Chapter 11: Chicago

Did I say I'd get back to writing our love story in January? March is what I meant. Late March.

I had an early morning flight into O'Hare and a window seat. We started our descent into the city and my first ever glimpse of Chicago literally took my breath away. 

She was so beautiful and snowy. The morning light was gentle and I felt like I was about to land in the Celestial City from the Pilgrim's Progress. Or something.

My plane arrived a full thirty minutes early, so I went to the ladies' room and tried to get a grip on my nerves. Pessimism felt more comfortable than hope. As much as I liked Tim and couldn't wait to see him, he still wasn't entirely safe to me because of all the unknowns and I needed to put on a little bit of steel beneath the surface to handle the beginning of another few days together.

I walked out into the baggage claim and a thousand people were milling around, knowing where they were going. I didn't know where I was going, but soon enough I found Tim waiting for me. He was facing another arrival gate, so I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. I'm sure we hugged and smiled or something, but I mostly remember instinctively reaching for his hand because I needed some kind of guidance and reassurance that he was going to take care of me in this strange city.

Of course, I immediately remembered that he had already established that fact...to my parents.

A week beforehand, I was at work when I got a call from my mom:

"Tim just called us at home! Dad's talking to him right now!"

"What?! How did he get your number?"

Keep in mind that I had never opened the lines of communication between Tim and my parents. They each knew about each other, but they didn't know each other. 

"I don't know, but I picked up the phone when he called and he introduced himself and said that he just wanted to let us know that he was going to take good care of you when you go up to see him next week. He wanted us to have his phone number and know what you guys are going to be doing and where you're going to be staying."

I was in shock. And I knew my parents were positively LOVING this.

"What are he and Dad talking about?"

"Oh, now they're talking about Moody and France and stuff."

"Let me listen!!"

So my mom and I sneakily listened in on my dad's side of the conversation. He sounded positively jaunty, like he was talking with an old friend that he went to school with or something.

"That's just really impressive, Bethy. It means a lot that he would call and talk to us."

My mom's voice rang in my ears as I watched Tim heave my suitcase off the conveyor belt and wheel it back over to me. I took his hand again and we walked out of the airport into the cold parking garage.

He had wanted to make it explicitly clear that he did not plan to take advantage of me as soon as I got on his turf. He planned on showing me the best sites in Chicago, introducing me to his friends, and he had prepared my sleeping arrangement to either be in the same room with his brother's fiancee who would also be visiting or at another (female) friend's apartment down the street if her plans got cancelled. My parents felt honored to be included in our plans. He was winning on every front, and I started to relax as we drove out of the airport grounds.

We did so much that first day. 

Ogilvie and Grand Central Stations, Millenium Park, Michigan Avenue, the Chicago Cultural Center, ice skating...it was a really terrific melange of perfect dates. 

After lunch, when we were walking to our next activity, Tim complemented me on my boots. I had been waiting for this complement because I had just spent more money on those boots than I had ever spent on any singular piece of clothing I'd ever owned, so he did good to notice. 

Then he said; "My girlfriend's got style."

To which I challenged: "Your girlfriend?"

He hadn't cleared this role definition with me.

"Bethany, do you know what a DTR is?" 

Of course I knew what a DTR is. I grew up in Christian circle too. A DTR is a conversation to Define The Relationship. It usually happens at a Starbucks or some other common ground and there are always sweaty palms involved. A DTR rarely goes well for both parties, because one party either doesn't want the conversation to happen or they desperately do want the conversation to happen and will come out on the losing end. DTRs are painful and awkward and everyone hates them but some people think you just have to have them. I used to be one of those people.

"Yes, I know what a DTR is."

"Great. Let's skip it."

I was surprised, and then a second later I was delighted. I wanted to be his girlfriend and I wanted him to be my boyfriend and I didn't want to have to dish up all the stray feelings packed around and hanging loose from that desire. We just skipped it.

I love my job

It's just the best gig.

picking up

Life is picking back up again, and I'm so happy.

It was a long, wedding-less winter. This being my first "slow season", I wasn't quite prepared for just how slow slow could be. It was fun at first when we traveled to France, then moved to a new apartment. But then not much happened for about 7 weeks and I got bored. Then I got sad. Then I started questioning my life purpose.  I talked about going back to school and getting a second job and doing all sorts of things, and Tim was all like "it gets better! we're going to be busy again soon!"

I remember him going through this a little bit last year, but I didn't really understand. A long winter break from work sounded amazing to me then, but I've since learned that there's a reason they call it an "occupation"...it's supposed to take up most of your time. The weird thing about being a wedding photographer in a cold climate with harsh winters is that for 3 months out of the year it actually doesn't occupy your time at all. Now I know for next year that I need to plan my time better so I don't feel so useless until Spring. On to better things.

Five days ago, the best thing happened. I became an aunt.

The long of it is that Amanda went a week overdue, then had to get induced, then had to labor for 36 hours with little progress, then after a few dropped heart-rate scares, the doctors decided to do a c-section. Bless her heart. I nearly went crazy during that time. It's a hard and scary thing to have a loved one struggle through a tough labor. We were all so relieved when it was over.

Here's the short of it:
 

We are so in love with this little girl. We miss her when we go a day without seeing her. She's a precious tiny Zaylee nugget and Tim and I come up with ridiculous reasons for being "in the neighborhood" so we can drop by and snuggle her littleness. I think happy chemicals get released in my brain when I have a baby in my arms. Someone google that for me.

We're headed to California soon to shoot our first wedding of the year, which just so happens to be my dear friend Erin's. We got a new camera, new clothes, and new haircuts just for this. We're pretty pumped.

I'll sign off with a treat for your eyes. My Timothee.  My precious guy.

25

A quarter of a century, I am. Every birthday is so special. I've somehow been blessed enough to go to sleep at the end of every March 10th feeling loved by the people around me, and this year it happened again.

On Friday night our core group of friends celebrated Gabrielle's birthday. Since mine was on Saturday she pulled me up to stand with her during the singing and blow out candles with her. 

This picture totally outs a bad habit of mine. Does anyone else pick at their fingers when they get nervous? Am I alone in this primal habit? 

Moving on.

On Saturday I woke up and opened packages my parents and sister sent to me. Packages! What a thrill. Just like that time when I was in 5th grade and Mom sent a batch of cookies to me while I was at camp.   Then I ate a donut for breakfast. Happy birthday to me. 

By then Oak Park was starting to heat up for the St. Patrick's Day Parade: streets blocked off, drunken shenanigans at Starbucks at 9am and such. I have to be honest here and admit that I really don't like St. Patrick's Day. It's probably my least favorite holiday along with Halloween. I hope we can still be friends now that you know that. I like other holidays. Probably every single other holiday. 

Tanget?

So after the donut we drove into the city for a much more peaceful ambiance. The weather was clear and beautiful and Tim's surprise lunch for me was at the Hancock Tower Signature Room. The view was breathtaking which means that I couldn't breathe for a second when we stepped off the elevator at the 95th floor of the building where OPRAH ALSO LIVES. She was probably there, somewhere on a floor below us, lounging in her vast lounging rooms with her cocker spaniels. 

The Signature Room is surprisingly affordable and family friendly, and I really liked that about it. All kinds of people were there, including families with little kids who were positively giddy about being so high up. It was a great atmosphere.

I love that Chicago is not landlocked. I feel better when I can see an end to the land and an expanse of water.

My husband. He still feels like my new boyfriend. He's the best guy and I'm so excited to be his girl.

After that we rode the elevator back down 95 floors to the ground level and wandered into the North Face. I've been wanting a new coat that's not my standard black, and I also wanted to wait till Winter was over so I could get it on the cheap. After much agonizing I picked up a white outer shell windbreaker that was on sale and realized I could take my tried and true 4 year old black insulator jacket and zip it into the inside of the white outer shell for a warm winter coat option, or wear the shell alone as for a Spring windbreaker. It was the perfect birthday present and I handed it to Tim and he took it to the counter and bought it and then I put it on for the rest of the day.

Then we went to the Old Town to meander a bit before stepping into A New Leaf, which is basically a cave of botanical wonders. Tim wanted me to pick out a bouquet of flowers to take home because he's sweet like that.

And then we spent the rest of the day at home. Tim played and sang me a beautiful rendition of "Happy Birthday" and we snuggled and ate guacamole.

It was a perfect spontaneous day. 

It's good to be 25. I'm finally feeling like I know a thing or two. I also felt like that at 18, and then I went to college and realized I didn't know anything. I suppose I feel the smartest when I'm not in school.
The end.

high of 67

I've been missing vitamin D recently.  I know we haven't had a rough winter, but I've been aching for Spring to come so I can stand in the sun and let it cover me for a while.
Today was warm and sunny so I opened a few windows and let the wind blow through our apartment while I folded laundry, then pulled Tim away from his computer so we could go outside.
We've been meaning to explore Madison Street in Forest Park for a while, so we finally did.



1. My birthday is on Saturday. Tim keeps asking me what I want and I don't even know, but I found this necklace at Pretty Little Things and I think it's nice so there's a start.
2. Yearbook. This store is so impressive. I made the mistake of remarking to the shop clerk that it was like Anthropologie, but for men. He wasn't impressed with that correlation, but there you have it.
3. This is my concerted effort to wear more light and bright colors. I guess I should find a yellow jacket or something next.
4. I would go to an antique store just to hunt out an old wedding dress and stare at it for some minutes. And I did. 

we threw a "baby shower"

My husband has a brother, and his brother has a wife, and his wife is almost done growing their first little baby.
WE ARE SO EXCITED!!

This is Amanda and Paul. Their child will obviously be better looking than any of us.

Tim and I are beyond excited to become an aunt and uncle! We're so excited we threw a party.

It started off as a baby shower, but then it couldn't be just for girls because Tim HATES gender-specific gatherings, LOVES this baby, and would never stand to not be included in this.  So it became a co-ed baby shower. Then we decided to ditch the traditional baby shower games, so it was a co-ed baby shower with no games...and by then it was starting to not seem like a baby shower at all so we wondered if we could bring wine? Amanda didn't have a problem with us toasting to her baby so we just decided to turn it into a dinner party with presents for the baby and wine for everyone but Amanda party.
And it was a blast! Girls, when you get knocked up, come to me. I will throw you this kind of party.

Little baby shoes! I die. And must capture it on my iPhone.

We normally have a big flat screen TV sitting atop this credenza, but I didn't want it's foreboding presence in the room during the party, so it was banished to the guest room and I thereby gained enough room for 4 people to sit! Win. 

This is Keane. He's a happy guy.

And since we needed a picture of the four of us together, here we are clutching confetti and then throwing it everywhere:

"Hey guys, can we do that cheesy picture where you're both making a heart on Amanda's belly? Just for kicks, really, no one will think you're being serious."

  And then they couldn't stop laughing long enough to try to take the picture.

Until they did. Thanks Paul :)

"Mon petit Chou" is French for "my little cabbage", a classic term of endearment.

And don't worry. As soon as this baby is born I will plaster his or her picture all over this blog for years to come.

me and my fear

I think it was a few weeks ago that Tim was talking finances with a friend, who urged us to get life insurance policies. We agreed that it was the smart thing to do, just in case, and then the conversation went on.

As we were getting ready for bed that night, Tim brought it up again and reaffirmed that he really wanted to get that done soon. If anything happened to him, he wanted me to have more than just our savings to sustain me for a while. I quietly agreed, and then Tim promptly fell asleep while I laid awake, anxiety eating at me, tears running down onto my pillow.
The cruel voice of fear, writing sad storied in my head.

Before I was married, the fear was that I would never find someone to love me. It followed me all day, influencing my decisions about where I went and how I spent my time and what I wore and how I valued people. Born out of lies, insecurity, and despair...all unnecessary, I know this, but there it was.

So I'm lying in bed crying, all worked up that the man I love (who's so at peace, he's asleep, mind you) will fade from my grasp like a vapor, and I realize how easily and regularly I get to this point. All it takes is erratic (read: normal) Chicago traffic to make me gasp in fear, or grip my seat with anxiety that we'll be in a crash that will take him and leave me. Or if Tim orders a cheeseburger when we're out, I get all bossy and patronizing, making him feel guilty for his unhealthy choice that will probably cost him his life and my happiness down the road. Or if he crosses the street too slowly with cars approaching, I pull him by the arm towards the sidewalk.

I see the pattern of course, there will always be something to fear. I'm sorry, future children! Besides that, the greatest product of my fear has never been the fear realized: it is my behavior. Fear makes me controlling, angry, anxious, insecure, condescending, and the list goes on. ALL negative side effects of a needless condition.

And then, laying awake and afraid that night, I just gave up and gave in to the fear. I submitted myself to it as a real possibility, admitting that the worst of the worst could happen to me and then if it does I would make it. I would eventually be ok, because ultimately, my wellbeing and peace doesn't rest on Tim or any other person or thing that will expire. This isn't a "strength within self" mantra, I don't have that kind of strength and I don't know how to fabricate it.

The God who put me together can take me apart and He can take care of me through it all. And I'm not supposed to live in fear.

And, I swear to you, this is the only relief and answer to my fear. The only hope for sleep and peace and hope in my tortured night. Trusting, having faith, in a God who loves me is the only remedy for my weak heart and tendency to be bitter, self-focused, and hard to live with.

I just thought I would tell you about me and my fears, in case you get afraid too.