 

Fun projects, like industrial shelves made out of wood from the Kiabab National Forest, which borders the north and south rims of the Grand Canyon. 

(gathered with a permit of course)

Our new projects are all centered around incorporating components of our gypsy life, where we have gathered and accumulated everything under the sun. Some of the treasures that we love, revolve around my Momma and I's vintage glass obsession. We've collected/inherited some stunning pieces and they've finally got the opportunity to be debuted. The shelves that my family have been working on are ideal for switching out pieces periodically, especially since the shelves are so accessible. Every couple of weeks or so the shelves you'll see photographed below, get a little facelift and don different colored glassware, usually in tune with the season. Blue and yellow have been the inspo as of late because of all the rain and humidity, as we've transitioned from April showers to May and it's lovely flowers.

The following photos showcase two pending creations. They aren't quite complete but I wanted to display a peek for those who have asked about our home decor. Especially since my Momma documents ongoing projects so well on her instagram account. 

This coffee table is still being developed. My family went out to my Grandpa's wood barn and built the table top. We are still waiting on parts that have been ordered to accentuate the wood and complete the metal framing. 

Not only do we have beautiful authentic wood native to the area, we also have some stellar worn and weathered barn house wood. Those projects are well underway (just wait until I post some photos of those). Prospective projects and downsizing are gaining priority on our agenda, especially with spring and summer upon us. AKA....it's yardsale season and we are yardsale veterans. Prior to every move in my life, was a yardsale. Moving trucks can only hold so much, and one of the harsh realities of this life, is you can't take everything with you. You leave things behind, like friends, spectacular running trails, and the most heavenly tasting ranch from Dion's in Albuquerque. As you venture off to discover new vices, like the best mango sticky rice Thai food joint, mouth melting sugar cookies, and a vicious new running trail where you can pass blooming prickly pear cactus, you get to meet new people. One of the cool things about getting rid of things is the chance to leave them in good hands, appreciative hands. As happy as we are to see so many old treasures, we are also looking forward to passing them off to our new friends and neighbors out here. This post is my spring project pep talk, game on. 

What projects are you all dreaming up? And are any of my PCS-ers hunkering down for a yardsale?

over&out 

b 

Pringle Way [Guest Post]

I can easily identify some of the pivotal people in my life who, early on, shaped me into the woman I am today. Gretchen Christopherson, or Gretchen McLean as I knew her, is undoubtedly one of the most influential. I used to live in a small town, on a little street, with a yard filled with pine trees. Gretchen lived three houses down. She was my best friend by proxy and also my nemesis. By proxy because she was actually my older sister Emma's best friend and since I was the two-years-younger glasses-wearing-little-sister, I felt the need to argue with Gretchen over nothing and everything. The messes I got myself into 'cause of them two, the hours I spent in time out, and the seconds I spent trying to convince them I was cool, took up a chunk of my childhood. Embedded within those years, were the few rare times that it was just Gretchen and I, one of those times resulted in the two of us illustrating a mural on her driveway, in crayola crayons. Whoops, or shit dammit (according to our parents) I will never forget the two of us scrubbing her driveway with one hand while eating grilled cheese sandwiches (that my mom made for us) with our other hand. Who cleans with two hands anyway..

The other times I hung out with EmmaMae and Gretchen usually involved me cleaning Gretchen's bedroom while they did fun and important things. The thing is, they weren't bullies per se, but.. I was cleaning her room, even if I thought it was my idea, let's face it... It probably wasn't. Her dogs scared me always, her pool was my sanctuary, and every morning I got chewed out by the whole car pool crowd while we waited for me to finally put on my seat belt (because I refused). I had my first taste of Nutella in the McLean household. Surprisingly, I remember a great deal from that time. Gretchen was an extreme sass machine and she and I scared the bejeezus out of our neighborhood because we were constantly competing for Sass Ass Queen. I'm not exaggerating, she and I had some sort of illness where we were sass from sun up to sun down. Like heaven help all those other kids that walked home the same route as us, I'm sure none of them have ever been the same. Gretchen always had my sister's back, when Emm was beating up the second grader nincompoop that tried to choke me (a kindergartner) out, Gretchen was sitting on the curb holding me as tightly as she could. Then when we finally skidaddled home she bursted through our front door screamin' " Ms. Kim, Ms. Kim get ahold of the principal we gotta problem" and helped us tell the tale and iterate that this was in no way our fault. That's a story for another day though (Emma and the ass kickings she gave people on my behalf) {disclaimer: Emm basically just had to look at them and they'd run the other way}. So, those two gave me street cred, that I desperately needed because my mouth got me into a mess of trouble.

I was talking to Gretchen on AIM once when my dad was deployed to Afghanistan, we were catching up and she said "Wait, whatttt...you ain't pregnant or in jail yet? The whole neighborhood thought you were gonna grow up wild wild". Clearly she was joking but also not, I had this whole brainiac wild child thing down pat. The conversation shifted and Gretchen reminded me that my dad being gone didn't warrant me anything, no excuses, no free passes, and certainly no permission to act out. Maybe I needed the reminder, maybe I didn't but Gretchen and I had that kind of relationship. Nowadays we send emails periodically and for awhile we'd text every now and then, but we still have a relationship where we protect one another, love one another, and most importantly (to me) we understand one another. It's so hard to find someone that gets it and that's why I write this blog. I write this blog because I remember a time in my life where I didn't go a single day without Gretchen bursting through my front door, a day I didn't watch her and my sister play softball, or a time that I don't hear Britney Spears songs and think of her. (Gretchen could gyrate her little hips like nobody else, little dancing queen) I write this blog because of the people that just get it, Gretchen has been one of my cheerleaders through this project urging me to press forward. We have had several emails back and forth and it's time for Gretchen to share some of her story, I couldn't be any more honored to have her words on this space. The plan is for her to share a little at a time and her first installment comes today, so stay tuned because you're going to want to read the rest about a girl who went from "Brat to Bride" (Part 1).

Brat to Bride

I have been an Army Brat all of my life, but I grew up unlike most. I am more than just an Army Brat I am a Special Forces Brat. Special Forces is an elite group of soldiers within the Special Operations community who are “called upon to conduct critical missions in the face of overwhelming odds.” 

Before September 11, 2001 the majority our military was enjoying peacetime. This means the conventional Army wasn’t constantly deploying like they are now. They were mostly conducting training missions. In Special Forces peacetime doesn’t exist. There is always something going on in the world that our Special Forces soldiers get asked to handle.

My Dad was deploying constantly through out my childhood. He would be gone for 6, 8, or 10 months at the drop of a hat. (At least that is how I felt) Even though my Dad deployed regularly there are very few Special Forces bases, so unlike most Army Brats that complain about moving from base to base we had the luxury of staying at Fort Bragg. In turn we encountered a different problem. It seemed like every time I would make new friends, they would move away! 

My father is and has always been one of my hero’s! He spent 23 years fighting for what he believed in with all of the conviction in the world. He has always embodied what a Special Forces soldier is supposed to be. He took his job as an American Special Forces soldier as seriously as possible. He knew that at all times he was not only representing his

country, Special Forces, and the Army, but he was representing all of the those who had come before him. 

“I am a volunteer, knowing well the hazards of my profession. I serve

with the memory of those who have gone before me: Roger’s Rangers,

Francis Marion, Mosby’s Rangers, the first Special Service Forces and

Ranger Battalions of World War II, the Airborne Ranger Companies of

     Korea. I pledge to uphold the honor and integrity of all I am- in All I do.”

Growing up in an environment where your loved one is constantly

leaving is hard and I never handled it well. If my Dad deployed for six

months I was most likely crying myself to sleep every night.

My Mom tells a story about me when I was three. My Dad was deployed and had been gone for a few

months. He was finally able to call and I wanted to talk to him. I told him that I didn’t know why he just didn’t come home already. His response was the Army wouldn’t let him. I told him I wanted to talk to the Army then and I would fix it. (Even at three I had quite the attitude.) So my Dad put one of his friends on the phone and he said, “Hello this is the Army.” “Hi Army. My Dad said that you won’t let him come home. Well I miss him and I want him back. You need to send him home now.”

When I started kindergarten, my Dad was able to take a year off to finish his college degree. He did this through one of the Army’s educational programs. When he went back to work he deployed almost immediately. I was beyond distraught and I did not handle it well. I could see the guilt in my Dad’s face when I would cry but I couldn’t stop. I think a part of me felt that if I made him feel bad enough he would stay. Well he didn’t. Before he left for that trip my sister taught me what ended up being the biggest lesson of my life. Kirsten was 8 or 9 and I was about 5. She came up to me and told me that I was being incredibly selfish. How dare I make my Dad feel badly for leaving! He was leaving to go to these countries to help people. I had two parents at home who loved me very much and that our Dad was going to go help children who didn’t have anyone who loved them. How dare I take that away from them and how dare I make our Dad feel bad for wanting to help them!

From that day on I looked at my Dad and his job completely differently. I no longer felt abandoned. I no longer felt like my Dad would rather spend time in foreign countries than at home with my Mom, sister, and me. I knew what he was doing had a purpose and that it was meaningful. It still hurt when he was gone, but I had a new perspective. At that point in time I became a Patriot.

My Dad retired from the Army in 2005. The day he retired was like a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I would never have to worry about getting the news that he was leaving again. I would never have to wonder why he didn’t call home at a time he said he would. I never realized it but I had

grown up in constant state of worry. Would today be the day he would get deployed? Would he come home from his training exercise? The news said a soldier was hurt on a jump today, was that him? My childhood was an interesting one, but one that I wouldn’t change for the world. I learned the importance of being an independent woman from my mother and I was taught about the greater good from my Dad. Although I loved my childhood, my sister and I vowed to each other that we would never marry into the military. The lifestyle was not something we would put ourselves through again, especially not willingly.

“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.” 

Proverbs 19:21

{ Happy Retirement Mr. Jim}

"That's the world, Baby"

My extended break is intended to separate me from all the New Year bloggers, the ones that want to blog about fitness, recipes, and fashion. A resolution blogger is much different than a blogging Brat, or this blogging Brat at least. Now that you're through reading about cleanses and smoothies make-up routines and whatever, do I have your attention again? Ha, okay fine. I'm teasing. This break has been entirely because I bit off more than I could chew, my time exclusively went to my family this past month(s).

<WE MOVED>
Oh, and amongst all that move jazz, my family got to spend Christmas together. All together. Hallelujah. I didn't get to see all my cousins or all my grandparents, but my parents and all their kids were present, that's a win.
The holiday was amuck, amazingly amuck though. My boyfriend joined my family for the holiday and saved my procrasinatingly, grumpy, disorganized, grumpy, behind. Yes, grumpy was intended to be listed twice. I was a monster mover, it got the better of me, it still kind of is.
The HGTV channel ticked me off so much this last while, I have been desperate for completion, order, and even design. (when I should be grateful for family, shelter, and every survival mean imaginable), but I'm craving a big finale finished reveal. But, what's that they say? "Life's all about the journey.." Well, they're right. Dammit.

This move was pivotal, and it's ongoing. And, and, and..I could keep going.
Here's what I know, my sweetheart and I got to pass a bridge, the move-bridge (that's a thing I swear), we both told each other how much we dislike one another's moving methods and thought "oh lord help us" the whole time. But the bottom line is, he was a tremendous help, and I had to choke back "I'm sorry" tears time and time again. He has this hidden talent super power of patience, it's awe-inspiring. Life has a way ya'll, I am stunned by his big heart and all that my parents and siblings have accomplished these last several months. Our last shipment arrives this month, yay, I finally brought all my ball caps in from the garage, yay, and the one of the minuscule yays? We have things hanging our walls. This shouldn't be such an emotional triumph for me, but somehow it is. Things on the wall. The writing on the wall or what have you.

Which reminds me, I've known my sweetheart quite awhile. I should have known he was going to last when he MADE me, and by made I really mean made..forced actually... me to hang things up on my apartment wall my first year of college. He got up, dug around my apartment for a hammer and nails and threw some decor on my walls. Hammered into plaster, crooked, buut hung.
It's the little things.


























Now, photos.
Prepare for a hybrid of Italy-move and America-move documentation.
I'll share five for now.

Reunited. 

Chaos. Don't judge..

Speechless

One day there will be handles on this. "eventually" (when we find them)

Painting is TORTURE. all caps necessary. But when your Dad paints your name in Kentucky Blue are things really all that bad?

Okay, I've learned to despise the word eventually, yet I keep using it.. and lastly, I love my family. Thank heavens for them and my boyfriend. 

(My professor said "That's the world, Baby" during a lecture of his recently and it fits in with this post just right) 

Over and Out. 

B