Weekending, Part 1

This weekend was the first without obligations*, to-dos, or otherwise plans since the middle of August. That's right: we've had something going on every weekend for two and a half months. If I were a better blogger, there'd have been a separate entry for each, highlighting all the best moments with a few well chosen words and a smattering of pictures.
We can all probably agree that posting promptness is not one of my greater gifts.

Thankfully, stubbornness perseverance is. That, and a desire to remember this busy season of our lives, because while I'm sure life isn't going to slow down anytime soon, I am equally sure that even the best moments we share from here on out won't be the same as the moment we are in.

So, without further adieu, here are our Weekending Adventures, in brief.

August 16th
Family reunion at the State Farm employee park in Bloomington. Weather was a bit chilly for mid-August, but this didn't stop us from enjoying time with family and the gorgeous setting. Briefly contemplated a career move to State Farm so we could come any time we like but decided the mileage probably wouldn't be worth it.

Gramma, Pampah, and the two cheesers

August 23rd and 24th

On Saturday, we went to visit Mom and Dad. It was the first time we'd been to see them since their return from Kenya. Mom gave me some treasures from childhood (most notably, a Rainbow Brite puzzle and Fashion Plates), and we went out to enjoy some fantastic lemon ice cream. Ellie wasn't feeling great, but we still had a great time.

Full disclosure: this picture makes me drool

When we got home that night, I was flipping through the PetFinder app on my phone and found a little chocolate puppy that was up for adoption from T.A.P.S. I'd shown Josh probably 50 dogs before then, but when I stopped on the chocolate puppy, he said, "I like that one." I filled out the application, and less than 12 hours later, Yuna was ours.

Contemplating her new back yard

Yuna Cute Puppy Serrano

August 30-31

After stopping by the farm to celebrate Gramma's 91st birthday, we headed to Colchester again for the annual Labor Day celebration. Josh and I perused several what my mom refers to as "let me buy your junk" sales, ate copious amounts of kettle corn, took the girls to the carnival and parade, attended the tent church service, visited with my friends from high school, enjoyed a ton of family time, and came home exhausted and happy.

In an effort to prove that my blogging is not completely lame, you can see more pictures of that weekend here. 

September 6
Celebrated Arcadia's 5th birthday at the Rainbow Play center. The next day, we visited with Rita and Adam and watched the first Bears game of the season. They lost. And they've pretty much sucked all season. So it goes...

Elaina and Arcadia before the sugar rush crash

Teeny tiny big girl

At least we looked cute....

September 13-14
Once in a blue moon, the railroad company opens up the line between Chillicothe and Henry, so this year we bought tickets and rode the rails with Mario and Rita. It was a lovely way to spend a lovely autumn afternoon. The next day, the girls and I went to Dollar General for our annual "Daddy's birthday" shopping extravaganza, in which they each get to pick out 5 items that they want to give Josh for his birthday. That afternoon, I ran to Peoria for a much needed color and trim and came home to Ziggy Stardust (to which Josh explained, "I only turned my back for two seconds and I had to let the dog out and Ellie needed me." But the pictures, they do not lie.)

Him = wowza

Such wonder

Typical Ellie and Papa

Ellie told Josh she got him an "inja coworing book"

September 20-21

On Saturday evening, we had pizza with Stephanie and Scott. It was so, so nice to spend that time together. We left a lot of people when we left Northwoods, but I am so thankful that they love us no matter what. On Sunday, we went to the Urbancs to celebrate Emily's 2nd birthday, and a good time was had by all.

September 27-28
The girls had a sleepover at Rita's, so Josh and I went out for dinner and then capped off an ultra-exciting date night by buying him some new dress shirts at Kohls. The next day, the girls and I treated him to sushi. I have pictures of this somewhere, but I suppose words will have to do for now.

October 4-5
Saturday, we went to Fall Fest at Picket Fence, where the girls got to dress up, played several rounds of pumpkin bowling, tye-dyed shirts, bobbed for apples, made bracelets, and created corn art. On Sunday, Rita and I took the girls to see the new My Little Pony movie (an Oscar contender, to be sure). It was Ellie's first time at the theater and she did great. That evening, we went to Olive Garden to celebrate Josh and Rita's birthdays, and I had fun telling Elaina about her first trip there when she was about 5 weeks old. That particular trip has gone down in the annals of Serrano Family History, but thankfully, this time I did not have to retreat to the bathroom with a screaming child in tow.

The rest of our adventures will come tomorrow...for now it's time for bed!

To Elaina, on your 5th birthday

Five years and nine months ago, two pink lines told us you were coming. 

A few weeks later, we saw your tiny heart flickering on the screen and heard the whump-whump-whump and counted its measured beats.

Time passed, and before we knew it the kicks and elbows told us you were coming. (Your daddy once laid his head on my tummy to talk to you, and you kicked him in the ear. We laughed. You have always been full of personality.) One day, we walked into the same room where we'd seen your heart for the very first time, and the words, "It's a girl," forever changed the way we thought of you. That day, you weren't just our baby anymore. You were our daughter.

You grew, and I grew, and every afternoon your hiccups told me you were coming. Your elbows and kicks became stronger, and you were never, ever still. It's funny how much we can know of a child by the way she is before she is born. You are very much like that today, five years later, never, ever still, at least not for long.

And then, the morning came for you to be born, and the peaks and valleys on the monitor told us you would have come that day even if surgery hadn't already been scheduled.

But it was, and in the operating room the doctor came over and looked at me with kind eyes. She asked if I was ready, and I said I was, but it wasn't until your daddy was by my side that I felt completely calm. And then it started. The doctor cried, "She's here!", but you weren't quite. You kicked free of her hands and stayed with me for a few moments more. Then there was a little more tugging, a little more pulling, and suddenly, the cries that filled the operating room told us you were here.

Five years later, the evidence of you is everywhere. It is in the drawings plastered onto our fridge and the crayons spread across the table. It is in the missing basil leaves from our herb garden, and the bouquets of clover flowers and dandelions drying on the patio table. It is in the bright socks in my laundry basket, not quite as impossibly small as they used to be, but still as impossible to match. It is in the stacks of well-worn Mercer Mayer books and in the glittery nail polish that lines my bathroom counter. It is in the My Little Pony stickers I found stuck to the bottom of my sandals and the bag of pink Goldfish crackers your daddy bought the last time we were at Target. It is in our evolving vocabulary, where speech impediments have become words, like "anyfing" and "tee-ay-toes". It is in "Let It Go" and "Roar" and "Stop the Bats" and "Don't Stop Believin'". It is our dvr queue that is populated by  Olivia and Bubble Guppies and Doc McStuffins and Max and Ruby. It is in Giraffia and Olivia and your nightlight perched next to your pillow, because you can't sleep without all three. It is in the paci I put in my coat pocket three years ago that I can't quite make myself throw out when I find it anew every fall.

And even if all these things went away, you know what, Lou? It wouldn't matter at all. The evidence of you is the Elaina-sized imprint on our hearts.

A Grand Tradition

Grand View Drive was one of the first places Josh told me about when we started telling one another about home. He told me of the expansive views of the river, how you could see it meander, how a small farm on the other side seemed so out of place. He told me about the mansions built along the drive, of the house that looks like a castle, complete with a moat and flags and turrets, of properties worth more than we'd make in 5 lifetimes (especially as poor grad students). And he told me he would take me in autumn, when the bluff would explode into fireworks of yellows and oranges and pops of red.

9 years ago, on a bright October afternoon in 2005, we went for the first time. It was a gorgeous day, and we drove with the windows down and listened to Chris Isaak's Forever Blue album and a burned cd Josh had made that started with two versions of Manuel Maria Ponce's "Estrellita," one on classical guitar, one sung by (as far as Napster could tell) Oscar Amezcua. The day was so perfect that I found myself thinking I would say yes if he proposed, even though we hadn't talked to our parents and he had no ring. (His cousin Gabi had the same idea--when we visited his family later that day, she suggested that we go as a bride and groom for Halloween.) Somewhere along the trails around Grand View Drive we took a  picture. It remains one of my favorite pictures of us, ever. We look so fresh-faced, so young, so unaware of how our love would grow and blossom. It was nearly the beginning of us, and on that day, we made an unspoken comitment to come back every autumn and remember how it all began. And so, we have.

This is a look back at one of my favorite autumn traditions.

Us, 2005

In 2006, we went when we were three months married. We decided to hike part of the Pimiteoui trail, which winds down from one of the overlooks. We walked and talked and held hands and lost track of time, and then we decided to walk a little farther.  4.5 miles later, 3 hours, and a stretch of road that seemed almost completely vertical, we made it back to our car. We were exhausted, but it was so much fun. Josh took me to get an iced coffee, and later we carb-loaded had dinner at Rizzi's, where I discovered the amazing combination tomato and basil is in salad dressing.







In 2007, our trip to Grand View Drive was quick, and it was early. The leaves weren't at peak, much to my disappointment, but we were living in Rockford at the time and couldn't judge the color based on the frozen tundra around us. And I remember leaving Rockford with some amount of trepidation--we had just gotten Chappu, who was this teeny little black ball of fur, and Winston hated him. Not just a little. Like, walk around with an angry look on his face, refuse to purr, make me regret getting another kitten, kind of hate. Josh suggested that our absence would allow them to "figure out their pecking order," and since we had to get home early for the Crop Walk on Sunday, it was the best time to go. So it wasn't as beautiful. But it was just as much fun.

Blurry, but perfect

We moved to Peoria in July 2008, and enjoyed a wonderful late summer together with new jobs and a lot of hope. Then, in October, my Grampa Beck got sick. He was at OSF for close to a month, and Josh and I went to visit almost every day, thankful to live so close. On one particular Saturday, the weather was a picturesque autumn day of bright cloudless blue skies, moderate temperatures, and a quiet breeze fluttering the leaves. So we went to see Grampa,who was feeling well enough to spend some time outdoors, and then we went over to Grand View Drive. It was right before things got hard--the economy tanked, we kept waiting for the other shoe to drop as people got walked out of work every day, Josh's grandmother got very ill, Mom had a brain aneurysm--but the day we went to Grand View Drive, we didn't know what was to come. We were really, really happy. I still have some of these pictures framed.

One year later, we went to Grand View Drive on a sunny afternoon.some  Life was in a much different place than it had been the day we went after visiting Grampa. Josh had a new job. His grandmother had sadly passed away in July. With some assurance we wouldn't lose our jobs, we'd begun the process of building the home from which I am writing right now. And I was 9 months pregnant with Elaina, and, I am sure, trying to wrap my mind around how our lives were about to change, while clinging to these few moments we had left of just the two of us. Our trip was on a Saturday. Our sweet  Elaina Marie was born the next Thursday.

Me and Elaina

In 2010, we drove up to Grand View on a ridiculously cold Saturday morning. And this time, we went for Elaina's one year pictures.

When the time rolled around in 2011, we had added Elysia to our family. She was just over 3 months old, and Josh and I were short on time, so we went up on a Sunday morning, grabbed a coffee at Leaves 'n Beans, and went for our drive. It was short and sweet, and just right.

2012 was another quick trip, this time, after work. I remember we had to rush a bit, leaving work early so we could pick the girls up on time, and we couldn't take a hike, but we laughed a lot.

Handsome man

Last year, our friend Roseanne offered to watch the girls for us so we could go. We went to Publik House for brunch, where I was terribly disappointed because the Crab Cake Benedict that I had been drooling over was sold out. Luckily, the drive was just as beautiful as ever, and, of course, the company was superb.

This year, we went yesterday afternoon. It was unseasonably warm, in the low 70s, and the breeze was enough to cool us during our hike. The leaves flittered down with the sound of rain, and we were showered with yellowed leaves. We saw four deer, who eyed us suspiciously though our distance from them was not insignificant. We talked about God, about our girls, about our lives together. And when we returned to our car, we listened to Estrellita and held hands, and my heart was full of 9 years of Grand View Drives.

Scenes from an autumn evening

I have a whole 'nother long post started about the weekending fun we've been having this month, but tonight I am nursing a sore throat and watching Talking Dead with Josh, so it will have to wait. In the meantime, I leave you with a few pictures from our outing to a park this evening.

Love how her tongue is sticking out in concentration

Elaina ran back and forth across the playground five or six times, kicking the ball as she went. Mia Hamm, eat your heart out.

Love our yard, but wish we had big maples like this to enjoy...

How does she turn 5 next week??

Even Yuna enjoyed our outing

Sunsets are my favorite

Coming clean

I have been looking at this blog of mine with wistful eyes lately. I love that it gives me a place to write (though that once finely-tuned muscle has atrophied a bit). I love that I can document the ins and outs of our family's daily life, to see how the girls have grown and changed, to remember what has been important to us. I love that I've connected with people through it, and have even made a friend a thousand miles away.

Lately, though, it has been hard to balance the good, of which there is so much, when something else has been weighing so heavily on my mind. I have felt like a hypocrite, acting like everything is fine while ignoring the elephant in the room--even if I was the only one who actually knew the elephant was there. And so I've almost stopped writing altogether.  It's a typical Amanda reaction. When Josh and I fight, and I get upset enough, I just quit talking and refuse to engage further discussion (this is one of my...shall we say...less than appealing personality traits, one which Josh loves. Or not.) When I went through a particularly difficult time in Nashville, I saw a counselor who encouraged me to write my way through my battle. Seemed like an obvious solution to an English major who has been filling up journals since the 4th grade. But I just couldn't do it. Grief robs me of words.

But I am tired of not writing, because while I am not writing about the bad, I don't write about the good, either. And maybe there is healing in saying everything, not just the neatly wrapped things. So tonight I am laying it out there.

Deep breath.

For the second time in as many years, Josh and I have walked away from the church we thought would be our "home."

Our last Sunday was in the middle of August, and it is still painful to write those words. I wonder how long it will be until it doesn't hurt. Sometimes I think it always will.

When we left our last church early last summer, we did so quietly, without much fanfare, and we were gone more than a month before anyone even noticed. The reasons aren't important, but it still hurt, but we took some time off to lick our wounds and reconsider what we needed and wanted to get out of a church experience. About a month later, we were invited to attend a church in town by a friend who loves like Jesus with skin on. And so, with a lot of hope measured with anxiety, we went.

For awhile, it seemed like we had found what had eluded us. The people were absolutely beautiful. They loved on our girls, and they loved us as individuals as well as a family. They knew our names. There were smiles and hugs and handshakes. There was community, and there was caring. Elaina and Ellie often raced each other to Sunday school and were welcomed with open arms by people who knew them by name, knew their likes, and had a way of making them feel every ounce of the special little girls they are.

The messages, especially in the beginning, were inspiring. There was grace and humility and challenge and hope. Our conversations on the way home focused on the content of the sermons and its application into our lives. One of the first sermons we heard, in particular, titled "Neither Do I Condemn You," about the woman at the well, has stuck with me all these months later. We even had the privilege of hearing Bob Goff speak.

For many months, going to church was a joy.

And then, it wasn't.

The love and humility that drew us in faded bit by bit. It was replaced with messages that suggested if we prayed in the right way or believed in the right things, anonymous checks would arrive in our mailboxes. When messages were given on how to deal with adversity, there was no grace, no call for reflection, just a simple, well, if you meet adversity, it's them or it's the devil, but it's certainly not you. We were told, on several occasions, that the only acceptable response to homosexuality was rejection, as if it was the only concern Jesus had on the cross. It was that topic, and the absolution with which this rejection was preached as the infallible word of God, which drove Josh, and then me, to explore what the Bible actually says on the topic, to study the evolution of the text, to begin to grapple with what it all means. 

That is what the senior pastor challenged us to do. "If you think I'm wrong on this," he'd say, "look into it, and you'll see I'm not." And so Josh, tired of what he thought was homophobia, turned to scholarship. He told me on many occasions that if what he found jived with what he was hearing every Sunday, he'd shut his mouth and sign on the dotted line. But, of course, it didn't. Josh's heart broke at times with what he learned, like, for example, that the story of the adulterous woman mentioned in the inspiring Neither Do I Condemn you sermon was not original to the text, but was added centuries later by a scribe. But more than that, his passion for knowing the authentic Jesus has only grown. At times I swear I have never been more frustrated with him because he kept challenging so many things I  believed to be true and trustworthy, and sometimes, I just wanted to be left alone where I was comfortable and knew the right way or the right argument. Sometimes I still do. But honestly, I have never been more proud of him.

Even though I agreed fundamentally with Josh's research, I drug my feet in the beginning. I just didn't want to face leaving again, and I knew it would likely lead to that. I didn't want him to be wrong, but I wanted him to be wrong enough that we wouldn't have to change anything. I read some of the scholarship with him, and I learned a lot more than I bargained for. (Josh tells me often that I want to replace Right Belief with Right Belief, and he's right.) I've studied oral history in literature and sociology, and I know how stories morph over time until they are set down in print and even then aren't immune to change, and yet I couldn't wrap my mind around the possibility that the Red Words in the Gospels weren't actually spoken by Jesus exactly as they were recorded.

For months, we went to church on Sundays and studied the rest of the week and tried to reconcile the two. The love kept us going back even when the sermons made us shake our heads. And then, one Sunday in August, even that wasn't enough.

The pastor was preaching on creating our own Ebenezers for places and moments in which our walks with God had reached a new definition. Josh and I were both engaged in the message, and I found myself thinking of places and times that had made the most difference to me. And then, out of nowhere, the pastor threw homosexuals under the bus yet again and said, "If that makes me a hater, well, then call me a hater." People in the auditorium cheered. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried not to cry. After the sermon, we gathered up our smiling daughters and walked out for the last time.

It was clear on that bright Sunday afternoon that if the senior pator was a "hater" for believing that homosexuality was the cross that crucified Christ, then my Josh and I would be seen not as followers of Christ who had studied and searched and tried all they could to reconcile what  we heard each week and found it impossible: we would be seen as sheep, swallowing the kool-aid of popular culture. There was no opportunity for discussion, no olive branch extended to those who love the same God and want to live the teachings of the same Jesus but who look at things in a different way. Instead, a door was slammed in our faces. And so we left.

The last two months have hurt more than I can put into words. I have cried so many times that we walked out again, and that we were left with no choice. The pain has been at times almost unbearable. And the thing is, I want to go to church. I want to worship God authentically. I want to go somewhere where Jesus has skin on and where I am challenged to love others in the reckless way He did. I want to teach my daughters what is actually right and not just what I want to be right. I didn't want to say goodbye to people I love. I didn't want to say goodbye to the possibility that this is where our family would settle for good. But that is what happened. The wound is deep. I am willing it to heal, but it is slow. And right now, I am not sure when we'll be ready to try again.

I just pray that some day, we will. Until then, this song sums it up.

Currently

Watching: Thursday Night Football. (Sort of. It's on, but I'm not really paying attention. Except someone just got knocked out, so now I'm watching....). It's mostly on for background noise, as Josh is reading and I'm doing this. I don't really care about either team, but nothing better is on. I did spend a couple of hours watching reruns of Naked and Afraid last night, though, so there is that.

Reading: I got a Fannie Flagg book at the library on Monday, but I haven't started it yet. I love our little library, but they are slow to get new releases--I looked for another Gillian Flynn novel to see if a different work of hers would leave me a little more satisfied and a little less wanting to chuck the book across a room like Gone Girl did, but no such luck.  Then I looked for Where'd You Go, Bernadette, as I've heard good things about it, but they don't have that author, either. So I figured since I enjoyed Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, I'd give Fannie Flagg another go. Josh is reading a book in the Sword of Truth series, of which I have read one, so he is keeping me posted on the on-goings of the characters. I think that counts.

Wondering: What I did to jack up my left arm. It started aching at the shoulder this evening, and now there's a nice constant throb and basically no range of motion. The fun part is, I have no idea what I did to injure it

Wearing: Missions in Action tshirt circa 2002, and plaid pajama shorts with Winnie the Pooh on them that I think I've had since high school. Yes, even my bedtime style is something to be envied.

Thinking: about catching Elaina giving a pep talk to Winston, who is still having a hard time adjusting to the puppy. I walked into the bathroom this evening and found her perched on the side of the tub, telling Winston in her sweetest voice, "It's okay, Winnie. Yuna's a good dog, but you are part of our family, too, and we love you! And she's not going to hurt you, so it's going to be okay!" Then she went into her room and gathered up a blanket and toy to make a bed for him. She has such a sweet heart.



Eating: Nothing. I went to the doctor's earlier this week and deliberately turned my back to the scale. I could tell I have some work to do in that area, but I was fine not knowing exactly how much. Then I made the super smart decision to log on to their patient portal, and lo and behold, there was my weight, smacking me in the face. So yeah. I'm giving myself the rest of the weekend to not obsess over it, and then it's back to the Fruit and Oatmeal diet come Monday.

Excited: about tomorrow. Josh and I are taking a vacation day to get some winter prep done around the yard and house, and Rita is keeping the girls overnight so we can go out for Josh's birthday. The weather is supposed to be lovely--sunny and highs in the mid-70s. Time together, beautiful weather, not being at work, and a date night--sounds perfect to me!

Looking forward to: Tomorrow, of course, and the Spoon River Drive next weekend. And going to see Gone Girl in the theater with my mother-in-law in a couple of weeks!

Hoping: to catch another sunrise tomorrow morning that's as beautiful as the past two have been.




Thankful: 
For my friend, Stephanie. She knows how to live Jesus, and she is one of the best people I have ever met.



For Yuna, who has been a great addition to our family.


For Amazon, which fairly painlessly delivered 3 birthday gifts for the hubbos.

For improved health for my auntie, who was hospitalized and very, very sick last weekend.

For my husband, for his love, for his patience, for the way he stretches me, and for the way he can beat boards on Candy Crush that make me want to scream. (It really is the little things, after all.)

Happy weekend, all!