Emerging from the postpartum shadows

I'm starting to see the light and feel the warmth of the sun. I'm starting to enjoy the cool breeze, and smile easy and laugh easier.

I'm starting to breathe again.

Because for awhile there, I wasn't. It was all choked up in my throat and my heart kept pounding but....as Jordan Sparks would say, no air. 

Rhenner is a few days shy of being 4 months old. And now I can look at him and say I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy you're in our family and that you have cute, fluffy hair that sticks straight up and a big nose and an even bigger smile. 

I'm going to be honest. Rhenner? Well, he broke me. He shattered every ounce of confidence I had as a mother and he threw the broken pieces in the air for the wind to catch and carry away. And just like that, I was a mess. I thought I knew what I was doing. And therein lied the problem: When it comes to kids, I should remember that I never know what I'm doing.

I thought he would be just. like. his. brother. And funny thing! He wasn't. He was hard. He was really hard and I dreaded every day. I would lie down at night and think, I have to do that all over again tomorrow. How am I going to survive this?

A friend of mine told me that it really looked like I had my shit together (her words, not mine, but I'm keeping them nonetheless). The fact was, only my instagram feed and facebook status updates had their shit together. But not me. Definitely not real-life-Meghan.

Rhenner didn't take a pacifier like his brother did. And it wasn't just that he didn't take a pacifier - he didn't take comfort. Like, at all. People suggested putting him in a carrier. He screamed louder when he was facing in towards me. People suggested I swaddle him. He fought harder against the fabric, against himself. People suggested putting him in the carseat and taking him for a ride - Bad. Bad, bad, bad idea. Rhenner detests the carseat and screamed everytime I would put him in it. It didn't matter how long the drive was, he would scream the whole time. I hated driving him anywhere, because it just made me feel awful listening to him. I tried nursing him to sleep - he would nurse, and then just as he was getting tired, he would get mad again and attempt to rip my nipple off my breast. When he was tired, he didn't want to be held. He didn't want to nurse. He didn't want to rock. He just wanted to sleep, and he didn't know how. It tortured me. I would shut myself in his room for 45 minutes at a time, all the while he is screaming and clawing at my shirt and just begging for sleep. I would get him -finally!- asleep, only to have him wake up within minutes, starting the entire process all over again. Even Grandma, when she came to visit, knew he was a mystery. "Hmph." She said. "He is one tough customer, isn't he? You really got your hands full."

I took him and Axton to a park play group one day. Just to try it. Just to prove all those depressing thought in my head wrong - thoughts that told me I would never again get to go out or take Axton places or have other people watch my kids. Well, while we were there, Rhenner got tired as one-month-olds tend to do, and he was crying and I was nursing on a park bench and Axton is pouting next to me, saying Mommy please come play with me? And nursing isn't helping and walking or swaying isn't helping. So, a friend offers to try....She asks, "Does he take a pacifier?" Good grief, if he did, don't you think I would have tried that by now? I watched him pound his fists against her chest, clawing at her shirt, his face getting redder and his screams getting louder. I watched her face as she handed him back to me. It was a look of relief.  A look that said to me Boy I'm glad he's not my kid. And again, I was defeated.

We had friends over for dinner another night, and I couldn't enjoy a single minute with them because Rhenner wouldn't go to sleep. I walked up and down our driveway, up and down, up and down. I walked slow, I did lunges, I bounced and jiggled and really the only way he would ever fall asleep was after just giving up. But I couldn't put him down in his bassinet because then he would wake up, and I couldn't go back and enjoy my friends because our talking would wake him up. So, once again, I had to seclude myself in his room and just wait. It was such a lonely time.

On top of his crankiness, he was also extremely congested. There were countless nights I had to sleep sitting up, holding him at an incline, so he could breathe while he slept at night. Below is a video I took of him around 4 weeks old. I took the video because everytime I tried talking to someone about it, it was like they didn't believe me or thought I was making a bigger deal out of it than I needed to. So I wanted to prove to them that this is what he sounded like all the time, and that this wasn't normal.

 I talked to several different people - is it a cold turned something serious? Is it allergies? Milk sensitivity? His primary care physician thought it could be reflux, but didn't think it was serious enough for a prescription. Another doctor I took him to thought it was just a lingering cold and he would get over it. Another one didn't know what was causing it, and could only suggest taking him to an ENT. When I went in for my 6 week check up with my midwife she asked, "Does he always sound like this?" and I said, "Yes. Always. Thank you for noticing." She suggested some natural remedies for the congestion and for reflux. I didn't know what was causing it, but it was incredibly frustrating to not have answers. It was also guilt-inducing to think that if it was milk allergies, I was the one causing it. So I cut out all dairy products, feeling a little bit better that at least I was trying to find a solution.

I welcomed the night. Night time was the only time I could catch a break. Rhenner would, after several, clustered feedings, sleep in bed next to me. He would generally go right back to sleep after nursing. So, we co-slept. Because, like I said, it was the only break I got. I woke up in the morning only to look forward to going back to bed at night. That, my friends, does nothing for a person's happiness.

I felt guilty about Axton, too. Rhenner sucked so much energy out of me and Axton was dealing with so many changes at once - I was not patient. I didn't have enough time in the day to be the kind of mother I wanted - and used to be! - to him. I constantly thought, "What was I thinking? I was a great mother to just one boy, and now I am simply a mediocre mom to two boys! Was it worth that? I will never have another kid, because then I will just be a sucky mom to three kids and that's not fair to anyone involved." I felt guilty that I wasn't enjoying Rhenner the way I had hoped to. That I was telling myself this was just something I had to get through, rather than moments to embrace. I was simply just....living. Just going through the motions. I felt guilty that I was constantly comparing Rhenner to Axton, thinking how easy Axton was! When really, I probably just forgot the hard stuff with him.

So, as I'm sure you can tell now, when it came time to fly to Idaho with both boys by myself, I had extreme anxiety. I got so worked up and so nervous, I made myself sick the morning before the flight. I spent most of that morning in the bathroom. Going through security, Rhenner was in the carrier - which, of course, he hates but I don't have enough hands for anything else. Axton was screaming for Daddy when he saw him not go through the security with us, and I am - what else? - crying. Finally, Rhenner is exhausted and he allows me to put the pacifier in his mouth - he doesn't even suck before he is asleep. The plane ride itself isn't bad; Axton watches Curious George and the humming of the plane helps Rhenner sleep. But getting off the plane? Everything is chaos! More crying and screaming and everyone is staring and I make eye contact with no one. Just keep looking forward. Just keep moving. Axton is running away from me and I choose to save him over my camera equipment and when I get back to my stuff, someone had been waiting by my bags to make sure no one stole anything. Thank you. 

And then we have the most hellish drive of my life - 4 hours from Salt Lake City up to Idaho with the child that can't stand to be in his carseat. I literally had to turn myself off. I had to block it all out. I had to be emotionless. I will say it again: I was broken. 

Being with my mom was good for me, but it also made me rely on her. She didn't leave me alone too often while we were there, but the few times she did have to work, I would get panic attacks when I would find out I would have to be alone with the boys. I dreaded being alone with them. Do you know how that feels? How awful it is to know that you dread being alone with your own children? My mom kept encouraging the pacifier and I just...everything felt wrong and out of place and again, I felt guilty that I was forcing something on him that he clearly didn't like.

We visited my sister in law, whose baby was only 5 weeks younger than Rhenner. We were there for 3 hours and I had to feed Rhenner twice while Landon slept the entire time. I looked enviously at him, swaddled and sleeping through the noise and movement and thought, "Rhenner never did that."

Going to church was embarrassing and felt completely like a waste of time. There were two other moms who had babies within 5 days of Rhenner, so we all returned to church around the same time. My first week back to church with Rhenner was miserable. Rhenner, as per usual, was not going to sleep. I walked into Relief Society, sat down, and he immediately started crying. So I carried everything back out with me, mumbling to someone, "Nope, that's not happening." There was way too much going on for him. It was too hot outside for me to take him out, someone had locked the Mother's nursing lounge (say what? That is NOT okay. It's not even about nursing in front of other people, I just needed a quiet room that loud kids wouldn't come barging into so he could fall asleep). So the only room I could find was the one right next to the Relief Society room. I knew every woman in there could hear his every wailing, his constant screaming. I knew what they all were thinking - about me, about Rhenner, about my mothering abilities - or at least, I thought I did. And I hated it, so much. The two other moms with babies the same age would look at me with their pity-eyes, and ask, "How is he doing?" I know now it was out of love, but in the moment it felt like they were rubbing it in. Rubbing in their perfect easy babies ("Oh man, this baby is SO much easier than my first. How about for you?!?") that magically fell asleep during the Sunday school lesson as they gently swayed them back and forth.

In the midst of all this, Axton stopped napping. And my already train-wreck of a life dissolved into nothing but tears and sadness. Once I realized he was done with his nap, I had a week where I just moped around the house, calling it a "quarter-life crisis." I told Adam I no longer knew what I was supposed to do with my life - especially when it came to the one thing I spent time on outside of the home: photography. "What am I even doing? I have to quit photography. I will never again have time for it. Besides, who am I to capture someone's wedding day? I am not that good. Nobody should ever trust me with capturing the most important day of their life. I am going to ruin someone's wedding. I've got to quit this. Axton is obviously having behavioral issues. It must be my fault. I need to focus more time on him. I should be doing more with him..." And I haven't even mentioned anything about dealing with a postpartum body, trying to get back in shape, my body not being my own, things hurting and aching still.  It went on and on and Adam didn't know what to do with me and I didn't know what to do with myself.


.........

I reread this post and I think that it does not do justice to what I was going through. It just makes me sound like a whiney person, with a slightly-above-average cranky baby, when really, I was depressed and it was really, really hard.
.
But then, slowly, things started getting a little easier. Rhenner started taking a pacifier occasionally, and then more and more often. Which meant he started to fall asleep peacefully. It was no longer a violent fight to get him to relax, he could peacefully sleep in my arms. I cried the first time it happend because I didn't realize how beautiful of a blessing it was, and what a difference it made, to not have him fight me so hard. His happy, awake moments started lasting longer, too. He would give me a smirk and my heart would leap for joy - a small reward for all my hard work that day. I am starting to read him easier, know his needs quicker, spread out his feedings longer. Axton is getting used to having him here, realizing he isn't a temporary inconvenience, but a permanent addition to our family. Of course it's still hard - but it's an I-can-handle-this hard. It's not a break-me-in-half hard.

I forgot how much I hated it when people asked if I had a "good baby." Somebody asked me that recently, "Has he been a good baby?" I honestly didn't know how to answer that. As hard as he was, he is still such an innocent little soul. He is still perfect and he is still mine and he is who he is for a reason, so how could I ever call him "bad"?

\Now that I am starting to be able to enjoy this stage with Rhenner, I've been reminded just how fast they really do grow. With Axton, I was so eager for him to reach the next milestone - eating solids, sleeping through the night, napping on a regular schedule, walking. Now, with Rhenner, I'm stretching everything out as long as I can. He is still sleeping with me most of the time, and I haven't even thought about introducing him to solids (even though, technically, he could start now).

I wanted to write about this as it was happening, I wanted to say, "Hey, I'm having a hard time," instead of writing about it after the fact. But really, I couldn't even wrap my head around it. I couldn't even see through the fog and the pain. It's been quite a journey, getting to this point. Motherhood is always a journey. It's true that every child really is his own person, and I will be fully prepared for the next one by....not being prepared at all. By being willing to take whoever comes to us and being patient. Until then, I'm learning who Rhenner is and how he fits into our family. Taking it one day at a time and finding joy in the journey.

Meeting Kyle*

Yesterday was slummy. It was downright discouraging and depressing, what with my camera breaking and ipod-losing and the job confusing... At one point in the afternoon, I looked out my window and saw a beautiful almost-fall day was about to slip through my fingers. So I decided to take Axton and Kaleo out for a walk. We live at the end of a cul-de-sac and so our roads stay pretty quiet; I usually let Axton dictate the direction of our walk. Today he went up the street, instead of toward the park. Today he saw the lady who lives at the corner, the one (of many) we haven't met yet. Today she waved and gave a smile and commented on his big blue eyes. She said, "Our dog is a barker, too, it's okay," when I apologized for Kaleo's loudness. Axton kept waving and waving so she came over to say hi and to pet Kaleo.

Finally she said, "I'm waiting for my son to come home. The bus is almost here." She paused, and then smiled again at Axton. "His name is Kyle."

We didn't say anything else for a few minutes. Then the woman turned back and called to her husband in the house. "Honey! He's here!" Her voice had an urgency to it and I guessed that perhaps her son was a kindergartner, and they were new School Parents.

A man came whizzing out of the house, his hands fumbling with an energy drink, car keys, a wallet. He jogged to meet up with his wife, who was already at the corner. Their quickness captured my attention, and even though she was gone, and even though it was probably rude, I stayed to watch their reunion. Axton, too, was still, his eyes caught on the action.

And then I saw the bus.

That's when I knew.

The bus stopped, and nothing happened for an abnormally long amount of time. Their child did not bound down the stairs, leaping into Daddy's arms. He did not high five his neighbor or say bye to the bus driver. Instead, I caught glimpses of him through the window, lead by an adult down the aisle. When he got to the top of the stairs, his dad reached up and picked him up.

The boy looked back at us, Axton and I, saw us watching him, over his dad's shoulder. He had the same big blue eyes as my boy did, and similar wispy blonde hair.

But, unlike Axton, he also had slanting eyes, a flattened nose bridge, a small mouth. Unlike Axton, this boy had down syndrome.

I had to fight the tears....I had to whisper for forgiveness. For my ingratitude, at my shallowness and hollowness.

The family walked towards their van, parked across the street from us. I leaned down to Axton and asked, "Can you say hi?" But Axton did not. I think he knew this boy was different.
So instead,I  said hi.
"Hi Kyle! You've got big blue eyes just like my boy!"
Kyle's dad set him down on the sidewalk next to us, and Kaleo stopped barking (luckily, he really likes kids) to sniff Kyle's hands.
"Kyle, you sure are a styling young man! Look at that cute outfit you have on! Axton," I tried again. "Can you say hi to Kyle?" But still he didn't.
Kyle pet the dog a few times, and then Mom said, "Ready to go out to eat?"
So I took the hint and told them to have a good night. "We're on our way to meet Daddy."

As we continued down the side walk, it wasn't long before Dad's car met up with us and the three of us - Axton, Kaleo, and I - hopped into the front seat with Dad, as he drove us the 50 yards back to the house (we don't make it too far on walks). I told Adam, "We met the family on the corner. They have a son, too."
"Oh yeah?" Adam said, pulling into the driveway and shutting off the car.
"He has down syndrome." I said, the motor's silence thickening as I did.
We both paused for a minute, two parents of a lively, healthy child. What a different life, what a different challenge it would be if he were not who he were.

I can't fathom the stress and the worry that that mother will live with for the rest of her/Kyle's life. It is a vastly different stress and worry that I will have. No one can say one is better or worse or harder or easier. We are both mothers and we share that life-clenching determination to do what is best for our child.

Regardless, I've been humbled. My path could have been different. The Lord loves us. He knows us. He knows what challenges we can handle, what to put in our path to shape us to be the kind of person He would want us to be. He is good.

I hope we see more of Kyle around - I could use more of his light in my life.


*Kyle is not really his name. He real name is much cuter and fitting for this boy but I felt I should not share it on here.

"He hath made everything beautiful in His time"

I've been reading the book It's All Too Much the last few weeks. It wasn't one I'd pick out for myself, but we're reading it for book club - it's all about organizing your home/life and figuring out why we keep the things we do, our relationship to the stuff we own, excuses for holding onto things, etc. I kind of dreaded starting it, mostly because I knew it would make me feel guilty for all the stuff (crap) in our house (tiny apartment), and organizing and throwing things away is always not just physically exhausting, but emotionally as well.

And that's exactly what happened. I read the excuses, checked them off one by one, said, "Yep, yep, yep...yep, that's me, too." Thus began the journey of organizing my home. I threw out bags and bags of clothes I haven't worn in months (but kept the fat clothes because eventually there will be more kids), I thew out boring baby toys and packed up ones Axton is "too old" for now, I sorted through the closets, under the bed, and the nightstand. I did it all without a second thought.....

Until I hit the bookshelves.

What is it about paper that I find so hard to throw away? I had books on my shelves I've read and didn't really like and therefore would never read again. I had books I'd been saving to read for years, and still haven't touched. I had books full of quotes and "words of wisdom" - and really, when would I sit down to read 100 pages of 1,000 quotes from different people? Um, never. I had my college anthologies, highlighted and thick with my handwritten notes. Oh they were beautiful.

Even worse to confront was the three-foot-wide stack of papers full of words that I wrote. I found the first paper I ever wrote for Brother Williams, which was also the first paper I'd ever written for an "English Major Class," which was the class that became the determining factor in me becoming an English Major. What I'm trying to say was, that paper was important to me. It had been returned to me covered in his green ink and cryptic editing symbols, the most hashed-up paper I'd ever received up to that point. But then at the end, he'd written the words: Your work is very promising. That's when it hit me: my college destiny, if you will, was to be an English Major. To take as many classes from this crazy-Nazi teacher as I could, and to show him that he was right about me, about my writing. I took every class he offered, and prided myself in each and every A he gave me (while peers would gush over a B from him, saying, "Getting a B from Ned is like getting an A in a 'normal' class). I couldn't throw away a single paper I wrote for him.

(The papers I kept)

The rest, I tossed into a bin to be taken to recycling.

(The papers I tossed)

Then I cried.

And I mean, cried. It was not just a few tears streaming down my face; it was full-on, shoulders-shaking-making-strange-gasping-noises-sobbing. I looked at that pile of papers and the hours of work it represented.  I saw the person I was during that time of my life - the freedom and the joy and the pride and accomplishments and compliments I received from it. I cried because it was over, and I would never again be that person and throwing away those papers proved it. I LOVED college. I was good at college - I was excellent at college. I could have gone on to get my graduates degree and my doctoral degree. I had the connections, I had the brains......and now what was I? A stay-at-home mom with mushy brains who hadn't accomplished anything important since December 2010. I had thrown it all away because I was scared and because being a mom was "easier," and now that he was here I would never get the opportunity back.

At least, those were my thoughts, and those were my tears. And yes, I realize I was throwing a pity party for myself. (And then Axton came over and put a green frisbee on my head and laughed and laughed and so I had to laugh a little bit too).

That night I sat down and typed out an email to that Ned Williams, wondering if he would even remember me. I was embarrassed with my sentimentality, my nostalgia; I also found myself embarrassed to tell him that "all" I'd done since graduating was move to Maryland, take a trip to Europe, have a baby, and continue to pursue photography. I thanked him for making me a better writer and student, told him I thoroughly regretted not doing the teaching internship while I had the chance. Then I said Mahalo for the first time in two years and signed off, not expecting a reply.

But, two days later, I received an email for Dr. Ned Williams. His words did my heart some good:

I have wondered what has become of you since you left Laie ...   Now I read that you have been wise in choosing motherhood, European travel, and photography during this season of your life.  Thoreau urges us to "make sure your footsteps are always pointed into the direction of your dreams."  Sounds like your post-Laie path would impress Thoreau. 

Do you see what I first saw when I read those words? During this season of your life. 

Those words soared into my soul: This is the season I am in now, Meghan. This is who you are, and it's okay. You had a season of college, you had a season of travel, and now you are in the season of Motherhood. 

Seasons, seasons, seasons. After I read that, now I see it's being whispered everywhere around me. I read a comment someone left on a blog that read: "Life is about Seasons." Another blog said: "I will allow myself to believe that there is a season for everything, and that opportunities and 'success' will come in time."

And then, of course, the scripture in Ecclesiastes that I had never really read until now:

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die .... A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance ... A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; ... A time to keep silence, and a time to speak....

He hath made everything beautiful in His time"

I think it's starting to sink in now. I was chatting with another photographer on Facebook the other day and I found myself telling her:

I also had to come to terms with the fact that, a lot of the photographers I tend to compare myself to, photography is their full time job. They either don't have kids or put their kids in daycare. I had to learn to be okay with the fact that I'm just not at a point in my life right now where photography can be a full time thing - it can only be a part time hobby. Right now I'm needed for a greater calling so I sometimes have to put photography on the back burner (and remind myself that one day they will be out of the house or in school and I will miss these days...right?  )

I think I was dreading organizing those papers because I knew that by throwing some of them away, I'd really be saying good bye to that season of my life. I had a good cry when I did it, and now I can move on. I'm happy to be in the season of life that I'm in now, and I honestly would not go back to any past "season" of my life if given the opportunity - because they are seasons for a reason! We need certain people, places, circumstances in our lives for different times. Change is good. Change is growth. Everything really is made beautiful in His time - and right now, my time is to be a mother. And it is gloriously beautiful. 

Hawaii: My Second Semester OR The Semester With the World's Craziest Roommates (including myself)

My second semester at BYU-Hawaii was a heck of a lot more fun than the first one. I finally started to live - and to enjoy the fact that I lived on a beautiful island.

Shout-out to my British Sistah!!

My first step was to move out of my tiny, tiny dorm room (seriously, they were about the same size as a walk-in closet, and you had to share it with another person), and into a house with four other girls. Since I didn't go home over the Christmas break, I was the first one into the house. I fell in love with the place. I missed it when I was away from it. I found so much peace and contentment being in that home - for the first time in probably my entire life, I finally felt like I had found..... home. 

My little bed that I hardly ever slept in because I was always sleeping with my roommate. 

Well shortly thereafter I met the four girls I was going to spend the next few months with. I liked them all right away, and to this day I still love them. They were all so different. I know we didn't always get along (I suppose that's pretty typical for 5 girls living in one house, right?) but man I wouldn't have traded a single one of them. I don't know if any of my roommates read this blog, but if you do I hope you know I LOVE YOU. And please don't hate me for sharing these crazy stories about us.....  You have to admit, these stories are too priceless to not be told. I will try to keep them as anonymous as possible, out of respect to them, and I won't post any photos of my roomies.

So, without further ado, here are just some of the things we had going on in that house of crazy women:

- One day I came home to one of my roommates crying because she thought she had Toxic Shock Syndrome. Because she had a tampon in all day.

- One of my roommates walked around the house in her underwear, no matter the time of day.

- One of my roommates changed from regular clothes to tiny booty shorts when she knew our (young, attractive) home-teachers were coming over to (try to) give us a spiritual message.

- One of my roommates referred to herself as "Beyonce - AKA The Golden Booty Goddess." She would leave me notes like this on my bed:

Or give me coupons like this for my birthday:

- One of my roommates was lactose intolerant. We always knew when she ate ice cream because she would stink up the entire house.

- One of my roommates liked to steal my clothes without asking. It used to bug the crap out of me. I would confront her about it and sometimes she would admit to it, sometimes she would deny it. But I finally caught her when I saw a picture of her posted on Facebook wearing one of my shirts.

- I slept with one of my roommates almost every single night. Yes, in the same bed. No matter what. And no we aren't lesbians.

- One of my roommates was a vegetarian and we would always yell at her when she microwaved her Bocca burgers because they smelled like farts.

- I tried to go clubbing with one of my roommates on two different occasions, and both times we failed. Both times we got lost there and back, eventually found our way, chickened out, tried to find a hotel to stay in, and then just ended up driving home at 3am.

- One of my roommates liked to call me Multiple Sclerosis because my initials were M.S. Once she called me that on Facebook and she got yelled at by someone who really had MS.

- We kept a quote wall up, and I wish I still had those papers but I don't. Here are a few, though:
"I kill you."
"What's that?"
"I want that!"
"Touch my black face."
"You look so hot right now."
"What are you wearing?"
"Word to your mother"
"Motherrrrrr"
And, anytime someone didn't hear what you said, and asked, "What?" you just simply replied, "I said I like your shirt."

But the winner of them all?

- One of my roommates killed a baby chick. And it was even the vegetarian roommate.
Here's what happened. Chickens run around everywhere on Oahu, and this particular roommate thought it would be fun to have a baby chick as a pet, because they are so cute and fluffy? I'm not really sure. So she caught one, brought it home, and named it Two-Ply because he was going to live in a toilet paper box. That night I went to bed, as usual, in my other roommate's bed. When we woke the next morning, we were confronted by our Roomie. She said, "I have to tell you something, and you're going to think I'm a terrible person." Needless to say, we were a little freaked out and assured her it was going to be okay. She then proceeded to tell us that little Two-Ply had kept her up all night with his chirping, and by 5 in the morning,she had, quite literally, gone a little crazy from not sleeping.
"So, what did you do?" I asked.
"I took him to the ocean," she replied.
Now, this didn't sink in all the way at first. "Oh good, she set him free," I thought.
But then she continued. "I mean, I thought about putting him out in my car but I thought it'd get too hot in there and he'd suffocate. And then I read online that once you get your human scent on the chick, the mama hen won't take him back. So if I just let him loose, he'd die anyway."
I stared at her. A minute ticked by. And then it finally clicked.
"........What do you mean you 'took him to the ocean'?"
"That's what I'm saying! I drowned him in the ocean! I thought it would be the easiest way to do it."
My eyes grew to the size of my now-open mouth as I realized that my roommate was in fact a Chick-Killer.
"You drowned a baby chick?????" Of all the possible things you could do!!! I was floored. My other two roommates heard the news and were so distraught they spent the rest of the morning at the beach, trying to see if they could find its dead body washed up on shore (which was, yes, another crazy thing to do).




So you see? I wasn't lying about the crazy roommates (and again, roomies, if you're reading this, I LOVE YOU! Yes, even you, Chick Killer!) And even with all this chaos going on in my home, I still managed to declare a major (English!), maintain my babysitting job and photographer job, be President of the English Circle Club, date some boys (including my now-husband!), hike all over Oahu, work on my tan, eat Acai bowls as often as I could, and snorkel with the sea turtles. I even started a list of things I wanted to do before I left:

The best part about my second semester - besides meeting my husband - was when my "Little Sister" aka best friend from high school came to visit me. 

I took her out to eat the night she flew in. As soon as the waiter took our order, she got so excited she flung out her arms to give me a hug - she ended up Chuck-Norris-Punching her glass and shattered it everywhere. To this day I still have no idea how she did that, other than sheer excitement to see me.

She stayed for a week, we went exploring and dancing and hiking and swimming and she got FRIED to the max. We had to rub ice cubes and aloe vera all over her body and set her in front of our fan.

 She met my boyfriend (Adam), and she told me she'd kick my butt if I didn't marry him. Good thing I listened :)

 Man, it was the life. You'll have to wait for another post to read about meeting Adam, because this one is already getting too long. Until then, internet!

Choosing the voices

As you may have read, we recently moved Axton into his own bedroom. He had started sleeping better at night, so we thought it might be good to transition. The first night he fell asleep on our bed first, and then we transferred him to his crib in his room. He slept so good that night and we sighed with relief, flicking the nervous sweat off our brow. Well that was easy! 

We thought.

After that first night, it got rough. It was like that one shift undid all the hard work I'd been doing with Axton the last two months (and it really was work - getting him to sleep better. It was no easy task. I"ll have to share later). The next three nights were back to his old habits and I began to panic. I grew more and more frustrated with every one of his wakenings. He slept poorly at night, and so did I. He was cranky during the day, and that meant I was too. After three days of this, I was trying to get him to fall asleep in his crib, without me having to rock him. Some nights he will do this; other nights he will not.

I was trying the Baby Whisperer method - it's a "no-cry" method where you comfort them when they cry (be it picking them up or just patting their back or whatever it is that comforts them), and then stop when they stop crying. And then start when they cry again. Over and over and over again. The author of the book mentions having to do this with a kid 100+ times one night. This method is a lot of work. It requires an extreme amount of patience. Patience that I just did not have that night. Every time I took one step away from the crib, Axton would start crying and sit up, and I'd step back next to the crib, lay him down, and pat him and soothe him until he'd stop crying. After repeating this process about 20 times, and him still not even close to sleeping, my soft, comforting voice had turned into an angry, "Axton! Lay down! It's time to sleep, now stop this!" As if he could understand a firm tone and a threatening eye. As if that was really going to help. Ten more tries and he was still crying, and I had to walk out of the room. Adam saw how mad I was and offered to take over. I should have taken his offer, but I was stubborn. I had weaseled myself into this dark, angry hole and I wanted to get out of it myself.

"No! I want to do this," I said. (Along with a few other choice words that clearly illustrated to Adam where I was at, mentally).

I took a breath and walked back into that room, but both Axton and I knew my "no-cry" method wasn't working. I was clenching my teeth so hard, thinking this has to work. I'm doing it "right," I'm not letting him cry it out, and I'm not "coddling" him either. I was so mad, so upset that after trying so hard to do the right thing....it still wasn't right. And I still wasn't being the mommy I should have been.

I never did get Axton to sleep that night - Adam did. He swooped in after I stormed out again and lovingly cradled him and slowly rocked him back and forth until my sweet son found sleep in the comfort of his patient father's arms. I cry now, typing this, knowing that that should have been what I did. My answer should have been love, should have been intuition and exception, rather than forcing a method on him that he didn't need right then.

I spent the next hour in bed reading my scriptures and some articles online, trying to shine some light in the dark place I had visited. I didn't like where I had been, and I lay pondering what I could do to prevent going there again.

One thing I decided was to Carefully pick the voices I choose to listen to. 
This means that when I read books and articles about parenting, I have to choose to listen to the voices that mesh with how I really feel my son deserves to be raised, not just how good it looks on paper.

It also means I have to weed out the good voices in my own head, and block out the negative ones. Block out the voices that make me feel guilty, that tell me I'm a bad mom, that I never do anything right, that I keep messing up and I'll never find my stride. I have to choose to listen to the voice that tells me my son is happy, and that he loves me, and that he is blessed.

The other thing I decided was to ask myself three questions, and ask them often. They are:

Why am I doing what I'm doing?

Is it really that important?

Will I feel good about it later?

They can apply to any situation - from wasting time on the internet, to making righteous decisions, to parenting. If I had stepped back from where I was that night and asked myself those questions, my answers would have been:

Why am I doing what I'm doing?
Um, because the Baby Whisperer can do it, so why can't I? He should be able to fall asleep on his own, right?
Is it really that important?
Well, maybe not. Especially if it's just this way tonight. Tomorrow he might respond better.
Will I feel good about it later?
The way I'm doing it now? Probably not. I'd feel better if I just cuddled him.

There was another night when I heard Axton cry, and I just could not find the strength to get up. The selfish voices in my head told me to just let him cry it out. That voice was not really mine, at least not my daytime, clearly thinking voice. Because I've never wanted to let him cry it out. But it's so easy to fall into the darkness trap when you're sleep deprived. So I waited and I listened to him cry. I was wide awake. I did not go back to sleep and it did not help matters. And later, I felt guilty about it. If I had asked myself those questions, my answers would have been:

Why am I doing what I'm doing?
Because I'm tired.
Is it really that important?
Probably not. I bet he'd go back to sleep a whole lot faster if I just got up.
Will I feel good about it later?
No, I won't. I will feel guilty that I let him cry. I've found that I've never regretted getting Axton too soon, and I've always regretted getting him too late.

These two things - Choosing the voices I listen to and asking myself three questions - have so far helped me stay in a happier place, and help me thinking clearly when the cloudy confusion of sleepiness wants to take over. I think they apply well in all areas of my life, too, not just parenting.


*As an update, Axton is once again sleeping much better in his own room. It took a few days of adjustment and reassurance and I'm sad I didn't allow him that, that I wasn't more patient and understanding of that, but I am learning to be better.

My Life as a Mormon: I am a Child of God

One of the very first lessons we learn as youngsters in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is that all of us are children of God.

When I was younger, my family wasn't too active in the church, so I didn't attend Primary, the children's Sunday school, very often. My mother, however, did teach me one Primary song. This one song has stuck with me for as long as I can remember -  calming my fears, giving me peace, and erasing bad thoughts.

I am a child of God
And He has sent me here.
Has given me an earthly home,
with parents kind and dear.

I am a child of God
and so my needs are great
Help me to understand His words
before it grows to late

I am a child of God
Rich blessings are in store
If I but learn to do His will
I'll live with Him once more

So many people in this world struggle to find meaning in their lives as they ponder the question, Who am I? 

Knowing that I am a child of God has given me great purpose and comfort in my life. I have decided that being a child of God has 3 major influences in my life:

1. I know my Father in Heaven loves me. Because I am His daughter, I know He loves me more than I can even comprehend. I know he knows me personally and by name.  I know He knows what is best for me - I can trust Him when His answers are "No," or "Not yet." I know I am never alone. During high school I was 1200 miles away from my earthly father, and it was difficult at times, not having his physical support close-by. But I always knew that no matter what, I could fall upon my knees and seek out my Eternal Father in Heaven and feel His love surround me.
2. Knowing I am a daughter of God changes the way I treat myself. 

Elder Russel M. Nelson, an apostle of the Quorum of the 12, has stated:

Who are we? We are children of God. Our potential is unlimited. Our inheritance is sacred. 

If I am to achieve this unlimited potential and sacred inheritance, I must strive to always be worthy of it.

My body was created in the image of my Heavenly Father. I must treat it with the respect and honor He would want me to. Elder Nelson continues:

"How should these truths influence our personal behavior? We should gratefully acknowledge God as our Creator. ..We will regard our body as a temple of our very own. We will not let it be desecrated or defaced in any way. We will control our diet and exercise for physical fitness...As children of God, we should not let anything enter the body that might defile it. We will cherish our chastity and avoid “foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown [us] in destruction and perdition” (1 Timothy 6:9). We will “flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, [and] meekness” (1 Timothy 6:11)—traits that edify the whole
soul."

(Read the whole article here.)

3. Knowing I am a daughter of God changes the way I treat others. Everyone around me holds the same divine nature and potential that I do - everyone around me is my spirit brother or sister. I should not judge them, treat them unkindly, or put them down. Instead, I should be uplifting and kind, helping them on their own journey to return to our Father. We are in this together - we are fighting a battle against Satan, not each other.

Psalm 82:6 reads: Ye are Gods, and all of you are children of the most High.

*Remember: Comments ware welcome -

But please no hateful, critical, nasty, rude, or anything of that manner.

If ever I'm wrong about something, I'll appreciate 

helpful, respectful, and tactful feedback.

If ever I say something that intrigues you, or you want to know more about,

I'll love thoughtful, honest inquisitions.

My Life as a Mormon: A New Series

The other day I was reading a young mother's blog -

I assumed she was Mormon, though she never outwardly stated she was.

She posed a question to her many readers -

"What would you guys like me to write about on this blog of mine?"

Most gave casual answers, but one woman's shook me up.

"I'd like to know more about your religion. It sounds interesting."

And then I remembered, 

that was supposed to be the whole point of this blog. 

And I haven't done too good of a job of keeping at that.

So.

I've decided that once a week or so, 

I'm going to highlight an aspect of the Mormon culture, beliefs, doctrine, or history.

I really don't know who all reads my blog, and if they know enough, the right things, or anything at all about what it means to be a Latter-day Saint. I have many friends and family members who are not the same religion as me, and I think they might appreciate learning more about us Mormons.

Mostly, this "series" of posts will be my personal testimony of different aspects of Mormon doctrine, backed up with scriptures and/or teachings from prophets.

Comments will be welcome -
But please no hateful, critical, nasty, rude, or anything of that manner

If ever I'm wrong about something, I'll appreciate 

helpful, respectful, and tactful feedback.

If ever I say something that intrigues you, or you want to know more about,

I'll love thoughtful, honest inquisitions.

With all that being said....

where do I start?

For those of you who are Mormon, what are some good topics to discuss with the world wide web, or a single person, wanting to know the truth?

For those of you who are not Mormon, what do you want to know about us and our religion?

Fall-ing

I'm falling in love.

...with Fall.

These days,
I can tell when we've accidentally slept in because "it is muuuch too light out for it to be 6am"

The weather is getting cooler.

Leaves are dancing across the street, the sidewalk, the yard, my heart.

The beginning of Fall has never been so absolutely beautiful in my life.

Change has never been so obviously stunning and welcome and magnificent. 

In Hawaii, the only thing that marked the passage of time was the starting and ending of a semester or a term.
Nothing internal or external told me that it was Halloween or Christmas or my birthday - 

Doing the same thing everyday - with the same weather everyday - 

made me feel like I was stuck in Groundhog Day.

Now, I still have my daily routine:

Wake

Walk

Feed

Drop off

Arrive

Dora

Breakfast

Park

Lunch

Nap

Book

Drive

Pick up

Dinner

Puzzle/read/photos

Bed.

and it starts over...

But I still feel like I'm actually getting somewhere - actually progressing in this thing called life,
because all around me I feel the effects of the world turning. 
The world turns ---
isn't that incredible?


And snow will fall and animals will sleep and Christmas cheer will ring and trees will be bare ---
but Spring! Spring will come.
and it's all just so glorious.
and I will try to remember that when I'm fweezing my ninnies off in the middle of February.

Oh Life! Can you blame me for making a scene?

Personal 
Don’t take it personal, they said;
but I did, I took it all quite personal—
the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;
the price of grapefruit and stamps,
the wet hair of women in the rain—
And I cursed what hurt me and I praised what gave me joy,
the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father, with its deafness and its laws,
and the weather reminded me of my mom, with her tropical squalls.
Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness
Think first, they said of Talk
Get over it, they said at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t believe in the clean break;
I believe in the compound fracture served with a sauce of dirty regret,
I believe in saying it all and taking it all back
and saying it again for good measure while the air fills up with I’m Sorries
like wheeling birds and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life! Can you blame me for making a scene? 
You were that yellow caboose, the moon disappearing over a ridge of cloud.
I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;
barking and barking: trying to convince everything else to take it personal too.

-Tony Hoagland

The truth about cats and dogs

As most of you know, we got a dog. I have always grown up with dogs in the house, and so I had been missing their company since I went away to college. I'd been asking Adam for a pup for awhile, and made him promise me we could get one once we moved out of our college apartments.  

Having Kaleo has been a joy, really -- I know sometimes I make it sound like we don't like him, but really, we do. We have just learned a LOT along the way.

You have to constantly watch them, or keep them in a crate. We got Kaleo when he was 5 months old, so he was already crate trained (but not quite house trained. There's a big difference). But still, there is so much work that goes into a dog. I've realized when you're getting a dog, and mom and dad aren't there to help you, it's pretty much like throwing a panting, shaggy two year old in your face. You have to teach them where and when to poo and pee, not to eat every single item that lands on the floor or chew on the floorboards, our clothes, or the carpet. 

They require a lot of exercise. And, when you get a dog, you're not just getting a living, breathing, pooping, drinking creature - you're getting a running partner. Even if you don't run - you better start. 

Of course, I started doing my research on dogs, Shelties, and dog training after we got Kaleo, when I realized I had no idea what I was doing. It was then that I learned dogs need like, an hour of exercise everyday! This means I have to get up early and walk him for a half hour before I leave the house, and another half hour when we get home. I honestly do enjoy this time with Kaleo and being outside - something I wouldn't normally do if it weren't for him, but if you're not anticipating walking or exercising with your dog, you better think twice before getting a puppy! A tired dog is a happy dog --- I can tell when I've been slacking in walking with him - we come home to plastic bags ripped up and all over the floor, a tomato plant completely eaten - with only dirt left to prove it once existed, and the corners of the cupboards gnawed off. But when I do walk him, he just sleeps during the day. A much better greeting when I get home.

Dogs are expensive. We pay an extra monthly fee to have him in our apartment, we buy big bags of dog food to keep him healthy, we payed for obedience classes so he would be a polite pooch, we shoved handfuls of cash into the vets face to get shots, we pay for anti-flea and tick stuff, as well as a once-a-month heartworm prevention. It's no wonder we just give him empty milk jugs and soda bottles for toys - there's no money left to buy him new ones!

Training them is a royal pain the butt. If you ever stop being consistent in your expectations of them - say you let them in the bedroom just once when you normally don't - from then on out, they will assume that bedroom is theirs for the strolling. If you say a command you have to mean it, and if you mean it, you must enforce it (yes I've been watching a bit too much Ceasar). Meh - we're also a bit stricter than other dog parents, I bet.

Being around other people's dogs gives you a more honest picture of your own dog. We thought we were being horrible trainers/owners, and that our dog was just a pyscho and would never learn and we were just in over our heads. Then we went to obedience class and met all these other, much more pyscho dogs, and then ours didn't look so bad afterall. And we realized we were just being really hard on ourselves, and expecting too much out of our 7 month old pup. He's still just a kid - we've cut him, and ourselves, some slack since then.

Here is Adam beginning the "4 Corners" competition.

We graduated from Beginner's class and won 2nd place in the competition!

This is Kaleo with his best bud Sam, our neighbor's dog. 

He stayed with us for 5 days, and it taught us one more lesson:

If you're gonna get one dog, 

you're better off getting two - 

they wear each other out and it actually lessens your own work load!

So the moral of the story?

We love our dog. 

He's a lot of work, but he's worth it.
He has added another dimension of love to our relationship

(I know, I know, just wait till we have kids...)

If you don't have the time and/or energy ---

get a cat.

They're just as cute, even more cuddly, and a whole heck of a lot easier.

One week.

I've been putting off writing this post, as I'm not sure how to turn my feelings into words.

Truth is sometimes more complicated than we think.

We lost our baby nephew yesterday.

He passed away in his mommy's arms a few minutes after turning extactly one week old.

One week.

That's all the time he had on this earth.

That's all the time he needed.

He accomplished more in that week --

He brought more people to prayer, their families, and Christ

in those 7 days

than I ever will in my entire lifetime.

What a privilege, honor, and blessing it was to have known him for this short time.

I watched him all. day. long. yesterday.

I carried my computer from room to room, wanting him to be with me for as long as he could.

I knew his time was short.

I cannot wait for the day when I will meet him in person and share with him a long-awaited hug.

I will never forget the impact he had on my heart.

Such a tiny boy with such a large mission.

Such a righteous family to have him be a part of it.

Such a loving Heavenly Father we have --

to provide peace and comfort in this difficult situation,

to provide a promise of eternal families and reunion after death,

to provide us with this chance to know baby Jonathan.

I love you Jonathan Kunoa Dauphinee.

I'm so lucky to be your Aunty Meghan.

I can't wait to see what your mission is on the other side <3

*Adam and I will be flying to California on July 8th to attend his funeral on July 9th. Adam will return on Tuesday evening, and I have yet to purchase my ticket back home. Continued prayers for the comfort of the Dauphinee family is so much appreciated and needed.

Lessons learned in Southern France

-Please play this song as background music to this post, as we had it stuck in our heads the entire time we were in the South of France.

-The day we were heading down to Montpelier (remember how that was the only destination in the South available to us?), we woke up bright and early, stopping at a bakery for breakfast. We clumsily ordered a giant loaf of bread for both of us, and some macaroons (heaven on earth). And that is all we ate. The. Entire. Day. And because of that, we learned this simple lesson: Man cannot survive on bread alone. Though it's a pretty cheap alternative.

This is a video I took on the train ride from St. Malo to Rennes, on the day we were heading down south. This is the day we only at bread. The video/scenery isn't too exciting, and the only sound is the people around us, but Heather's in it, and she's cute, so you should watch it. And when you see her eating, don't ask what it is because you already know. 

- The next lesson we learned: sometimes events are too coincidental to be coincidences -- Remember God is watching over us and is in control. Hop on these events like white on rice. (Even if it means doing so illegally? Um...potentially. Sometimes you just gotta go with your gut instinct, even if it's not what the "authorities" would tell you) When we arrived in Rennes, I was preparing to wait for our next train that would take us to Paris, and then to Montpelier, where we would be arriving in a creepy city at 1am to head towards a creepy hotel. I was feeling not so fantastic about this, when Heather said, "Meg, there's a train heading to Montpelier right now. We would get there around 3pm - a much safer time. Let's take it." I don't know how she saw that, but we went to the ticket box to ask for a reservation, fully expecting --- and eventually receiving --- a big fat NO. But, Heather and I weren't giving up that easy. We were now left to decide: do we get on that train without a reservation, after we've been told we can't, or do we take the train we do have a reservation for, and put ourselves in danger by arriving at 1 o'clock in the morning? After praying and thinking that the worst that could happen to us was that we'd be kicked off the train at some random stop and charged lotsa Euros, we decided to take the chance. It was the most uncomfortable 7 hours of my life. I was so paranoid, neither of us could relax, and we were scared of every single train man that came by to check our tickets. Since we didn't have reservations, we weren't assigned a seat, so every stop that new people came on, we had to move around so we weren't in someone else's seat. It was so nerve-wracking. I had to pee so bad, but I knew the ticket man hadn't come around to check our tickets yet so I thought I would wait. Heather finally told me to just go, and of course, that's when ticket man showed up. Heather said she  just showed him her Eurail pass, he looked at it like he didn't know what to do with it, and moved to the next person. It was so intense. Oh, and we were starving and so sick of bread! But we both believe we made the right decision, because Montpelier was a sketch-a-thon when we arrived at 3pm, and it would not have been good to be out on the streets at 1am. 

-When you're staying in a sketchy town, in an even sketchier hotel, you become very resourceful. The hotel in Montpelier we stayed in had a shared bathroom for showering. Heather and I gagged everytime we stepped into it, and felt dirtier coming out of it then we did going into it. One night, Heather and I were loudly discussing ALL of our plans - where we were going, where we were staying, what trains we were taking, etc. Then Heather left to go to the bathroom, and I realized we had left our bedroom window wide open. Not only that, but directly underneath our window was a rooftop that led to the next building's wide open window. And in that wide open window was a man, talking on his phone in French. This man could easily hop out of his wide open window, crawl over the rooftop, and hop through our wide open window and murder me in about 2.5 seconds. I got so freaked out, I started listening to his conversation, and I swear I heard him say something about AMERICANS. I quickly ran to the door, shut off the light, and waited for Heather to return. When I told her the story, she looked over at the window and saw that there were no curtains, and a dinky lock on the window (what would a lock do when the window was GLASS???!!) So, she very simply and decidedly began to drag the GIANT ARMOIRE that stood as high as the ceiling over to in front of the window. We slept soundly that night, as the old wooden armoire creaked nonstop, settling into its new position in front of the window. Ain't no murderer gettin' through that security system!

- Nothing beats the ocean. After being so stressed out the last couple of days, Heather and I both needed something to lift our spirits. The ocean is what did it for us. The ocean seemed sacred to me this day in a way it hadn't ever before. It brought me closer to Adam, to God, to who and where I wanted to be right then and there. The open air of the ocean was refreshing, and I could feel my lungs and brain rejoice at the chance to clear out the gunky and smoky city/train air.

- Sometimes I like to not listen to the travel books, but usually they are pretty right. Case in point: The South of France wasn't as great as I thought it would be. From Montpelier, we took a train to Marseille, where we hopped on a boat and took a tour of the Chateau D'If (think Counte of Monte Cristo). The ocean and the boat ride were gorgeous and oh-so-refreshing. However, the castle was only worth it because we were already there. I'm glad we only spent one day in Marseille. In the future, I would not plan a separate trip to Marseille (we later found out that Marseille was a major drug port! Joy!). However, if you are already in Marseille, then the castle and walking along the boardwalk is a fun day trip

- Bring sunscreen. It's really expensive in Europe (just like everything else).

- Don't think of travel/train days as "wasted time." It's easy to fall into this trap of thinking, if you're not doing something cool, then it's a wasted day in Europe. But Heather and I had a lot of time on trains, and we came to really love that time. We could just sit in peace and quiet, nobody bothering us, not being paranoid that something out of our bags is going to get stolen, we could rest our legs, we could just chat and reminisce about high school days, and play phase 10. Plus, you are still seeing and enjoying the beauty of Europe while you are on the train - just look out the window at the scenery, fields of flowers and tall grass, wide open spaces, old cozy homes, and, like our trip to Nice, the ocean.

-We love hostels. I always felt so much safer in a 8 person mixed male/female dorm room than I did in a run-down hotel with just Heather and I in the room. Even when me and the older Asian man would wake up at the same time in the morning and somehow manage to lift our heads at the exact same time and find each other accidentally and awkwardly staring at one another at 7 in the morning. And even when we had to skillfully dodge the annoying blonde canadian and her two men that she found and latched onto, and her texting and phone calls to her boyfriend late in the middle of the night, and her extremely unbecoming potty-mouth. And invitations to go drinking. 

-Save your money on food by shopping at grocery stores. (So you can splurge once later!) We learned our lessons with the bread day, and started shopping at grocery stores when we knew we were going to have a long day on the train. This was healthy, cheap, and delicious. And it allowed us to save money, so when we had a relaxing night in a beautiful city like Nice, we could splurge a little at a nice sit-down restaurant and not feel guilty (or completely broke). 

- The tops of mountains and hills aren't just the tops of mountains and hills in Europe, as we learned both in France and in Switzerland. In Nice, we walked down the Promenade des Anglais, and skimmed around the shops and streets in Vieux Nice (like Old Town). We found and took some steps leading up to a panorama view. But what we found wasn't just a great view, but a playground, a giant field for running/playing, a restaurant, a cemetery, and an archaeological site. Incredible. One thing I really learned to love and appreciate about Europe (minus Italy) is that they love their open space. They leave so much s p a c e to just relax and enjoy, 

- Overall, France was so different than what I was expecting. I would go back, but only to see more of Paris. Nice was more exciting/ more worth it than Marseille or Montpelier, but I still would rather spend my time in Europe in places like Switzerland or Austria, our two next stops.