the next thing

I thought we would stay in this apartment for a really long time. Tim and I have never enjoyed a living space as much as this one. Before we found this apartment, we fiddled with the idea of buying a home and quickly found out that we would have extra hoops to jump through on account of being self-employed, including proof of a growing income for five consecutive years...and we hadn't even been out of college for five years yet. So we decided to be happy renters until further notice. We found this place and settled in. It's enough city to keep us entertained and enough suburb to let us sleep through a quiet night. I renewed our lease for 2013 without thinking twice about it.

And then Liesel came along and changed our priorities in the way that babies do, and when I started seeing the world through her eyes, I realized that there are a lot more friendly places we could be raising her. We had started getting serious about being smart with our finances when I was pregnant (things like retirement savings and life insurance) and at some point I added up how much we have spent on rent. Knowing we'll never get any of that back was disheartening. Of course there are risks in home ownership, but when stacked against the assurance of losing money in rent, those risks seem less daunting. 

As someone who has moved at least once every two years since I was 18, the prospect of being tied to a piece of land makes me shake in my boots. There is a sad side to it too...neither Tim's nor my parents are within 1,000 miles from here, and buying a house looks a lot like a nail in the coffin of "we aren't moving closer to you". We did a lot of soul searching on that one. We imagined our business in Florida and in France, we even pushed on some doors, but nothing opened, and meanwhile we kept getting requests to shoot Chicago weddings in 2014. That looks a lot like job security and an invitation to stay and grow right where we are.

So we started looking toward the West Suburbs to see what there might be for us and doors just started flying open. Part of this whole process involves us going to a new church, and that bit is just an upheaval. Church community is really important to us, so to leave one church and start at another was a hard decision, but in the last two months we have felt a lot of confirmation that we are going the right direction. Through the whirlwind of June, we found ourselves connected to an amazing realtor who found us a surprisingly perfect house, and we cautiously approached a recommended local lender to see how they would deal with us and our self-employment situation. Three hours later, we were pre-approved for a home loan. We couldn't believe it.

That was a big moment for Tim, and I am still reveling in pride for him. Because when you decide to start a business when you're 22, it's one thing to actually make a little bit of money at what you do. And then it's another thing to be able to feed yourself doing what you do. And it's another thing and another thing to add a wife and then a baby and be able to take care of them with what you do...and then to turn over your tax returns to a bank and ask them to trust you with, um, a loan for more money than you can make in a year, and they say yes--quickly-- that means that you pretty well made the transition from a dreamer to a doer and the world has looked at what you can make out of nothing and says they need that thing on a regular basis. He skipped down the sidewalk that day and I wiped away a couple of tears.

So we're buying a house and moving to the suburbs. It's a nice house with a fenced in yard with lots of trees for a swing and shade for playing. It's walking distance to a little elementary school that has amazing community reviews and good test scores. It's close to our friends and our new church. It doesn't have a fireplace, but we did find hardwoods underneath the carpet. There are rosebushes in the back yard and hydrangeas in the front yard. We're really excited, and we close in three weeks.

Tablife busynesses

September is busy for the Tabs, you guys. We have a record number of weddings on our roster, so we've been spending our every weekday waking hour mesmerized by computer screens and our weekends beholding lots of pretty weddings. We shot an especially sweet one last Saturday. 

Sometimes we'll zone out of the computer glare long enough to realize that it's been a few days since we stepped outside and we need some air. 

I'm learning, slowly, that to step outside my front door while living in Chicago is to step into a swirl of controversial political activity. Whether it's our governor being thrown in jail or our mayor making the whole city angry or our cops getting convicted for murder or our teachers going on strike or the gangs killing each other, or, or...it just never ends. I keep waiting for a peaceful week in this city and I haven't seen one yet. The rhythm and the wind don't stop. I'm trying to get used to this part.

And yet, for all her faults and wounds, Chicago still dazzles me. She is adored by her cantankerous people. She's too pretty to break up with. 

So. We have the constant motion of our work and the restless energy of our city to keep up with, which is more than enough to think about...and then there's me and my condition. Me and my baby. Already changing our lives in every way. 

I finally started keeping a health journal so I can keep track of the varied array of symptoms and side effects I have every day, because the changes are so close and quick that Tim and I both live in a constant state of confusion over what's happening and how to fix me. Nausea, headaches, exhaustion together with insomnia, extreme hunger, sore joints, heartburn, forgetfulness, swollen blood vessels, frayed emotions. It's all there each day and, praise God, it's all normal. Nothing about it is predictable, and nothing is out of the ordinary at the same time. It is hard, but it is beautiful and good at the same time. Even as I sit here quietly right now, my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it and feel the drum beating throughout my whole body. It has more work to do than normal. The baby bounces and turns and kicks my belly visibly out in dramatic motions that shake my shirt. I pass the mirror on my way into the shower and am shocked to see bright blue lines tracing highways under my skin, expertly navigating an extra 50% of my normal blood supply through me and to the baby. It's all incredible, and I have never been more thankful for my health or positively sure that my body is fearfully and wonderfully made, and a divine creator's power alone is effortlessly building another body deep inside mine and this new person already has a soul and life purpose for the outside world. 

I'm sure of that, and I'm sure of how bad my feet hurt.

Tim has been an incredible source of strength for me. I am not carrying this baby alone, ever. The man is a saint. He rubs my feet and washes endless dishes and when I'm restlessly trying to get comfortable next to him at 4am he reaches his hand over and says: "you've had a hard night, babe." I never have to fight for justification.

And for goodness sake, he goes and gets me things. Is it not the most annoying thing in the world when someone asks you to go get them something? A glass of water from the kitchen? The laundry from the dryer (which is down 4 flights of steps in the basement of our building)? Dinner from the takeout place? A very specific piece of clothing from the basket of clean laundry that he washed and I have yet to fold? Can you just get that for me, babe? He always says yes, letting me save my energy for the important things. He's amazing.

And whenever I have the energy, I try really hard to be amazing back to him. I was domestic in the kitchen and productive in the office today. It felt really good. Life is good. 

on the job. together.

I never thought I'd be the type of person who could work with my spouse. When Tim first broached the idea of me joining him in his business, the idea was intimidating. I told him I wouldn't do it.

There were lots of factors playing into the situation. One of us had to move to be near the other, and we decided together that it would be in the eventual best interest of both of us for him to not give up or displace his business (we knew we were probably getting married). That meant I had to quit my job and move to Chicago. Coincidentally, all this happened during his biggest year yet in his wedding photography business, and he needed help. All signs pointed toward me working with him, but I was resistant.

In the world of wedding photography, it's pretty common for couples to work together. But I wasn't in that world yet. It wasn't the idea of working with him that scared me, it was the idea of working for him. I loved boundaries and independence and earning my own wage and dropping it in my own bank account.  I also loved catching my own mistakes early and fixing them before anyone else saw my error. I knew I would have a lot to learn and I would be putting myself on really shaky ground by having my boyfriend be my boss and letting him teach me a new trade and give me a paycheck. It didn't sound safe. 

As we made plans for my move, I started applying for lots of jobs. Looking back, I was ultimately acting on distrust for Tim and pride in myself and fear of failure as a photographer. I wasn't getting any job offers, and Tim was patient and intent on proving himself to be trustworthy. He kept letting me know that he wanted me to be happy in whatever job I chose to do, but his offer stood open in case I wanted to work with him.

Then he asked me to marry him. There's a lot packed into that question. It's really a question of many questions, a whole book of questions, and one of them is: "will you trust me to take care of you?". Also; "will you allow me to provide for you?". And I said yes to him, so some strongholds that I needed to survive being single had to fall away. I agreed to work with him.

So, Tim works from home five days a week. This I knew. This meant that we would be together all the time. Forty plus hours per week of time together spent on work alone, not to mention free time and wedding planning time and dating-each-other time. We'd never even lived in the same city at that point. It was going to be a steep transition, and I was afraid of conflict. But we moved forward. I cried tears of loss as we drove away from Kansas City with my life packed in my car, and cheered for the joy of a new beginning when we saw the Chicago skyline. The next day, we started working together.

He handed over client communications to me first, and I mean really handed it over and let me do it all without looking over my shoulder. For a girl who majored in Interpersonal and Public Communications, and who was also planning her own wedding, I couldn't have asked for a more well-suited job than emailing with brides to put them at ease about our part of their wedding day. I loved the work, Tim had hated that part, and suddenly he had about 20 more hours per week to work on editing pictures. I could see the immediate difference I was making in improving his workflow and stress level, and I loved it.

And then he put his cameras in my hands. I didn't even know how to use them (I had plenty of experience being an amateur with my own DSLR, but none with his professional grade equipment) but the clients were only paying for Tim's services, so whatever I added to their wedding pictures was gravy and it was a low-pressure environment to learn. It was kind of like getting thrown in the deep end of the pool with a couple of arm floaties. On our way to our second wedding together, Tim told me that he would usually get that pitted feeling in his stomach right before every wedding, but with me by his side he wasn't nervous anymore. I started to realize that he wasn't measuring the support I brought to him from a purely monetary perspective like I was.

I shot twenty weddings with him that first season, all for free to the clients so I could learn all that I needed before we added my second-shooting services to his new contracts. I learned so much during that time and gained a whole new confidence in myself as a worker in a new field. I started calling myself a photographer. This didn't feel like dependence, that icky word I feared as a single person. It felt like partnership. 

We've been at this for over a year now, closing in on our second wedding season together, and we've gotten really good at being a team. I can tell when he's under pressure and I know how to help him. He can tell when I'm struggling with a new technical situation and he always has the answer. 

And we have so much fun. If I had any idea how much fun this job would be, I never would have resisted in the first place. This is a no alarm clock job. We get to attend dance parties every week, we see people at their very best and happiest (...usually). Even when it's hard, it's still fun. We work until we're so tired it's hard to make it up the stairs at night, but we like working hard and we like working a lot.

We gets lots of different reactions when we tell people we work together, and they always make us smile. We know we've got a unique dynamic going on here, but it's perfect for us and if we wanted to change it, we would. 

It takes humility and gentleness to make this work relationship work. All that we do on the job is on display to each other and that can be hard, because we can't hide our mistakes when we make them. I get grumpy when I get tired, and he gets grumpy when he gets hungry, and being tired and hungry is part of almost every wedding day, so we get stretched and have to work not to hurt each other's feelings, and then be quick to apologize when we do.

But as long we keep putting our client's and each other's needs ahead of our own, working together doesn't cost our relationship anything, it only adds to it. All the time we get to spend together--have to spend together--is a good thing. My fears of not being able to survive without copious amounts of alone time (classic introvert here) evaporated somewhere along the way of settling into our marriage and work arrangement. 

And some people still think I quit my old job and didn't pick up another "real one". And that's okay. I am a stay-at-home wife just as much as Tim is a stay-at-home husband. We're just usually doing the above all day long at our stay-at-home job.
Except when we're busy trespassing and such :)

ultrasound recap. and all those feelings.

So, I was pretty nervous about the ultrasound.

We opted out of all genetic testing leading up to now (a decision I'm still happy we made), so this was the big important first ever examination our baby was going to have by the medical world. We'd already decided to wait to find out the gender until the birth, so I didn't have that excitement to distract me from the potential for discovering problems. I was so nervous about it that I didn't even consider what the experience of seeing my baby move around on the screen would be like for me.

Let me backtrack here and also share that I had been waiting to have an emotional attachment response to my baby. That sounds like a terrible thing to say, but I thought that when I found out I was pregnant, I would feel this huge sense of love for the child I'm carrying...and I didn't. It was more like "I'm carrying a child? Where is it? My body looks the same. I feel the same." And then when I did start to feel the physical effects of pregnancy, they were not good. They made me cranky, tired, doubting of my physical abilities to do my normal routine, and generally pretty sick.

So then I thought "when we hear the heartbeat at 11 weeks, then I'll fall in love." And again, I didn't. It was nice and reassuring to know the baby was still alive inside me. It was a cute sound and it made me happy. But I didn't fall in love that day, and I was really hoping I would.

I started to doubt that I would have any emotional attachment until the birth. It was odd and I felt a bit defective, because I hear other women talk about how they loved their unborn babies from the moment they found out they had conceived, and I always thought I would be like those women. I've always wanted to be pregnant and really looked forward to this whole process, but I was having a hard time really believing there was an actual living human inside me. It felt a lot more like a persistent stomach virus than a baby.

I hit a wall at 17 weeks and got sad and discouraged. I had expected morning sickness to end with the first trimester, and it didn't at all. With each day that I spent hunched over my vomit pail, missing out on seeing people and being social, completely bored with laying on my left side but unable to find comfort in any other position, I started to hate being pregnant and wondered why I signed up for this. This lasted for about 3 weeks.

On the night before the ultrasound, full of anxiety, I laid in bed and started praying. I have a lot of friends who are hurting right now, specifically because they or someone they love is really sick. I know that God's love for my baby and everyone else is not dependent on whether He keeps us from going through trials, and I confessed that I was scared of Him and what He might decide to put us through. It was a pretty honest and raw place I was in. I had no words articulated, except "Jesus, please..."

And then--right then--an answer that I needed but wasn't asking for at the moment came: "You do love this baby."
What? Yes! Of course I did! Here I was begging for mercy on behalf of my little one, wanting so badly for him or her to be born strong and healthy with every chance to achieve anything they want in life, and it was my own proof to myself that I cared. That I was starting to become a real mother with all the motherly feelings and deep, deep love for the tiniest details about my baby's life. It wasn't a promise that everything would be alright and we would get a good report on the baby's health the next day, but my growing confidence in myself to have the love I need to face any hardships that may come definitely helped me walk into the office the next day with more peace than I had the night before.

Our ultrasound tech was less than friendly. She was a bit gruff at the beginning of the appointment and I tried to soften her and win her over with complementing her ultrasound skills. "I can't believe you know what you're looking at!" It sort of worked?
"Your baby is breech."
Thanks. I'm sure the next 20 weeks will allow for plenty of time for the baby to flip around once or twice. 
"Head circumference looks good."
"Really?! Because we have a family history of anencephaly so I was worried..."
"The head looks really good."
"...thank you."

And then, she moved on to the heart. That's about when I lost my composure and tears slipped down onto exam table paper under my head. I could see four perfect little chambers pumping regular and strong. 145 beats per minute.
"Heart looks good."

Then, a perfect strand of pearls arched down the baby's back. Moving in line with the kicks I was feeling.
"Spine looks good."
We have a family history of spina bifida too. More worries erased.

Two feet, two hands. A little birdcage of tiny ribs. A stomach, a diaphragm, and two kidneys. We got to see a perfect little skeleton wiggling around on the screen. I squeezed Tim's hand with each new relief. The reality of this baby's physical body and presence in our lives finally hit me in the deepest way. I was so happy.

January recap + first impressions of Oak Park

Well. where did January go?
We got on a plane to leave France on January 10th and landed directly into a whirlwind of activity that has only recently settled down. Moving mostly looked like this:

I thought we'd be able to make a quick job of it, but I was wrong. As soon as we got back to the States,  the busyness of high booking season swamped us. For a solid week, I did nothing but email with potential new clients and arrange meetings to talk to them about shooting their weddings.  

Friends and neighbors who may ever consider hiring a wedding photographer: don't wait until the second week of January! This is when EVERYONE else starts their wedding vendor search for the coming year and dates fill up so fast.  Also, September is apparently the new June when it comes to prime wedding dates. I am sad to be missing two very dear friend's weddings this year because we already had their dates booked, but we're also feeling extraordinarily blessed to have a full year of work ahead of us. 

More on that later. 

What you need to understand right now is that we lived in that chaos pictured above for about 10 days longer than originally planned because clients and meetings trump packing and moving. And I only had one tantrum about it.

I've picked up a few easy transition skills due to my nomadic tendencies, and this is one pictured above is a favorite. The first belongings I bring to a new house are always very dear to me. It helps me form an attachment to my new home and feel like it's my safe place. This is the "Je t'aime" (I love you) print I got for Tim for his 25th birthday last April and it also served double duty as decoration at our wedding. I know I'm long overdue on telling those stories, but just love me and forgive me. I'll get back into it soon! 

Tim, iPhoning on the office floor before furniture got there. Do you know how dangerous it is to iPhone this way? If you get too relaxed, you're liable to drop your iPhone onto your face, which HURTS and you can guess how I know this to be true. I still do it this way, though. Tim too. We like to live on the edge. 

Snow and 20 degree temps doesn't stop us from asking 6 of our closest to haul our shtuff up to the 3rd floor. Look at these troopers. 

Just look at them I tell you! Amanda (in the red scarf) is 8 months pregnant here--not that you could tell because she's still looking so fine-- and she even helped haul in boxes and load up my new kitchen.

Side note: when Tim got dressed that morning, he specifically said he wanted to wear his yellow hoodie because Peter always wears his own identical yellow hoodie when he has to do manual labor and then they'd match. That's what best grown men friends do I guess? 

Seriously--our friends worked so hard to help us get settled. They got all cold and sweaty and bruised and sore just so we can live comfortably in our new apartment. That was such a gift. 

Our first breakfast in our new apartment. We take breakfast pretty seriously, if you can't tell. 

The view from our new office. 

We are seriously loving Oak Park. It's the perfect blend of city and suburb. We can walk to a grocery store or walk to the El stop and take the train downtown. The architecture is amazing and keeps me so inspired. It's quiet. It's old. It's diverse. It's almost perfect. 

One of the most refreshing aspects of it for me has to do with race relations and city planning. I lived in Kansas City for 5 years before coming here, and as much as I loved that town, it was hard to deal with the after-effects of racist city planning that took place in the early 1900's. Even now, Kansas City people and neighborhoods are very monochromatic and there is little overlap and interdependence between the black and white communities.  Every day as I went from school to work to church, I passed back and forth between two opposing worlds that had such a hard time intertwining. I thought this was normal in the MidWest, but Chicago is proving otherwise to me now.

Especially Oak Park. It turns out that while Kansas City was tightening their hold on segregated neighborhoods, Oak Park was making concerted efforts to integrate the community and enforce fair housing regulations. I can really feel this missing tension when I walk around the Lake Street shopping district, meet my apartment neighbors, or sit in a pew at a neighborhood church on Sundays.  People look each other in their different colored eyes and smile around here, and it's made a wonderful impression on me. 

Have a wonderful Monday, you dear people.

we're moving!

And now for a post where I don't overthink my life too much and just tell you what's new:
We're moving in January. In Chicago, also known as the Windy City, where the wind chill is known to cut through layers of wool and leather, straight down to souls, and makes eyes water not just because it's a physiological reflex, but because being outside in that weather just makes you sad. It's going to be great!

The first time I came to visit Tim in Chicago, we spent a Sunday afternoon at a dear family friend's home in Oak Park. As we were driving through this neighborhood, the old architecture turned me into a rubber neck and I suddenly piped up: "Where are we right now?!".
"My mom grew up here," Tim answered.
That's a valuable statement for a guy who was raised in France and didn't come to the states to live until he was 18. This neighborhood has rich history for him. I find this so fascinating; my mother-in-law grew up marinated in the culture of Oak Park, then moved to France, fell in love, and raised her children there. Without even realizing it, she must have continued to live and teach cultural norms specific to Oak Park to her children, and when Tim decided to go to college in Chicago and encountered his mom's old neighborhood, he felt like a certain amount of "home" was there too.  I loved it.

Tim's parents own the place we live in now and we've been renting from them. It's been great, but now that Tim's brother and sister in law are expecting a little one, they need these three bedrooms and finished basement more than we do, and we want to be closer to the city for work anyway. The first place we looked was Oak Park. After seeing a couple of duds and getting discouraged, I got a call back from a building management company that had advertised an apartment with lots of windows. We went to see it, and fell in fast, optimistic, googly eyed love. We do that a lot.

This is the building; a concave structure with the ethereal light of heaven shining down into everyone's homes and hearts.

This is that wind I was telling you about. Flattering, no?

There was a problem: we saw the apartment at the beginning of November and couldn't move in until end of January. We knew it would be gone by then, so I called up the building manager and expressed my undying love and affection for her apartment and begged her to please call us in January if another one came open. She must have found my begging to be charming because she replied that they might hold it for us if we put in an application fast enough. So we did and we were approved. We decided to go see the apartment again and think realistically about living without a dishwasher or in-unit laundry, on the third floor without an elevator. It turns out that modern inventions can't trump natural light and deep, deep closets or free radiator heat.

This is our new place: