It was the best summer of our lives. We knew it at the time — I’ll always be grateful for that — even if those around us were inclined toward demurring, prevaricating. I’m sure it felt premature, to declare something “the best” when there were still so many opportunities to surpass it, when we were still so young.

But each day was a golden disc, luminous and precious, and they stacked lazily on top of one another for months – “each disc a day, and the addition slow.”

Everything was new. I had never had a boyfriend, of course, so that was new, but I mean everything. I drove on new roads in my old town – roads I’d never needed to drive on before, because nothing that lay at the end of them had ever mattered. I listened to new music on his mixed cassette tapes: The Arcade Fire, Iron & Wine, Wilco, Bloc Party. I tried new foods, overcoming my limited palette in the hopes of impressing him, or at least not disappointing him: guacamole, gazpacho, pavlova, sushi, hot buttered lobster roll, chicken tikka masala.

We got our Indian fix from a little hole-in-the-wall in the city next door, and after our many trips the owner began recognizing us. This felt important: a new acquaintance who had never known us apart from one other. We laughed as we were ushered to the table by the window week after week.

Who wouldn’t want to put love on display?

Our favorite days, the best days, went like this: wake up slow. Converge on the McQuade’s parking lot with the group. Order deli sandwiches, squeeze into fewer cars. Drive to Watch Hill, make a decision about parking (pay $20 for the lot or risk a ticket?), then hoof it past the marina and over the dunes to a slice of sand on Napa Tree Point. Unfurl a towel. Lie in the sun. Toss the football. Splash in the waves. Talk, talk, talk with whomever could come that day.

We got quite a few tickets.

Then home for a quick shower, pull on a sundress. A few minutes later he’d pull back into my driveway and we’d head out, just the two of us this time – to Abbott’s, for dinner, squinting, the low sun glinting off the sound. Another place I’d never been, even though I’d lived in this town my whole life, too.

Then to game night. Someone’s parents’ house, the whole group again, or whoever could make it that evening. Cranium, usually, or poker, or Rock Band. Home before curfew, usually just.

We were not completely without responsibility, that summer. He worked at a seaside market, slicing ham and scooping potato salad and toasting bagels for beachgoers. He’d bring me home an unsold chocolate croissant after closing, by this point knowing enough (and feeling comfortable enough) to pull one of my mom’s wax-paper-wrapped burritos out of the freezer for his own late-night snack.

I worked at a tiny beach shack, at a tucked-away cove frequented only by nannies and toddlers. He’d bike miles round trip with a friend or two just to see me, rounding the corner of the deck sweating and grinning. I’d give them a shaved ice, the sanctioned offering for friends, then go back to reading my book in the sun when they left.

A letter arrived from college with my roommate’s name printed neatly in small black type. She called me a few days later, urged me to log onto Facebook now that we could guess at our college email addresses. Intrusive, all of it, an unwelcome reminder that a world beyond this summer was lurking.

Never mind.

We hiked, we kayaked at the cottage, we watched movies, we laid in the hammock and read books, we dove in the pool, we walked on the train tracks, we went to the casinos for Krispy Kreme, we played croquet in my backyard, we hopped the fence and flew high on the beachside swings in Groton under the moon. And when we weren’t with our friends or alone, my younger sister inexplicably became our third wheel, a heretofore unheard of circumstance in our somewhat-frosty relationship.

It’s easy to be generous when you’re in love.

We went skinny dipping once, wading deep into the pond before tossing our suits back to shore, everyone laughing and shrieking in the moonlight, and that was the night of our biggest argument. “Are you just going to do what everyone else does?” he shot at me later, a slight tremor revealing the fear about what we’d find, who we’d become when throttled beyond this golden summer, plucked up and placed somewhere we weren’t seen and known and loved.

This was the only stumble.

Otherwise – and this is not just hazy hindsight, I remember this with clarity and certainty – we knew this summer was the beginning, knew we would pass into marriage, and children, knew we would last. We knew it as surely as we knew our names.

But who could bear to live in that excitement for even five years?

I have had many blissful seasons since, many golden summers, mostly because our lives only became further entwined – but none like that first one. Our love feels quieter now, steadier, deeper. It is on this love that the engine of our marriage is run: being in love that summer was the explosion that started it.

We celebrated the twentieth anniversary of our first date in late January, and I couldn’t let it go by without sharing a few thoughts. Astute readers will recognize that I wove in a few lines from one of our ceremony readings, with many thanks to C.S. Lewis, as well as a line from my favorite poem.

Transferring to your college
Always installing the car seats
Serving as your human alarm clock
Folding tiny pairs of underwear just so
Reading an essay he wants to share with you as you both lie in bed and not minding
when you fall asleep halfway through
Going to small group, pressing into friendship
Driving the old car

The middle-of-the-night parent, the patient parent, the fun parent

Hearing “my wife” across the room, a thrill still
Researching the candidates
Falling asleep with the light on
and
Grumbling about how you stay up too late to read

Making every hard decision less scary
Never ever giving you a reason to doubt
Always reaching for you, always beside you

An unending conversation with my best friend
Who we were and who we are
The most fun we’ve ever had
So simple, so grand.

In honor of our 12th anniversary, inspired by Jen.

The last of my grandparents passed away at the end of January, and on this day of love, I’d be honored to tell you a little bit about her.

Some of you, actually, may already be acquainted: I was lucky enough to feature her in my Marvelous Mama series at the age of 90, where she charmed many readers by recalling the August night she was ready to hand off her would-not-stop-crying baby to any random passerby :)

That interview also gave me one of the simplest and dearest nuggets that I have tucked close to my mothering heart for the last eight years. Best tip for a new parent? I asked. Enjoy being a mother, she said.

That’s it.

Enjoy being a mother.

Not sleep training advice or picky eater advice or how best to think about balancing independence and safety or how to help with homework while instilling responsibility or how to balance work and home duties.

Also, not the stinging, “cherish each moment, the years go by so fast!” admonishment, well-intentioned but with embedded heartbreak.

No — here and now, just enjoy what you have. Enjoy who you are and whose you are and the role you get to fill.

To me, the simplicity of this invitation stops the blustering parental advice machine in its tracks. It quiets to the truth: This is my life. (I am a mother.) These are my kids. (I am their mother.) These are the people I have been given to care for and teach and discipline and feed and listen to and read to and tuck in and… enjoy. In all of that and more, it’s my choice whether I will enjoy.

And since this interview, which came when June was in her first year of life, I have (imperfectly, but faithfully). I wrote about it on June’s first birthday; I’ve thought about it daily. I speak it over myself like a prayer.

And I have had a model in my grandmother, because from what I can tell, she did enjoy being a mother. In fact, she seemed to enjoy every aspect of her life.

This is not because it was easy.

Bang was born in 1926, a true Depression-era baby. After a wealthy childhood (her family had a maid!), she rolled up her sleeves and moved to a dairy farm in Connecticut, raising six children with her husband. She patched clothes and devised frugal meals to feed a crowd. Her career path, though winding, always involved helping those in need: she worked with the Red Cross, for the Department of Children and Families, as a teacher, and with special needs kids. She served on many boards and committees and stepped into countless volunteer roles. Most painfully, she lost her beloved 32-year-old daughter to a drunk driver.

My grandparents at their 50th anniversary party

But Bang would tell you she had a wonderful life. She was married for over fifty years. She continued the legacy of a beautiful and historic family farm (the oldest continuously-working family farm in Connecticut, in fact). Her six children gave her seven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, all of whom adored her. Until she needed nursing care at the end, she never lived more than a mile from at least one of her children. She was surrounded by loving community at every stage of her life, from her church, to her farming extension, to regional choruses, her extended family, and her island community in Maine. She did work that mattered. She spent time in the sunshine every day.

Playing on the beach in Maine while pregnant with Shep

Her worst offense? Trying to insert herself into every conversation within earshot (simply to listen – she was not one to give unwelcome advice). She had a ready smile and a generous, head-thrown-back laugh. She delighted in the people around her and was content to simply be near her family, even if she couldn’t follow our conversations as closely in the last few years.

Her Depression-era upbringing made for some of her most memorable characteristics. She didn’t want anything to go to waste, obviously, so she indulged in all the usual practices like folding wrapping paper and picking turkey carcasses to the bone. Her home was a maze of books to be donated and stacks of china a grandchild might one day want to have.

This actually led to an unusual family tradition I remember quite fondly. For several years, Bang provided all of the gifts for our extended-family Yankee Swap — by way of my aunts: they selected random items from her house and wrapped them for the exchange, seeing it as a way to remove a few items from the house in a way that Bang would accept. Some years you got a brand-new set of steak knives, sometimes you got an oven mitt imprinted with a local realtor’s contact info.

Family photos on the steps at our cottage in Maine, decades apart (in the top photo, my Dad is in yellow and Bang is in pink)

If there’s one tradition that sums Bang up, though, it’s probably this: at every holiday, she set a very long table (even when the table wasn’t her own). Our family has its share of glue at the seams, but that didn’t phase her. For years, our Christmas, Thanksgiving, or Easter dinner table might include her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren, yes, but also her children’s ex-wives, their new husbands, and various step-children. Everyone was not only welcome, but personally invited and expected to show up. Most people wouldn’t even think to extend the invitation, or if they did, would worry about awkwardness ensuing. That was not a concern for Bang, and her guileless, sunny personality made everyone feel welcome. Her love for people was unconditional.

So — there is clearly much to love, and much to emulate, here. In 2016, I wrote that “I would be thrilled to be just like her when I turn 90,” and I still feel that way. So the important question for me, now, is this: how can my life, in my home and in my 2024 setting, look more like hers? How can I, with my own circumstances and personality and responsibilities, be more like her? Our contexts are different, yes, but the direction to move in is the same, I think:

Love God.

Love and honor my husband.

Work on things that matter. Aim to help the least of these, no matter my job description.

Value extended family. Gather with them. See each imperfect person as the image bearer they are, and show obvious delight in them.

Focus on tending my mind and heart more than my looks and wardrobe. Think less about what I wear and how I look. Do more crossword puzzles.

Cherish simplicity. Be easy to delight.

Commit, and then show up. Give my best to help my church, schools, and local circles thrive. Act as a “pillar of the community” would.

Remember and honor the past. Tell family stories, even the worn-out ones everyone knows by heart.

Be “everyday active.” Build a life that’s as outside and active as possible.

Give generously and relationally. Don’t be afraid to see people up close, to draw near to them in their messiness and suffering.

Sing loudly and often. Laugh loudly and often.

And just try to enjoy it all.

Dancing with my Dad at my wedding

Bang lived a wonderful life. She is with Jesus, my grandfather, and her beloved daughter, whom she has waited so long to be reunited with (truly, the only part of this post that makes me tear up as I write it). She is no longer suffering, and she can listen in on all of our conversations with perfect clarity :)

Thank you, Bang, for everything. And thank you, friends, for letting me share. xo

We came home from last year’s 10th wedding anniversary trip to Mexico determined to get away at least once a year from now on, even if briefly. Though this year’s trip isn’t as spectacular as last year’s (11 doesn’t have quite the heft as 10 :)), I’d love to share a few photos and details from our weekend in Charleston, if you’d like to see!

The logistics of our anniversary weekend

Though I was pulling for a three-night stay, John’s preference for two nights – for cost considerations – won out. We woke the kids up at their normal time on Friday morning to say goodbye, and then left them in my parents’ capable hands to make the four-hour drive to Charleston. We stayed two nights and left around 10:30am on Sunday to head home.

Where we stayed in Charleston

We booked our hotel late last year. After much research, John chose The Charleston Place: we wanted to be centrally located, and it’s smack-dab in the middle of the downtown action. We considered a number of “trendier” hotels, including the Dewberry, the Vendue, and Zero George, but were surprised by how much more expensive they were than Charleston Place – which itself was already expensive! Charleston Place was absolutely wonderful, and we would definitely stay there again if we had the chance.

What we did on our weekend in Charleston

On Friday, we pulled into Mount Pleasant, a suburb of Charleston, just in time for a later lunch. Since we have both been to Charleston a few times before, we thought it would be fun to explore a new-to-us area on this trip. We ate lunch at the Post House Inn, which is just adorable perfection with a Southern-meets-California vibe – I felt like we were on the set of a Nancy Meyer’s movie. The food was good, too :)

After lunch we strolled the neighborhoods, taking in the adorable and stately homes, and walked all the way out to the Pitt Street Bridge for a view of the marsh. We also may have stumbled upon a certain very famous influencer doing her influencer thing, husband behind the camera, while we walked, purely by chance. We gave them a wide berth and tried to act natural while we strolled past :)

It was about 3:30 when we got back to our car in the village center, and we stumbled across the most charming scene: school had just gotten out, and there were piles of bikes scattered in front of the local pharmacy, with kids of all ages inside sitting at the soda fountain counter, sipping milkshakes and buying penny candy. I was ready to move in to the neighborhood!

After getting our fix of village nostalgia, we drove over the bridge to Charleston proper and checked into our hotel. We had a later dinner reservation, so we got into our suits and took a dip in the rooftop pool, then changed for dinner and walked around the historic district and out to the Battery for a bit before heading to the restaurant. The weather was absolutely perfect, as it was for most of the weekend.

I took this pic to send to Lisa, since I was wearing my beloved Ella heels! Also fun: I’m wearing a dress I borrowed from Bethany in our ongoing clothing exchange :)

John chose both of our dinner reservations, and on Friday we ate at High Cotton. It is classic and steakhouse-adjacent, and definitely a place people go to celebrate occasions – the couple sitting two tables over was celebrating their anniversary, and then the couple that sat down at the table next to us later in the meal was also married on September 15th! The service was particularly friendly and excellent.

The next morning, after a brief kerfuffle over where to eat breakfast (more on that below), we walked over to a traveling exhibition of the artwork of the Sistine Chapel. We hadn’t planned to buy tickets – we didn’t know about it beforehand! – but had walked by the building the day before and thought it looked neat. And it was! We spent about an hour and a half listening to the audio guide, walking slowly around the space, and taking in the art before heading back into the sunshine.

From there, we popped into a few shops on King Street – Candlefish, Savanah Bee Company, Amanda Lindroth, Faherty. I wish we had had time to get to the other end of King, where Lake, Roller Rabbit, and a few other favorites are located, but maybe next time :)

We had had a late breakfast and had a late dinner planned, so mid-afternoon we picked up a few treats from Vivian Howard’s grab-and-go shop, Handy & Hot, then headed back to our hotel to read on the rooftop deck. We did read for a bit, and indulged in gourmet hot dogs that were grilling on the roof, but pretty quickly headed back out on the hotel’s complimentary bikes. We took them all over the historic district and out to the Battery and this was, unsurprisingly, one of my favorite parts of the weekend.

With an 8pm dinner reservation, we had plenty of time to get gussied up, walk over to the Dewberry Hotel, and take the elevator up to the Citrus Club. This is the Dewberry Hotel’s rooftop bar, and several people had recommended we grab a drink there (at sunset, if possible!).

Important to know: they do not take reservations. When we arrived at 6:45, they had one table left, and it was inside (there are only about 4 tables inside total). We gladly took it, especially because even with an inside table, you’re welcome to walk out to the rooftop deck. The view was spectacular – worth paying for the very expensive drinks :)

Dinner was at Charleston Place’s restaurant, Charleston Grill, and it was the epitome of fine dining. It was an incredible treat and we had a delicious and very special evening.

After two absolutely gorgeous days, we woke up to rain on Sunday. We ended up eating at Charleston Place’s more casual spot for breakfast, and while it was delicious and a really pretty space, I think if the weather had been nicer we would have ventured elsewhere – it was a little more than we would have preferred to pay for breakfast.

After that, we hopped in the car and headed home to our babies!

Now about that kerfuffle. A few friends had asked if we were planning to do any marriage-esque exercises on this trip. (If you recall, we had a full slate of questions to work through last year, which was really wonderful and added so much to our trip.) For year 11, we did not have any formal activities planned… but apparently God had an informal one planned (ha!).

Let’s set the scene. It’s Saturday morning, and we’re trying to decide where to eat breakfast. We both want bagel sandwiches. I am harboring a teensy bit of bubbling resentment for John booking our other meals unilaterally. (Which, I know! I should have been nothing but grateful that he chose such spectacular spots for us!) We decide to try one place, but see another coffee shop on the way there that looks super cute. We duck in, but there are a bunch of people there, it’s a small space, and it’s a little confusing what’s actually on the menu. We leave. We arrive at the original place. It is… unassuming, and I am not thrilled. Turns out they do not have bagel sandwiches. Now no one is thrilled, and everyone is hungry.

John suggests we go to Caviar & Bananas, a breakfast spot we’ve been to on many trips to Charleston before. We proceed to get in an argument about how what I value in vacation restaurants seems to get dismissed (me), and how I seem ungrateful and illogical (John, I can only assume). We huff along to C&B. We order bagels. We eat them. We make up and continue on with our vacation, and it is lovely.

On the car ride home, we listened to a sermon on James 4:1-12, called “Let’s Get Ready to Rumble.” John cued it up, and I can only imagine this was not an accident, ha. It’s worth a listen, but for us, the upshot was that though we like to think that the reason we experience conflict is because of other people, really (according to James) the reason we experience conflict is because we are not getting something we want, something we feel entitled to. We feel that other person is keeping us from it.

James goes on to say that conflict points to the presence in our heart of two things that have nothing to do with the other person – idolatry, and a lack of trust in God. The key to overcoming the conflict is to humble yourself, admitting that your idolatrous desires are fanning the flames. The other person might be at fault, but the reason you’re raging and bitter is because your idolatrous heart has latched on to something other than God that you think is necessary for happiness.

Boom. We turned off the sermon, and both were able to name the things that we were coveting the previous morning – the things that we felt we were being kept from – that led to our argument. It’s not that what we desired was all bad, just that it was leading us to mistreat another person.

Anyway, I know those are some big Christian words (covet! idols!), and the sermon certainly put it more elegantly than I did, but it was sweet to see that God didn’t let us finish our weekend without healing the sore spot. And though we didn’t necessarily set out to learn a new truth about relationships, He had something else in mind.

There’s never a dull day in marriage, am I right? :) Thank you, as always, for coming along for the ride!