Must Be Late Summer

It must be late summer and almost fall.

We are eating from the garden.

(Picture peek-a-boo p.s.: If you haven't read The Penderwicks, it's a must. So, so good. We just read it together and absolutely _loved_ it.)

The black-eyed-Susans are blooming in the backyard.

Monsoon-like weather is coming to a close with its deep indigo clouds that roll in just about every afternoon.

I went to the first football game last Saturday, and made a peach pie with fresh peaches from the orchard the night before.

School has started again, with big changes in our house. (#hardbutgood)

And...the canning has begun.

Jamming and canning, to be precise.

Two weeks ago found the girls and I in the kitchen one night.

I was washing fresh raspberries and dumping them into a container where the girls were crushing them.

Mia was busy mixing the pectin mix with the berries, filling jars, and labeling them.

Benj came up in the middle of it and exclaimed, 

"I love when there's cooking going on in the kitchen at night!"

(My sentiments exactly, actually. There's something about the quiet of night time, an open back door with fresh air (or not), background tunes or just listening to crickets, and spending time together. It takes me to some fond places in my childhood and many, many conversations in the kitchen, late at night, with my dad. It's kind of strange, really, to be the parent now, and not the child.

What happened? How did it all go so fast?)

Benj pulled out a bowl, filled it with salsa, grabbed some chips, and ate while reading Calvin & Hobbes while the girls and I worked. 

Oh, and photo bombed.

And this week? 

When Claire and I dropped off the kids at school on Monday morning, we came home and watered the pots outside and cleaned up the kitchen.

But afterward, we went out to the garden because I knew we had tons of tomatoes in that happy mess of green.

We didn't even pick the vines clean, and this is what we came away with.

Had to get those done, too.

 So yeah...the kitchen has been a hot, steamy, sticky place this week as we've bottled quarts that we'll pull out for spaghetti sauce and soups during the rest of the year. 

They're getting older, and it's fun to be side by side, doing whatever.

Like last night. 

The kitchen was warm, more quarts of tomatoes were processing, 

made dinner, made cookie dough, 

had friends stop by unexpectedly and we ended up out on the deck as it got windy and started to rain.

It. was. lovely.

We ended up piling them in our car to drive them home, listening to the Indigo Girls. 

And when we got home? Those two girls and I went for a run.

It was raining, thundering, and lightning was occasionally torching the sky.

But we ran, even Claire, with her (comparatively) shorter legs.
She kept right up.

We talked and laughed and ran as it got dark.

The best.

Tomorrow is September 1st. 

I'm going to put fall on my mantle this weekend:

owls, nuts, a little glass pumpkin from Cape Cod that was a gift from my dad, golden yellow and orange ginkgo leaves, coppers and golds and browns, a sparkly black spider and small little witch hat to offer a Halloween tease.

And?

I'm gonna make a wreath for my front door out of dried putka pods, and then I think? I'll hang it with burlap ribbon.

Welcome to my favorite time of year.

(I've already been burning a cider candle, melting apple jack wax squares to fill my kitchen with that apple cinnamon smell, and I can tell the heat is on the brink of retreat.
All good things.)

I love him so

 After two truly craptastic mothering days (they should fire me!) and some other current stress, I was grateful for the gift of today.

I awoke and texted my sisters, wishing our dad a happy 70th birthday.

I mixed yogurt with chopped fruit and berries and raw oats and nuts as light came in the kitchen windows. That was happy. (And yummy.)

And you know what?

Today, the sun shone. 

Even though it was cold, the sky was blue! (Blessing!)

I took valentine decorations off my mantle and put spring up in its place while listening to the Weepies and Claire requested a Tim McGraw song she loves.

(And yeah, if you're in Utah, I know what you're thinking: there's snow outside. But maybe forsythia and boxwood will encourage the outside world to follow suit.)

Late in the afternoon, the girls and I drove to dad's grave to put some flowers there.

When we got back, they headed out with their dad for a while and I went out on a run as light was slipping from the valley. It was dark by the time I got home.

I mixed cake, lit candles on the mantle, and sat down to do some work.

The kids came home, and while we waited for the cake to come out and then cool off, Claire and I sat on the couch singing "The Wheels on the Bus," and then I whistled various tunes and she'd guess the songs.

We put 4 candles in dad's cake (cuz...70!), sang Happy Birthday, dished it up with ice cream, and read together.

And as I go to sleep tonight, I'll talk with God about how grateful I am for a gentler day: for those bright yellow rays that brought hope and joy, for my children, for the opportunity to learn and try again and apologize, the chance to be humbled and see my faults, and for being able to run and move my body. I'll express gratitude for a warm house and food to eat.

But also, I'll thank God for the blessing of a kind and wise father and friend. 

I love him so.

Strawberry Dress Girl

Yesterday morning I woke up and saw that on the same day, four years ago -- February 20, 2013 -- I had posted a couple of pics on Facebook.

They took me back to a memory I love.

I was headed to the grocery store with my two girls: one, a two-month-old little bug in a rug that wasn't content unless she was in my arms, and a four-year-old companion who was intent on bringing her baby along to the grocery store, too.

(Because, #twinners.)

First of all: Mia is adorable.

Second: I love her outfit. 

I totally hearted her in this dress, and this is still one of my very favorite pictures of her from that time.

Once I got up and running yesterday, I headed out to run some errands with that girl of mine that was the baby 4 years ago.

Not anymore. 

We went to pick up 40 lbs. of fresh chicken to package, and then to get a treat and drop it off to a friend for his birthday. 

We listened to Jack Johnson and John Meyer as we drove, and having just looked at those photos, I found myself thinking about how it was just like me and Mia. But it was her sister this time, almost the exact same age as that little strawberry-dress girl of 4 years ago.

Kind of a bit tender, but in a happy way.

I've been so lucky to have them.

And?

My days of small-errand-companions are almost over, 

and I can hardly believe it. 

Just By Looking at the Sky

Yesterday morning, I turned and saw my girls sitting at the table, bathed in sunshine.

I was caught there.  I felt love and peace and the simplicity of the moment.

Morning light is one of my favorite things.

That sunshine is warm and constantly moving, lighting our days, marching us on through this existence.

It is synonymous with hope, and reminds me of perspective, clearer vision, chasing the dark of night away.

Just recently finished this book and have thought a lot about something I learned there.

Elder Maxwell talks about discoveries aiding faith, but then says something about how discoveries, supportive as they may be, will never remove the need for faith.  

God is good and always there.

God wants our happiness and growth.

He knows what we need.

He knows the answers.

He knows the end from the beginning, even when we don't.

And I feel like, for me, there is this juxtaposition between seeing so many blessings and God's hand in my life, while also still being in the darkness of night on other things -- things I'm still waiting to see how it will work out or what it will look like in the light of morning.

I'm comforted by the reality that morning always comes round again.

I believe this, and maybe don't stop often enough to see the messages written for me to read every day, just by looking at the sky.

Faith will always yield beautiful fruit.

Darkness will always give way to light.

Just Us Girls

Mia and I love to have Girls Night.

Mr. C. takes the boys, and us girlies have some girl time.

She gets to choose what she wants to do.

Last night we made homemade pizza

 and had it with bubbly in candlelight

 while our valentine candles glowed on the mantle,
and we listened to the Ella Fitzgerald station
on Pandora (one of my favorites).

We went for a night walk,

 and then curled up and ate ice cream while watching Mia's choice of 

 "Anne of Green Gables."

 This morning we had a tea party breakfast of her choice -- hot chocolate and hot homemade bread with butter and honey.

 We busied ourselves by doing her hair

 and stick on nails.

She's growing up before my eyes.

Today she's five.

Tomorrow she'll be twenty.

Being Reminded

Yesterday, my gals and I were busy for an hour when Mr. C. and the boys drove down to see family and pick up some tools.

When the boys left, my gal said, "Mom, it's just the girls."

(She loves the girl time we get.  And so do I.)

We watched this video together on my bed.

And then, we went upstairs and made dinner together.

She stood at the stove, stirring both pans, wanting to make sure SHE got to do it.

I live in a world of little helpers these days.

Surrounded by them, actually.

And the question that came out of my mouth to her as we stood there was this:

"Mia, do you know what I didn't realize when I was small?"

"What?" she said.

"How fast I would grow up."

Maybe it's because life has been excessively emotional the past several months.

Maybe it's because there have been life-altering experiences.

Maybe I've been reminded that life changes on a dime, and sometimes when you very least expect it.

But it's true.

Time is speeding ahead, and I can hardly believe I am where I am.

And even as I say that, the future is unfurling before my eyes.