On 15 Years

Aaron and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary last week.
He was in Spain.
I was here.
And I missed him awfully.
When I suggested he go on this trip, we didn't know the dates.
When we got them, I realized he'd be gone on his birthday.
And Davy's birthday.
And our anniversary.
And Father's Day.
June is a big month for us.
And he said, "I don't have to go."
We'd been dreaming of going somewhere special for our 15th.
But a trip like this comes along only once in a great while, or only once ever.
And we'll have lots, and lots, more anniversaries.
So I said, "go."
And I meant it.

It was harder than I thought to have him gone on that day.
I was sad.
And I was lonely.
But I was also so glad he was there--having the adventure of a lifetime.

Before he left, Aaron gave me an anniversary present.
I wasn't surprised that he remembered, that he planned ahead, and got me something special.
I was, however, surprised by what he got me.
I was fully expecting jewelry.
In the past few years I have fallen in love with this jewelry designer and he has gotten me several of her pieces.
I love them madly.
I wear them all the time.
And I thought, "this is a pretty special day--I wonder what piece he got me?"
I should have known that he wouldn't do the expected.

Still I was surprised when, minutes before he left at 3:30 in the morning, he said, "your anniversary present is in our room.  Why don't you go get it."
Sitting on the dresser was a folded, white, tee-shirt.
I picked it up.
On the front of the shirt was a pretty bad drawing of a pelican holding a surf board.
A piece of paper fell out.
It was a gift certificate for surf camp.
He got me a week of SURF CAMP!

I walked back into the living room with tears in my eyes.
"I know its not very romantic.  It's kind of random.  Do you like it?"
"I love it," I smiled through my tears.
"It's just that you've talked about wanting to learn to surf for so long, and you always say that you want to go to surf camp.  So I just thought you should go."

And then the tears came faster.
He listens.
He knows me.
After 15 years, this is the sweetest gift of all.

Aaron and I met when I was 17.
He was 19.
By my 18th birthday we had fallen in love.
We've been together ever since.
We tried to break up once when we were dating.
But it didn't last the weekend.
A few years ago our marriage almost broke.
But we are fighters.
And even when we were fighting with each other, we were fighting for our marriage, and our love.

Now we're at 15 years.
It feels like a milestone.
It feels like a victory.
It feels like a miracle.
It feels like a gift.

I have referred to this verse often, but it feels so true for us right now.

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 4:7-8

Our love hasn't failed.

Even when we failed, there was grace and redemption, and love.

Sometimes our life has felt like a fairy tale, and at other times it has felt like hard work.

And all of it has been worth it.
I wouldn't trade this life with him.
I love him so.

We have spent the last 15 years growing up together.
I'd like to spend the rest of our life growing old together.

Happy anniversary, my Aaron.
I love you for always.
Love from,
Greta
PS.  And thank you for surf camp.  I can't wait!!  Kowabunga!

*I've written before about marriage. It's one of my passions.
You can read my take on real life romance here, and about the worthwhile labor of marriage here.  Where ever you might be in your relationship, I hope my words can be an encouragement to you.

Practically Perfect In Every Way--Our Palm Springs Weekend

2 weekends ago Aaron and I escaped to Palm Springs.

When you have 4 kids, getting a weekend away requires more than a little bit of planning.

It took 2 sets of grandparents, an aunt and uncle, another aunt, and a dear friend to get all the kids taken care of for the weekend.

In the week leading up to our getaway, my mom fell and had to get her finger stitched up and a split in her chin glued together, my mother-in-law developed a terrible case of bursitis, my sister and brother in law were expecting 3 visitors and a dog to spend the weekend with them in their already crowded house, yet they all still said, "yes!  drop off the kids."

And then Davy got a high fever, a terrible sore throat, and wouldn't sleep at night.

It seemed the stars were not aligned in our favor.

He was a little better by Friday, so we decided to go for it.

(I never would have done that with the 1st kid)

Leaving much later than originally planned, we headed out.

At the last minute, Aaron decided we really had to drive the Falcon to Palm Springs, so we squeezed the whole fam in the wagon, and dropped the kids off one by one.

Driving in the Falcon always attracts a lot of attention.
But when it is loaded with 4 kids and a bunch of vintage suitcases in the back, we attracted a LOT of attention.
All told, we spent over 2 hours in the car, just dropping the kids off at their various destinations.

I was still pretty worried about leaving Davy, but he turned into a different kid the moment he saw my Dad, his best friend.
He squealed and laughed and played, and was happy as a clam.
My parents assured us everyone would be fine, and shooed us off with instructions to come back as late as we wanted on Sunday.
With a deep sigh of relief, we were on the road!
Maybe it is just me (but I pretty sure it is a universal Mom thing) but I find it so hard to let go of the guilt whenever I leave my kids behind.
And I don't mean I feel guilty about leaving my kids.
I know they are fine, and that it is good for us all to have a break from one another.
I mean the guilt I feel about everyone who is watching the kids, that Davy might keep my parents up all night, that Lilly will fight with her cousins, that the boys will ask for too many snacks, and all sorts of other ridiculous scenarios I create in my head.
It took the entire drive for me to really relax.
The moment we pulled off the freeway and Mt. San Jacinto loomed over us, the light from the full moon hit the mountain and lit up all the snow.
"Oh look!" I cried.  "It's so beautiful!  It's magical!"
And it was.
It felt like that moment happened just for me--a reminder that we were really there, somewhere so different from home and our everyday life, and that I should soak it all in, and enjoy my time with my best friend.
So we did.
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We rolled into Palm Springs at 9 pm and ate dinner at a restaurant called Birba.
Not only was the food fantastic, but the people watching was extraordinary.
It was Moderism Week in Palm Springs (the reason we were there) and that night there had been all sorts of fancy parties where people dressed up in their mid century best, and had cocktails in places like Frank Sinatra's house.
For reals.
How cool is that?
I think Aaron was in heaven looking at everyone dressed up in fabulous plaid jackets and gorgeous, full skirted dresses, looking like they walked right out of 1962.
It was a fun night.

The next morning dawned sunny, clear, and Palm Springs beautiful.
I was so glad Aaron chose to drive the Falcon.
It was the perfect way to get around PS, and she looked right at home amid all the mid century architecture.

Seriously, isn't she just the cutest?

We went out for coffee and breakfast and then headed out of town for a hike.

Since we always visit Palm Springs in the summer, we never get to see the mountains covered with snow.

It is a really beautiful sight.

This was our first hike in PS.
Summer temps aren't conducive to hiking, so we never get to do it.
Aaron dressed for the occasion in an ascot, and a sweater tossed jauntily across his shoulders.
He spurns modern day hiking gear, and things like cargo pocketed hiking shorts.
His response to my,"That's what you're wearing to go hiking?": "What would Cary Grant wear if he was hiking?"
I love this guy of mine--he makes me laugh.

We hiked 4 miles along an amazing palm oasis in the middle of the desert.
It was astonishingly beautiful and one of the most favorite hikes I have ever done.
I'll tell you all about it in my next post.

We did a lot of looking at gorgeous vintage goods, but not a lot of buying.
We have enough vintage stuff now that things have to be a great price in order for us to add to our collection.
Or it must be something we don't have and is on the list.
We didn't get anything, but it was awfully fun to look.

On Saturday we spent the afternoon at the vintage trailer show that was part of Modernism Week.
It was so much fun.
Just look at this little beauty.
We got to walk inside all of them, talk to their owners, and dream of the day when we'll be sitting inside one of our very own.
It was fun to be around a whole bunch of people who geek out over the same things we do.
There will be lots more pics of my favorite trailers over at Picnics in the Park.
Be sure to check it out!

I even had a celebrity sighting at the trailer show.
Charles Pheonix!
He was really nice, admired Aaron's ascot, and was super excited that we lived in one of So Cal's original 50s suburban communities.
We speak the same language.
I love Charles!

But you know what the best part of the day was?
Just cruising around with my man.
He was in his element amidst all that mid century coolness.
We laughed a lot, held hands, sat close on the bench seat in the Falcon, and had entire conversations without being interrupted once.
It was glorious.

Sunday morning dawned clear, windy, and cold, (for us) but still sunny.
We admired the pool from inside the warm house.
It's pretty wonderful to have generous friends who let you stay at their Palm Springs house because otherwise you could never afford to visit Palm Springs in the high season.
Thanks you guys!
We even had a view of the snowy mountains from the breakfast table.

After a visit to a vintage garage sale, and coming very close to purchasing a 1962 Shasta trailer, we went for another hike.
This one was the beginning of the Cactus to Clouds hike, and it was 1.5 miles of straight up.

It's an 850 elevation gain in only a mile and a half.
If you go the whole way, it's something like climbing 10,000 ft. (makes the 850 seem pretty lame, right?)
Doing that whole hike is now on my list of life goals.
It was a lot of scrambling over rocks, but the views were breathtaking.

And then, breakfast at my favorite spot.

The rest of the day was spent tooling around PS, doing a tiny bit of thrifitng, (not much to find this time of year) and leaving as the sun was setting behind the mountain.

This was the first time we'd been away for a night since my birthday, last August.
And it was the first time we'd been away for more than 1 night in probably 3 years--maybe more.

As hard as it is to make it all come together, getting in the time together away from our kids is really important to keeping our relationship healthy and strong.

Also, it is a lot of fun!

Thanks to all the fine people who made this trip possible.
We owe you big time.

Palm Springs, we love you!

Love from,

Greta

Before and After: a Fitness Love Story

Hi friends!  
This is a long one.  
But I hope you'll enjoy it.  
Please let me know if you do. 
Also, if you're friends with me on Face Book and have de-friended me because you are tired of my endless posts about working out, then this probably isn't the post for you.
Just saying.
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Do you remember falling in love?

Remember when that person was all you could think about?

You always wanted to be with them.

You missed them if you didn't see them for even one day.

You felt like a better version of yourself just by being around them.

And when you did have to be away from one another, you talked about them all the time, to anyone who would listen.

Falling in love is pretty magical, isn't it?

I remember those early days with Aaron.

He wrote me letters all the time--illustrated and full of the funny, Aaronish, kind of things he says that I loved and thought were brilliant, and no one else really got.

But I made them listen to his letters anyway.

Because I was in love.

We went out with a friend of mine once and she later told me that if she saw us kiss, or heard us say "I love you" one more time she was going to barf.

"Just you wait,' I told her. "You're turn will come and then I'm going to remind you of this day."

It did and I did.

And I was happy for her, because she was in love.

Because being is love is wonderful, isn't it?

Love is also a lot of hard work.

I've written before about the hard work of love--that it isn't always pretty, or fun, or easy, but when you stick to it, the results are worth all that labor.

And I know you're wondering, "where is this going?  I thought she was going to talk about fitness.  Or is she talking about love? Is this a serious post or a joke?"

It's no joke.

I'm seriously in love with fitness.

Ha!

No, I'm not kidding.

I really am.

In love.

With working out.

For reals.

Let me tell you why.

January was my 6 month birthday with Long Beach Boot Camp.

I cannot say enough good things about this company, my trainers, and the people I work out with.

My Boot Camp classes are a highlight of my day.

And, I fully admit, on some of the harder days, they are the highlight of my day.
My trainers make me laugh, and smile, and work up a sweat.
They push me.
They care.

Morning work outs give me energy to face my day, and evening workouts help me shake off the stress from a long day.
The endorphins that begin coursing through my body the moment we start our warm up run, fill me with a lightness and happiness akin to, you guessed it, being in love.

Although I have been active all my life, I have never worked out like this before.

I've never put in so much effort to really changing my body and to getting fit.

And so, I have never before experienced the work out "glow" fitness lovers talk about.

"I feel so amazing when I run," they'd say.

And I'd roll my eyes and mutter, "yeah right," under my breath.  

Or, "I just love working out hard, and getting a really good sweat."

Whatever.

Turns out, they are right.

A good sweat does feel great.
And while I still don't feel amazing for an entire run, I do for parts of it, and I certainly do when I'm done.
You can tell I feel amazing in this photo, taken after we ran up and down giant hills, in the rain, at 5:30 am.

But it didn't start that way.

My relationship with fitness had a rocky beginning

I went to my first class not knowing what to expect.

It took a couple of weeks to even get up the courage to go.

In the 5:30 am darkness, I pulled up to the basketball courts at at school I'd never been to, to workout with a trainer and a group of women I'd never met, and to try to complete a workout I was woefully unprepared for.

But I stuck it out.

And I went back the next day, and the next and the next.

My entire body was sore for weeks.

Even my toes and fingers hurt.

I felt like I had been in a car accident or something.
But I kept going.
5 or 6 days a week, I'd wake up at 4:50, lace up my shoes and go.

I'd come home, a hot, sweaty mess, and fall into bed next to Aaron, moaning in pain, to tell him about our workout.

"It was soooo hard!" 

Before long, I was glowing when I said it.

And my Facebook statuses began to be filled with tales of runs on Signal Hill, mastering a "real" push up, and how many crunches I'd done before 6 am.

I wanted to tell everyone about it.
(And I know, I know, I've talked about this before, but I just can't help talking about it again)

I had fallen in love.

So much so, that I dreaded the day my one month membership to Boot Camp expired.
On my last day, I hugged my trainer Sammie goodbye, and got in the car crying.
Around lunch time, I opened my emails and read this from my sweet, sweet husband:
Greta,
I’ve seen such an amazing transformation in you over the past month.
I just want to tell you how proud of you I am!
And I was so sad that today was your last day of Boot Camp.
Or is it...
I just got off the phone with Jo.
And, we’ve extended your Boot Camp indefinitely.
I do not want you to have to end what has been such a great experience.
I love you,
Aaron
Then the tears really poured!
Isn't he just the best ever?
It is one of the greatest gifts I've ever gotten.
I am so incredibly grateful to that man of mine.

I've done my best not to let him, my trainers, or myself down.
That means still waking up at the crack of dawn to work out in the freezing cold, (34 degrees!), or to go running when it's so cold it makes your teeth hurt.
These are things I never, ever thought I'd do.  (remember this?)

It means doing things I am afraid to do, like wall push ups.

And it means doing things like plank jumping jacks and spider man push ups, even though my first thought is, "no way".

It means going to class at night if I missed my morning class.

It means sweat stains, sore muscles, and making unattractive grunting noises as I try to do one more tricep dip.

So, here I am, 6 months later, and nothing has changed.

Except for the fact that I love this fitness thing even more.

Oh yeah, and my body.

My body has changed a lot.

Aaron recently told me that my toosh looks better now, at 36 and 4 kids later, than it ever has before.

I guess he's pretty happy with my Boot Camp results too.

These pictures were taken after 1 month of Boot Camp and after 6 months of Boot Camp.

The thing that amazes me is that I felt so proud of my progress after just 1 month.

And I had every right to be proud. 
I had started the work, and was already seeing changes in my body.

But when I look at those after pictures, just 5 months later, I feel even better.

I'm not going to lie, I feel amazing!

These pictures are terrible quality, I know.
Obviously I am not a great blogger, or I would have taken the time to take better before and after pictures.

Or at least have taken the time to clean the mirror.

But even with these bad pictures, you can see the difference, right?

I can too.

And I am still pretty blown away by it.

But far more better than any difference I see, is the difference I feel.

I feel like a new person.

I am happy in my skin.

I am happy in my jeans.

You know that chunk of fat that's hanging over my pants in those before pictures? 
My muffin top?

It's gone.

Hallelujah!  It's gone!

That is what hundreds and hundreds of crunches, bicycles, single leg pikes, romans, and all sorts of other tortuous ab workouts will do to a muffin top.

Yes, this love thing is hard work, but it is so worth it.

I really could go on and on.
Love will do that to you, you know.
But I'll end with this.
Beyond feeling great and fitting into smaller clothes, I also am so excited about the things my body can do now that it couldn't before.
In fact, it can do things I never dreamed it could.
When I started, I couldn't run a quarter mile.
Now I run an 8 minute mile.
I could hardly do 1 burpee.
Last week, I did 150.
I couldn't complete 20 push ups, on my knees, without stopping to rest often.
Today I did 215.
It's been hard work, but it has also been so much fun!
It feels good to be strong.
It feels good to be fit.

I don't plan on quitting anytime soon.
In fact, I have dreams for my future.
Like taking my grand kids for hikes, the same way my dad does with my kids.
It's not a crazy notion.
I run bleachers with a grandma.
She inspires me.

And in the meantime, I'll keep working out and having fun.
And I'll enjoy fitting into dresses that I haven't worn in 10 years.
That's pre-kids!
(and yeah, I keep my clothes for forever.)

What do you think, do I look like a woman in love?
Love from,
Greta
*If you made it this far, thank you for not giving up.  There's just a touch more.
I just have to reiterate how much I owe to my Aaron for all of this.  He has been endlessly supportive and giving.  From the financial investment, to the way he always says, "I've got the kids, you go to class"--he is the reason I have been able to make it happen.  He never begrudges me the time  spend in class.  So yes, I am a woman in love. Twice over!  Thank you, darling!

And, if you live in the Long Beach area, and are looking for the best workout around, come to Long Beach Boot Camp with me.  I promise, you won't be disappointed!

*If you are interested, you can find my previous posts about my journey to fitness here and also here.

I'm Shamelessly Proud of My Man

Aaron had his art show opening on Thursday night.

If you don't follow along on Picnics In the Park, you might not have known about it.

With my limited postings these days, I don't think I mentioned it here.

I posted a bit about it on Picnics last week.

Despite my limited mentions of it, the show was the biggest thing going on over here for quite a while.

Every night after dinner, Aaron would brew a pot of espresso, do a little before bed wrestling and reading of stories, kiss the kids goodnight, and then I'd push him outside to his studio.

I took over bedtime, and many nights fell asleep cuddling with someone or another.

When I'd wake up sometimes a half hour, or several hours later, Aaron was always in the studio, painting away.

The most fun part of it all was that every morning there would be something new for me to see.

With each new painting he'd be more excited for the next one.

It was incredibly wonderful to see his passion for painting coming back to life.

But, in spite of his renewed passion, he'd wonder on occasion if his paintings were any good.

Were they "art'?

Would anyone take him seriously?

I tried to remind him that he couldn't paint anything other than what was in him.

After all, when you try to be someone other than yourself it's obvious.

Besides, I love who Aaron is, and I love that who he is comes out in his art.

I know some people just don't get a painting of a trailer, sunglasses, or a beach with a rocket ship sitting on it.

I know some people like Thomas Kinkade, or Wyland.

We all have different ideas of what makes up "real" art.

But trailers, sunglasses, and rocket ships are all Aaron.

And so he went with what he loved.

And the paintings kept coming.

As the show date grew closer, there were days when I knew he felt a little bit nervous.

Putting your art out for the world to see is a way of exposing yourself.

It is making yourself vulnerable.

I was confident that the night, and the show, would be really wonderful.

But I wasn't the one putting my art up on the walls.

So all I could do was offer encouragement and assurances that it would be wonderful.

Of course, it was wonderful.

Really wonderful.

So many friends and family showed up to support Aaron.

He was touched.

And very grateful.

The whole night he had a grin on his face.
And I knew how happy he was to be there.
I knew he was happy that he had made the time to paint.
I knew he was happy with his paintings and that people were enjoying them.
That was the best part of the night for me-- to see the man I love so happy.

When Aaron is feeling especially happy he likes to give speeches.
Good thing he is an artist, otherwise he might have pursued a career in politics!
He gave a little speech that night to some of the people at the show.
It was sweet, and real, and from his heart.
I can think of other times he's made speeches, always when his heart is full and he just has to share what's in there.
I love that about him.

At the end of the night he was exhausted and exhilarated.
And I was so proud of him.
I don't say often enough how much I think of my husband.
I speak of the kids always, their creativity, their sweetness, and how much fun they are.
Much of that comes from their Daddy.
He infuses our home and our lives with all those things.
He works a lot.
All day, all week, all year.
Not a lot of vacation days.
His evenings and weekends are not spent pursuing his own "things".
(well, except for the Craig's List hunts for a vintage trailer....)
He doesn't sit on the couch watching football games and telling the kids to leave him alone.
Instead he wakes up early on Saturdays to take them to the skate park.
He is always working on a house project, detailing my car for me, or helping out with baseball practice.
In short, he lives his life to take care of all of us.

But he has this part of him that longs to make things.
Where, though, does one find the time to make things when one works full time, is a husband and a father of 4?

We all know, whether you have 1 kid, 5 kids or no kids, a full time job, or a part time job, life is busy.

It is hard to make time for the things you love to do.

But he did it.
He made the time.
It was a sacrifice, of course.
Our garage and yard can attest to that.
He followed the passion in his heart and made things.
He made cool things, just like he wanted to.
And yes, I am shamelessly, ridiculously, enormously proud of him for it.

You did it, Aaron.

It was wonderful.

And so are you.

Here's to lots more late nights, art shows, and happy speeches.

I love you.

Love from,

Greta

*Thanks to the people who took pictures of the show.  I was so busy talking that I hardly took any.  I'm glad there are some to document the night.

PS.  When was the last time you bragged about your man?  
Or woman, or mom, or dad, or best friend?  
You know, someone besides your kid.

You should try it.

Call them up and tell them, or write a note, send them flowers, write a blog post, a Facebook post, or paint them a picture.

I often think of this post, and how easy it is to let time pass and never tell the people we love how much they mean to us.

Do it, friends, before it is too late.

Thanksgiving is the perfect time to tell the people in your life that they matter.

I hope you will.
I know they'll love hearing it.