My first date

I married my crush; we met in high school. I didn't meet him on an elevator ride to an important executive meeting. I didn't spot him across the way at a fancy restaurant. I fell for him when were oh, 14, both in thick-rimmed glasses, yet to come into our own. Still rolling up our jeans legs and playing hackey sack.

I believe every love story deserves to be told. It takes us women to a fairy tale place we frequent too little of the time.

One of my favorite books by John and Stasi Eldridge, Captivating, spins it best:

"...being romanced isn't all that a woman wants,

and John and I are certainly not saying that a woman ought to derive
the meaning of her existence from whether or not she is being or has been romanced
by a man...but don't you see that you want this"? To be desired, to be pursued by one
who loves you, to be someone's priority? Most of our addictions as women flare up when
we feel that we are not loved or sought after. At some core place, maybe deep within,
perhaps hidden or buried in her heart, every woman wants to be seen, wanted, and pursued. We want to be romanced." (pg. 10)

As high school sweethearts, Shawn and I fall into a minority of married couples. We get lots of, "oh, that's cute." It's probably better for everyone that my dating endeavors didn't go very far...because I was stupid. My dating history, B.S. (before Shawn), is a series of disasters I barely survived to speak about. For instance, my first date went something like this:

Phone call from "Hugh": Hi, Mindy. I just called "Betsy" to see if she wanted to go see a movie but she can't, so, do you want to go?" I was his second choice. A smart woman would never concede to second tier. But I wasn't yet a smart woman and wanted to get my first date out of the way. I wasn't even remotely flattered, for his head was a tad too large for my taste. But stupidly I obliged and primped like I was going out with Johnathan Taylor Thomas. I wore light wash jeans, a blue sweater with a stripe across my flat chest, and faux leather Payless loafers.

We drove to a nearby town with a "nicer theater" and all the while I'm praying he won't try to hold my hand. I said more dear Lord's under my breath than I had since revival. As we watched Mr. Magoo, one of my guardian angels must've been working overtime to save my soul...or, rather, to save me from having to hold hands with this dude. Isn't that what kids did at the movies?

We drove home in silence. Grateful to have reached home, I was ready to go inside and watch Bewitched or listen to DC Talk and play with my hair (*no life*). No such luck. Hugh insisted on coming inside and he and my mom had a nice ending to our first/last date. I felt like the third wheel as they exchanged chatter over sugar cookies. We said our goodbyes and I thanked him for a pleasant evening. But truly, my 16-year old heart was alternately disgusted and embittered about the dating thing. This was what I'd been waiting for? Lesson learned: wait for a hot one to sweep you off your feet...

...to kiss you, with silent Christmas lights as witnesses, on a snowy, glistening evening.

ringy ding ding bringin in the new year

Convinced I'd be unsuccessful at hiring a sitter with nil plans on New Year's Eve, I opted to entice our friends with a homemade pizza at our pad proposition, hoping they'd "bite." And they did! We were honored.

The last-minute shindig proved to be the perfect way to ring in the new year, though our company was gone by ten. I especially welcomed the girly talk time.
Marley made a new friend, but appeared unamused, if not terrified.

I got a new book and I'm SOOOO pumped.

I can't foresee what the future holds as I evolve as a mother. Perhaps I'll be home with our babies until they are ready for kindergarten, then I'll go back to work. Conversely, I could be doing the PAT/recess volunteer gig until they are well into grade school. My 1 1/2 children are little for just so long, and I am content to be home with them, tending to their needs, kissing them as much as they'll allow (but mostly more).

At times I feel I'm ill-suited for this venture. It's messy and stinky and exhausting sometimes, but so very, very important, precious, worthwhile. I lie awake thinking of what Wilder will accomplish one day; who he'll become and what he'll want to do. I hope the energy I've invested into his little heart will help him understand he is capable, independent, smart, wonderful, worthy.

I've taken to reading and writing in full force. You know those serendipitous moments that only occur in movies? I had one of my own! We were in Winfield for Christmas #3 and decided to have lunch at the coffee shop. Chicken salad on croissant, with fresh fruit. Their high chair was broken, so Shawn and I took turns watching Wilder. As Shawn neared the fireplace, he spotted a book that had been donated to the shop, The Daily Writer: 366 Meditations to Cultivate a Productive and Meaningful Writing Life, by Fred White. He handed it to me without having to say much; we'd already been discussing my recent submergence in literature. I was quickly absorbed in it to the extent his parents had to talk around my buried face...for awhile.

I couldn't believe there was a book of its kind-all about writing-one that wasn't wishy washy, one that was stern enough to impress a daily writing habit. So I bought it at Barnes and Noble the next day and have read ahead ever since. I spent 20 minutes writing last night, before Shawn and I watched our movie. It was empowering to accomplish something other than a load of laundry. No one has to see the writing, but it was special to give those words validity on paper. Dr. White so remarkably expressed,

"Assertiveness is the hallmark of freedom, the foundation for advancement.
Each of us has something special to offer the human community.
Thus, we must cultivate, not repress, our will to assert ourselves
by shaping our thoughts and feelings on paper." (pg. 36)

I'll always be a thinker. And I welcome, if not plead for, a challenge. For those reasons I just might create an addendum to my motherhood. Who says parenting and pursuing personal passions can't be done simultaneously?

If anything, this career break has breathed life into a gift I didn't know I revered so much.

Christmas @ the Dunning's--Chapter 2

Chanute had snow--the most I'd seen all winter; truly beautiful in its purity and silence.
Momma and Daddy always do the large-bulb lights. The scene on the porch is reminiscent of the night Shawn first kissed me. We thought about going out to relive the moment, but, didn't want to put our shoes on. Our first kiss was as perfect and magical as you might wonder. ;-)

Chicks and hubs










Sisters and honorary sisters










Pants pulled up













Friends forever.

'10--you have great things to offer

We've been in Wichita 4 1/2 years. The days have flopped one over the other and it seems life has always existed here.

I owe that to my friends.

I love that they listen to me talk about deep stuff when most of the time I'm flamboyant; they know there's this part of me that wants to stretch, move forward, heal. And they let me do that as gracefully as this uncoordinated mess can.

I love that they say my belly is cute-pregnant or not. Ha.

I love that they read the blog and tell me to keep writing.

I love that they send an email or text asking how my day's going.

I love that they tell me how I can be a good friend through difficulty...if only I could eliminate heartache altogether...

I love that despite the crummy choices of my past, they still think I'm cool.

I love that they understand the Panera Cookie Situation.

I love that they handle my mismatched clothes as I try to "shop my closet".

I love that they'll be doing those very same things in '10. Happy New Year to my Wichita family!

"A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature."
Ralph Waldo Emerson