Open Letter: Thriving or Surviving

Hey love,

It should come to no surprise to anyone that you are awesome, that you are brilliant, that you are stunning, that you are fun, that you are kind, that you are a visionary, ad infinitum.

But tonight something else struck home. I was asked by a wise friend what I've noticed with you away--how things are different. You've been away with Evelyn this weekend, seeing family back west, leaving me with the two Gronks. I've realized these past days how incredible you are at your work. We've had a great time, to be sure, which has included hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza, cookies, a Lion King party (the Scar-free version which is actually only about 40 minutes), conference watching, gospel discussion, yard work, hide and seek, lots of laughing (you've got to see them sing in unison their renditions of "Sisters Suffragette" from Mary Poppins; it's hilarious how consistently they say the same made-up words), reading, etc. Camping and Chuckee Cheese's are also on the list.

But fun is no substitute for substance. Surviving is no substitute for thriving.

The experience the boys have with you is so much more comprehensive and deep. It's spiritual enlightenment, physical nourishment, mental expansion, all in a soul-enriching environment. Tonight Hammer told our friends all of the things I can't cook, and when asked what I can cook, he strategically pivoted, telling them the food I like, so as not to expose the scarcity of my culinary repertoire. He also confessed to them (hotdog in hand): "we've had a lot of meat" with the face of an escaped convict, worried about being caught but also partly wanting to (both boys devoured the plate of cucumbers and hummus on the table, which clearly served as comfort food). Your first night away, as I was getting Jammer into bed, he muttered almost to himself, "I miss Mommy." Today I found Abe cutting up a thank you card someone had sent us with a nice family picture on one side. My immediate reaction was to tell him not to cut it up, but he coolly replied, "I know Mommy would say we don't need this anymore." And as I thought about it, I realized he was right. It was almost as if he was purposefully showing me that my parenting style is this contrived attempt to imitate what I think you would do, but he knows the difference. 

Abe was genuinely nervous when he heard you were leaving--you've never been away from the boys for this length of time--and asked sincerely, "What if something happens?" I pretended not to be insulted with that comment in its sweeping scope, but have since realized the stinging truth of it. What if something happens? Like they need to eat something that will sustain and strengthen them? Or if we want to go camping and need to know what to bring, where to go, when to leave, and what to eat? Or if we want to maintain discipline through chores and routines? Or if we want to be an orderly environment, not just clean, but orderly!? Or if someone gets hurt, or gets a tick, or won't take a nap, or asks constant questions and expects a listening ear and appropriate response? What if something happens?! 

Well, things have happened. And we've survived. But we haven't thrived. I am in absolute awe and admiration for you, Ariel. I'm grateful, honored, and humbled to be at your side in the great work of parenting. I can't pull it off alone, and I know you could, can, and do much of the time--but I'm grateful we can do this amazing work together. Our morning devotionals have been good, our bedtime routines have been smooth, everyone is generally getting along--but there are so many gaps and holes and pieces missing. You have this nuanced, graceful way about you. I've always appreciated it to some degree, and enjoy expressing appreciation. But this immersive experience into 2/3 of your world has embedded a new level of love and respect for you. So much so that it has demanded an open letter.  

I love you. Come home soon. We'll try to keep things sufficiently together until you do.

Love,

Andrew

The Handicraftswoman

There's a red underline under the title of my post right now, indicating that I have misspelled a word. And perhaps I have, for while the word "handicraftsman" is found in the dictionary, "handicraftswoman" is not. However, this needs to be altered, not in the name of gender equality, but because Ariel Beatrice Galli Marshall is exactly that--a handicraftswoman.

Please, allow me to take you on an exclusive (though by no means comprehensive) tour of some of her work over the past eight months since we've moved into our home. Projects range from craft to construction. She is the visionary, the engineer, the manager, and on the ground working away through it all. I was grateful that she recruited me to join her team, even if I was only used for my brawniness and my submissiveness to her brilliance. We had other help along the way, including long hours put in by Nonna, Yaya, Chris Dean, Jason Wilcox, and the missionaries. We are all in awe of Ariel whose refreshing start-to-finish style has seen changes made to this house that I didn't expect to see in the first two or three years. And based on these eight months, I'm certain we're just getting stated. So join me in celebrating the graceful, beautiful, wise, strong, and brilliant Handicraftswoman.

Ariel Beautifies the Ugly Room
This was our first project coming into the home. It involved painting, tearing out carpets, capping gas lines, throwing out curtains, and laying down new flooring. The room went from kinda nasty to kinda really beautiful. Now it's a library where we read books and play instruments. Great way to kick things off, Ariel. 

BEFORE

AFTER

Projects don't keep her from her priorities.

Thanks to Nonna and Yaya--messengers sent to us for a "vacation" that involved no little amount of work and discomfort.

A willing soldier in Ariel's cause.

Chris Dean and Jason Wilcox--two true Latter-day Saints of College Park Ward class.

Tintin is not just a passing fad at the Marshall's, it seems.

Ariel Brings Color to the Dining Room

So I walk in from work one day and find our family signature on the wall. I know in an instant that she's at it again.

From Dungeon to Playroom: Ariel's Legacy Continues

For the full scoop on Ariel's basement vision and execution, check out ODL. The basement wasn't exactly kid-friendly. The old carpet, wooden panels, bizarre light fixtures, and general mustiness of it all didn't beckon the tykes to play. Yet, Abe loved the basement. And it's a great space, just not put to great use. Ariel saw, Ariel envisioned, and Ariel conquered.

BEFORE

AFTER

Even demolition doesn't come naturally to me.

Elder Mataele priming.

So I thought I'd surprise Ariel by testing out a color for the basement. I should have known better.

Those PVC pipes aren't supposed to bend quite like that and for the first time, I felt useful.

 

I was thinking of doing a castle on a hill, or a big colorful mural, freehand. That would have been disastrous. This turned out so much better. Abe, Ben, and baby girl in hot air balloons with AA in a sailboat leading the way.

She can make striped pillow cases. By ear.

And creative bookcases.

 

Beanbag from scratch? Might as well scratch it off the to-do list now, because Ms. Ariel has done it.

In Her Spare Time Ariel Keeps Creating

The following only represents a sampling of her work. She's brilliant and I'm always astounded with what she can produce. It's tenacity and stick-to-itiveness. It's creativity and amazing attention to detail. She may have the only brain where the right and left are equally strong and indefatigable. 

Crayon cupcakes.

Little skirt and apple onesie.

Picture frame for the library taken from snippets of the children's book "A Hole is to Dig."

Rhubarb pie. An entire post, wait no, an entire blog, wait no, the entire Internet could be dedicated to Ariel's culinary handicraftswomanship. I'll look into that.

Ariel, I admire you and am unabashedly in love with you. I am eager to share with one and all my ever-growing awe for who you are and what you do. Being on your team is pure excitement.

B-Jam's B-Day.

Little Benjamin turned 1. A few observations from his Father follow:

• No one on earth has a more effective smile
• And by effective I mean infectious. 
• He can't contain the light within him. I'm a grateful recipient every time I come in the door after work. 
• He loves his Mama and calls to her any time he is not in her arms.
• He loves his brother and laughs with him more than anyone else.
• He's going to be an explorer when he grows up. Probably will find some new Portuguese island.
• He loves adventuring. Whether climbing up couches, learning to walk, going out anywhere into the world, crawling on hard cement through splash pads, or crash-splashing bathtubs, Ben is up for anything. 
• And when he bonks his head or bruises his arm or topples down or gets clobbered by something or someone bigger than he is, he gets right back on the horse. Benjamin "Resilience" Marshall. 
• I love him. He's one. He's fun. I'm done. Blun. 

Do yourself a favor and enjoy the pictures and video below. 

Cheeks.