Life is full of so many choices. Mint chocolate chip or oreo ice cream? (both) This job or that job? Greece or Paris?  Greece or Paris or savings? (real) Say yes to girls night or say no and stay home with a good book and a candle?  Read said good book or actually do laundry and clean the kitchen?

Never-ending-choices.  Which when evaluated, I don't actually see where "simplicity" arises.  Is it in the book or the laundry?  The fun evening fostering new meaningful relationships, or home being content all alone?  I love the idea of simplicity - I might even crave it - but I just don't see it in the choices.

Is it in working less hours or is it in being happy to put in the hours toward the long-term dreams? Is simplicity doing less today?  Or is it seeing that the long-term matters and therefore being happy in whatever today requires?

I guess maybe I'm just not a simplicity girl.  It's hot to be a minimalist.  But like I said, I want the twist cone.  I'll take a scoop of both please.  I'll do the laundry, clean the kitchen and then try to read the book.  I spend most all of my life with a "yes, and please." And maybe that's okay. Maybe I just don't see simple.  I see priorities.  I see plans and steps and layers and a million little details.  I don't revel in the ocean or the waves - I scan the rocks on the beach and collect a handful of strange broken shells and spotted rocks.  I see the details and can't ever seem to white wash them all to be "simple." I wish to God life were more simple, but for me it's always choices.

Around Christmas, John confessed that he had several presents for me that he couldn't find.  I offered to help.  I'm really good at finding stuff, guys.  (Especially presents!) But he said no. 

Months later, I was putting away a sweater in his closet and stumbled across a tiny treasure trove!  I saw boxes... little boxes that could only be for me... little Madewell boxes.  (Pure delight!) Like a responsible adult I moved away quickly and told John what I thought I'd spied.  Sure enough!  Ever since, I've been asking him about these little treats and when I can have them.  He always says he'll give them to me on some random, unnamed day.  So I keep asking.  "Today, can I have a little something that's in your closet?"  "Today?"  "I could really use a little surprise today.  Maybe something from your closet?"  There's another from Europe too that he told me I could have when we got back... then for Christmas... now, he won't give days.  

Yesterday, I asked again. I really felt I deserved a treat. And it turned out he did too!  In fact, he agreed so quickly I thought he was tricking me.  I spied the little box he pulled out and mistook it for a Toblerone box... which was not what I had seen in there people. And it is unkind to let your wife think she's getting a tiny Madewell box and instead give her a candy bar from the hardware store. 

Thankfully, that is not the man I married.  He quickly stowed the mistaken box in a brown bag and handed it over. He said "this is because you are fierce and cute" as he handed me the bag.  

Some days, you think you want Madewell earrings, but you realize quickly that what you really, really wanted was a cool Buck knife. And what you wanted most of all was a man who'd buy you one for no reason and then hide it in his closet until a random Wednesday when you braved a tough talk at work. 

I deserved a treat - not earrings, but a knife.  Because I'm tough.  And I'm cute. :) 

I hope today you get a little something good that you weren't expecting.

John and I were both wondering this morning, why can't doctors be as awesome as vets??

I mean, this guy's job includes sticking a thermometer up my pup's butt, and yet he makes sure to personally call me the next day to tell me everything is okay and what things I should watch for in her health.  The 10 minute voicemail ends with "I'm not in the office now, but I'll be there from 2-4 if you'd like to call me back to talk more." Oh, wait, you called me the day after our visit, and you aren't even at work?

This is the second vet we've seen at the clinic up the street from us.  It was our first try at a clinic, and they have both been incredible!

Meanwhile, I've been looking for a doctor for several years now.  Since Dr. Curtis moved on from seeing patients regularly, I have seen 3 or 4 different doctors. And all of them have left me pretty dramatically unhappy.  The first left me a voicemail telling me she was going to put me on a medication that I'd need to stay on for the rest of my life - she left this in a voicemail! After my first time ever seeing her! Um, sorry. Come again?  Did you say potential "auto-immune disease"?  Yeah, that would be cool to tell me in a real conversation - not after the tone. Not before you even can remember my name. Nope.

But back to the vets - they are amazing!  We love them!

And my dentist?  If I've gone on about my dentist once, I've done it a couple dozen times.  He's the absolute best!

So was Dr. Curtis - who had been my doctor from my first breath of air until about 26! But finding another with his knowledge, kindness and overall considerate approach to involving the patient in the decision making - that has been a sadly long journey.

I was up early this morning thinking about extremes.  A few weeks ago, my brand new puppy only ever wanted to sleep and cuddle.  She was a little bundle of loves and dreams.  Now, she only ever wants to play - and bite - and chew.  That is it!  All the time.  From one end of the pendulum swung to the next.  Isn't that just how it is to be young?  It takes a lot of time for that pendulum to slow down - to just sit someplace in the middle without a ton of energy bounding inside dying to propel it one way and then back the next.  In fact, it takes somewhere between 20 and 30 years for most of us.... maybe 40.

Whenever I find myself in this uncomfortable spot, wanting to swing out one way or the other, but knowing that I can't always draw clear lines or create clean cuts, in that moment I remind myself that maturity means learning to be centered, to feel good even when you can't have extremes, to choose patience and hope even when you feel more gravity than energy.