Coronado.

My husband is an amazingly hard worker. He is great at what he does. He's so great at what he does, that he is in the highest bracket of sales, and won a four day, expenses-paid trip to Coronado, California. (Jake is a Schwan's Route Driver, by the way.)

It was REALLY hard to leave home, I will admit, but because I wanted to support Jake in his hard-earned achievement, and I really would (have) benefit(ed) from a vacation, I boarded the plane with him at 6:15am on Thursday of last week. I will admit, I cried the entire way to the airport, most of the first plane ride, and a good chunk of the second, and then at the hotel, and then cried myself to sleep. Yes, I was a fountain of tears.

But, overall, it was a great trip. Jake was amazing, supportive, and caring as I wept randomly throughout the four days. Though he admittedly didn't really understand how I was feeling or what I was going through, he tried, and he was not mad at me for being sad at times. At first, I was worried that he would be so sick of me being emotional that I undercut him and wouldn't even try to express in words what I was feeling, though by the end of Thursday night, I opened up, and it really helped.

Anyway, here's where we stayed:That's the Hotel del Coronado, apparently one of the oldest all wooden hotels in the country, or so said the Historical Marker plaque thing out front. Anyway, it was huge, gorgeous, and right on the beach, so I mean, who could complain about that?

On Thursday, after we arrived, they had Schwan's flip-flops and beach towels for us, as well as t-shirts, and random information that we picked up at the beach, and then had brunch on the beach. Totally cool. Jake and I then decided to nap in our hotel room (which had 2 queen-sized beds) before venturing out for the evening. We went on a walk down Orange Ave. and had sushi for supper at a joint called Yummy Sushi. It was pretty fantastic! That night, we went for a moon-lit walk on the beach and took in the sounds of the ocean.

On Friday, we had a Schwan's lunch in the garden area in the center of the hotel. It was delicious, and gorgeous outside. Following lunch, Jake and I went to the beach again for a quick visit, and saw a man there building a remarkable sandcastle. You can see his work at http://www.thesandcastleman.com. Following, we had a business meeting, and then a break before we boarded buses to the night-time sky-line cruise. We were aboard the Inspiration Hornblower for supper and the awards banquet.

On Saturday, we had the day free, so Jake and I went down Orange Ave. again and bought some souveniers for my mom and sisters who were staying at our place with Spencer and Wendell. We had ice cream at MooTime Creamery (much like a Coldstone), and lunch at Bistro d'Asia. We spent even more time at the beach, and watched the sunset over the Pacific. We wrote messages in the sand to photograph for my family and Spencer, and then we got ready for the celebration dinner that was held at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar.

At MCAS Miramar, we were able to get up-close and personal with some of the military aircraft. Truthfully, I don't remember which they had on display but we were able to climb in and out of them and tour them. Jake could probably tell you more.

Then we had dinner inside the hangar, followed by some random entertainers. Then, the big surprise entertainment was revealed... Chicago! Yeah, the band, the one that plays trombone, flute, trumpet, drums, etc. The big-shots with all the hits. I was excited, and also kind of disturbed at the choice, but overall, it was pretty fun to see them live. Jake took video on his cell phone as we didn't remember to bring the camera to the event.

We didn't leave Coronado until the afternoon on Sunday, so Sunday morning we once more walked Orange Ave., and visited a park, then stopped for coffee at Starbucks, and brunch at Bruegger's Bagels. We visited the beach one last time, taking pictures of the massive waves and the sandcastle progress as it stood.

Sunday was a really long day, as we spent five or so hours in the San Diego and Denver airports (not a piece, luckily), plus the time on the flights. Spencer was asleep when we got home, but at 3am the next morning when he woke up screaming with extreme hunger, I still got a few big smiles from him amidst the tears.

It was so wonderful to see him fully awake on Monday. He smiled at everything I said or did for hours on end.

Man, I missed him.

But I was glad I went on the trip too. It really was wonderful to spend quality one-on-one time with my husband. I had, truthfully, forgotten what it was like. It was really strange to realize that. And, since I hadn't been away from Spencer for more than an hour while I was awake, it was really hard to leave for four days for the first time, but it was worth it, even if it was hard and I cried my heart out at least seven times.

You can see more pictures by clicking here.

When did I stop?

When I was in high school, my main goal in life was, "to make a difference." That's what I'd tell people. That idea carried on through high school, to college, and after college... for a while.

Recently, I feel like I've lost that. Not that I don't want to make a difference, because I do, definitely. But, I've stopped vocalizing it. I've stopped using it as a driving force.

I'm conflicted about that.

I didn't necessarily think I was doing big things when I was working on this goal. In high school, it was writing poetry, mainly, and sharing it with the world. I know it sounds totally strange, but man, I was popular when it came to the online poetry community. I was on boards and people were reading my work left and right, praising me, and telling me how much they could relate. I received so many thanks and comments on my webpage (now deceased, due to the collapse or whatever of geocities) that I was completely astonished with myself. I didn't think I was really good at writing, I just wrote because it's what I could do. It was an outlet. It was a release and hey, an avenue for my ever burning creative fire. I made friendships with my poetry, online, and offline too. Even after my mother read my poetry about my inner pain and got mad at me for writing it, I continued, because it seemed to mean something, not only to me, but to the world. I felt powerful.

After high school, I joined outreach groups and other activities in college. At Augustana, I did youth overnight lock-ins with the IXOYE outreach ministry. It was wonderful! We were sharing the love of the Lord with so many children. It inspired me to work at Shetek Lutheran Ministries the summer of 2003 as a camp counselor. I loved the work we were doing. I returned the next summer as a daycamp director, and took other staff along with me as we shared the Lord with children all across southwestern Minnesota and southeastern South Dakota. I remember one camp where we re-wrote the Lord's prayer with the children, in their words. I still have my camp binders. I sang the love of the Lord with my guitar, for me, for staff, for children, for families. I felt I was really making a difference there, too.

I was an RA in college at Southwest MN State University two years later, and I was able to counsel and support freshmen students in our house as we went through some crazy situations. I allowed a random guy, who was drunk and drugged up, to grope and harass me for the protection of the students, and then work through it with them. I did everything I could for that house of students, everything they would let me. We formed some really great relationships, and it was really hard to say goodbye and get married that summer knowing I could never be an RA again.

During my junior and senior year, I worked at a Crisis Center in Marshall, doing supervised visitations. It was a relatively simple job most times, though it was always hard to pry children from their parents. But, I felt like I was making a difference, I was allowing these families to have time together that they wouldn't have otherwise.

My senior year of college, I took an internship at Western Community Action, and made it my mission to help combat the terror of poverty in our area. I loved it. I worked at the food shelf, basically running it, helping people have food. I helped run a free tax clinic where those who couldn't afford others to do their taxes could come and we would help. It was wonderful. I fell so in love with it that I applied to work there after graduation, and was hired. I then took on the food shelf, and started a group for girls, where they empowered themselves and learned leadership skills and other useful things. I ran a Big Buddies program in Redwood county (mentoring), and then my final project was to help form the Circles of Support program, where the community would come together on a regular basis, to relate, learn, lead by example, fight poverty, and form relationships, across all lines that are considered barriers (class, race, age, gender, etc.) I really felt I was doing something big.

During this time, I also volunteered at my other employment, the crisis center, as a Crisis Line advocate. The crisis line was a wonderful way to make a difference, with late night calls reporting rape, and I'd drive to hospitals to be an advocate for women who were going through perhaps the worst situation in their lives. I was there for suicidal callers. I was there for so much. They didn't always know me, but I was there. I was making a difference.

When I resigned from my WCA job and started as a preschool teacher, I felt important then too, not as important, but important. I mean really, I was educating young minds. Same goes for when I moved to Sioux Falls and started working in an infant room. But the impact didn't feel the same. I'm sure it's meaningful, but it just wasn't the same.

I sit here, raising my son, and am very, very proud of it. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm making a difference like I hoped for, dreamed of, and wanted. I don't know why I feel that way. What did I actually mean when I told myself that? Was it to make a difference for countless people, or could it mean to make a difference in the life of one little boy sleeping on my bed? I don't know. I don't think there are clearly defined boundaries for my dream.

I think I just need to work on seeing the way things really are, and that I am still making a difference, just in a different way than I expected.

And who's to say I can't do something big, yet?

I'm having Michael Jackson's baby... and other things.

Last night, I had a bizarre dream. I was in a hotel room, with my brother, and we were just spending the night for fun, because Jake was on an overnight route and couldn't be home with me.

While I was sleeping, I had my baby. And my baby was a very dark, chocolate brown color. My brother and I were a little confused, but didn't think much of it, as we packed up and walked to the hospital to check in and make sure the baby was okay.

We called Jake from the hospital and told him he needed to be there right away, so he came as fast as he could. And, while we sat there in the waiting room, Jake met his son. He said, "That's not mine."

"Yes it is, you're the only guy I've ever slept with." (This is a true fact, I am very proud to say.)

So, Jake demanded a DNA test. The test proved the child was in fact his.

We asked the doctors how that could possibly be correct, and their explanation was either
A: the fertility treatments we went through altered the baby's genetic make-up so that he was born resembling an African-American baby,

B: my husband was born African-American, but his parents didn't want him to know that, so they bleached him white.

I woke up laughing, thinking to myself, "I married Michael Jackson."

Obviously, that's NOT what happened to Michael Jackson, but I mean, come on. Haha.

In other news, I decided tonight that I wanted to catch up on my hand-written journals, despite the fact that I had been typing them up on my laptop months ago, and the laptop screen is broken, so I couldn't see them. I was going to find the journal I had been writing my typed entries in so I could see where I left off with that at least, and then do a "briefing" of the last four months or so (I figure, it's hard to say exactly where I stopped typing them up thinking I'd get my screen fixed), and then continue with my thoughts.

Well, I can't find the journal I was using. I have dug through quite a few boxes and places and can't find it anywhere. I'm feeling a little defeated and it's actually prohibiting me from just starting in the new journal like I had decided I would for part two of my plan. That's just lame. I should not make excuses.

Tomorrow, my step-mother-in-law is coming to town, and she's bringing us a crib she found at a thrift store! It's pretty cute. I thought at first I might feel strange having a used crib, but it feels... perfectly fine. It makes more sense financially, and since it's in tip-top shape, why not? And it's not like the baby is going to care.

I'm pretty excited that the soon-to-be grandmother is so excited for the arrival of our son.

The other night, I was sitting writing a thank-you (okay, last night) and got completely overwhelmed knowing there are SO MANY people out there who prayed for us to finally conceive a child, and have been praying for us and for his health ever since we found out we were having a child. I don't even know HALF of the people. I've never met them.

We're truly blessed.

Alright, time for some supper, and then attempting to start this new journal. At least begin it...