Still

Still, just about every time I climb into bed to fall asleep and snuggle up to her, or every morning when I feel her next to me, I pull her close, kiss her face, and say quietly, even as she’s sleeping, “I love you so much.” Claire was a baby when my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. During the brief 6.5 week window from diagnosis to death, my sister Sue commented that Claire was a little ray of sunshine for all of us in the midst of so much devastating sorrow. I thought of that tonight on her 7th birthday and it’s still true. This girl is a champion snuggler, a chocoholic, and her spice will surprise you. She’s genuinely funny and always has me laughing. She’s smart as a whip, energetic, happy, fiercely devoted, tender, and full of love. 7 years later, she’s still lighting up our world. 

Claire Elizabeth, I love you so. ❤️

11

They turned 11, and the day was much like the Monday afternoon of the day they were born.

I remember laying there, pushing those boys out of my body, and noticing the bright blue sky outside and the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day.

Funny what you remember. 

We had friends show up at 7:45 this morning with donuts, a sweet and lovely surprise for the boys.

I was already cooking sausage and planning to make scrambled eggs, but it turned out they ate donuts and sausage instead.
(Healthy.)

When we dropped them off at school, Claire and I ran errands and then came home to do party prep:

making chocolate cake (scratch chocolate cake with scratch peanut butter frosting and crumbled peanut butter cups)

and filling favor bags.

Then it was time to make the relay lists for the party. I split the boys into two teams and explained what they had to do: an act of service, 50 jumping jacks, a round of pictionary, a round of tricks on the trampoline, an egg/spoon relay down the backyard, 2 times around the block, and a scavenger hunt for 4 things. The winning team got full-size candy bars.

They nailed it, it was entertaining, and it kept things from getting too crazy. (You've got to harness the energy of all those tween boys!)

After the party was over, a lazy couple of glorious hours ensued. My sister and I talked on the deck. After she left, I sent friends home and made tacos and we took some pictures and then sat down to eat.

And then we gathered round for a new tradition: drawing words for the birthday peeps from the "oracle" box one of my sisters gave to me on my birthday this year, and writing wishes for the birthday peeps for the coming year. 

I choked up with one of Claire's simple messages:

Dear Isaiah, On your birthday I want to tell you that I love you always. Love, Claire

Mia wished that Benji would get a lego set that would end up being one of his all-time favorites and that Isaiah would make a meaningful friend.

Isaiah capitalized on a family joke when he wished Benji a bowl of salad.

And me? I offered a wish about Benj not letting fear hold him back, and I choked up when I read it out loud. (Isn't that one of those life lessons that most of us have to learn again and again?) And for Isaiah? That he'd make a delectable cake and get some new cologne, among other things.

And tonight, after the sound effects of a "fart in a can" gift Benji got had died down (You should have seen the laughter and fart imitations going down among all those boys while we were eating cake and ice cream and opening presents on the back lawn. I couldn't help it. I could. not. restrain. my laughter.), they read in their beds and then made me laugh with a rendition of "Do Your Ears Hang Low" that references the male anatomy as taught to them by a friend. 
(Insert: "Do your balls hang low?")

Oh. my. word.

And due to party prep, I didn't get to work today. The result? I worked late and looked up from my screen periodically at the three of them that fell asleep in my room. 

And you know what?

Tonight I’m feeling very aware of something as I look at each of them; their lengthening bodies, their peaceful faces, the noise of the day now quiet and still. 

It's that gentle, beautiful ache that reminds me they’ll be gone before I know it.

They have been--and are--the greatest privilege of my life.

Apple Pie 4th of July

This morning I woke up the kids at 5:15. 

(the boys in 2007 at the Provo balloon fest)

We headed to the hot air balloon fest in Provo because I completely spaced the balloon fest for our city days this year. 

(Which, as a side note, was a total bummer because it's so small-town charming: smaller and less people (always what I prefer cuz I'll take the quiet most any day), free donuts and juice, candy thrown from the balloons.  Anyway...it's awesome.)

So, 5:15 it was.

We met up with Scott when we were there, and once it was over, the older three headed to the parade with him.  

But not this guy.

He didn't want the crowds or the heat, so he headed to the store with me to get apples for apple pie.

And it was so perfect.

Maybe it's cuz they're twins, but I hardly ever get one-on-one time with the boys. 

But it's the best.

Made my whole day, those two hours.

We came home and sat at the kitchen table talking and eating breakfast together, and then laughed at ourselves as we snapped some silly photos.

Then, it was aprons on and we got to work.

(We both love to be in the kitchen.)

Got the apples peeled, and then we sliced them; some to be steamed, 

some left raw.

Put the raw ones in the bowl and added spices and sugar and tapioca.

Steamed the others, and he was stirring regularly so nothing got burned as I made pie crust and rolled out the bottom layer.

Once the steamed apples were done, we combined the two, and Isaiah kept commenting on the smell.

(It smelled like fall as the sunshine streamed in.)

Put the bottom crust in the pie plate and then ladled the filling in.

Isaiah cut up a cube of butter in sections and placed them across the top.

 I rolled out the top crust and put it on, cut the sides, folded them under, crimped the edges.

Put slices down the top.

And then, to be festive, we added a star of dough, and stuck it in the oven to bake while we listened to The Weepies and talked and cleaned up.

(Cuz how American is it to make apple pie for the 4th of July?)

She's out now, and when she's cooled off, I'll sprinkle her pretty with sugar and maybe a little cinnamon.

This afternoon we're headed down to my sister's with all(most) of my family for rafting and playing in the pond, building castles in the sand, fried chicken, fried cauliflower (if you've never tried it, it's amazing! and I'm headed to the store in a sec to get it so the frying can commence), pinochle, watermelon, chips, salad, pies and homemade ice cream and fireworks in the street once it's dark.

Happy 4th of July, folks.

Hope you have a lovely one.

Joy

I drove home tonight with a full heart.

I had been at a rehearsal where I felt joy and so much gratitude, and afterward, found myself in conversation with a woman I'd never met before, who approached me to tell me how much they had loved my dad.

I cried, and she cried.

And as I drove home in the dark, back to my neighborhood to pick up my kids from some friends, the two beautiful things of the evening blended into one.

In a very pointed way, I felt like other hands, specific hands, are both involved and hovering.

And, in a way I haven't felt since he has been gone, I found myself wishing I could call my dad.

I wanted to share my joy.

I wanted to share my heart.

I wanted him to know how lucky I feel, how grateful I am.

I wanted to thank him, hug him, shout in my excitement.

I can't adequately articulate the feeling.

And in a way, I felt that he knows, and that he feels it, too.

And it was all in joy for this.

Isaiah spent a good couple of hours yesterday sketching this and then painting it after we'd talked about it that morning.

I love this painting.  

So much.

This building has special significance for me from when I was a child.

We were there for conferences, like so many others, and I remember always sitting up in the balcony.

It also was home to some late night Christmas Eve services, letting out at midnight, those first early, early minutes of Christmas mornings.

I remember the day that it burned down, being so dismayed and sad.

And I also remember being in dad's basement when President Monson announced that it would be completely restored and dedicated as the second temple in Provo City.

I remember we sat there, looking at each other in astonishment upon hearing that news.

And here we are, just a couple of months away from its dedication. 

When I watched this movie that the church put out about the project, I was moved. 

The interior (from what I could see of it) was stunning.

It recalls, in so many ways, the style of the original building -- the woodwork, especially, caught my heart.

There is so much that I don't even begin to understand about temples.  And really what I understand mostly comes from what I have felt in my heart and not something I know in my head.

But, I'll say this.

I absolutely believe in hovering hands.

I believe that love is constantly active, on both sides of the veil.

I know those hands and that love, are real -- not just something sweet that we talk about.

And I believe that these structures are symbols of that love.

Happy New Year

On New Year's Eve, the kids and I were down at my sister's.

She and I chatted while the kids played, and then we headed home in the later afternoon.

Mia and I delivered some New Year cookies to neighbors (since I was way behind schedule and never got neighbor gifts out before Christmas).  

We ran and picked up a couple more balloons to replace two that had popped earlier.

Hit the grocery store for a couple of last minute things.

We pulled in the driveway, brought stuff in the house.

It was bitter cold! out (like making-me-ornery-if-I-have-to-be-out-in-it cold).

I came in and cleaned up the kitchen, turned on the Christmas lights (for the last night...sniff), and shaped hamburger patties.

Tied balloons on each chair, scattered confetti on the table, pulled out the china and stemware.

(Doesn't that seem like a total oxymoron to get out the china and stemware for thick, homemade burgers?)

(Insert crying laughter emoji...my favorite.)

But yeah...it's tradition.  

New Year's dinner means all the fancy, cuz it's fun, and we wanted burgers, so hey.

As per tradition, we lit candles on the table and gathered round.

I asked them the same question I asked last year: I was curious to know something they had learned in the last year.

Isaiah didn't offer anything up, but the other older kids said things that gave me pause.

Benj offered up that he'd learned that if you're having problems with somebody, you can't just turn and walk away.  You have to face it.  You have to work it out.

Mia said that she had learned to be brave, no matter what happens.  And then she said, "And I learned about having faith that God will lead you out of the mess, whatever it is."

My goodness...I'm grateful for what they teach me.

And me?

A lot of things, but I'll offer up three.

I've learned that God takes care of you when you can't see how it's going to work out.

I've learned that good friends are huge blessings, and that they can become family to you.

And I've tried to accept, maybe more than ever before, that you do the best that you can, and you make lots of mistakes...but then?  Then you have to give yourself a break and let it go, and try to extend that love and philosophy to others.

We opened the sparkling cider and let it flow.

We toasted to different wishes we had for the new year.

Claire didn't really get it, just offering up some of our names when it was her turn to make a toast, but it was delightful nonetheless.

All of them wished I'd get a boyfriend.

I hoped for my job to stay steady, and dreamed aloud of running another marathon this summer.

Mia wished for a couple more American girl dolls and for a juice to be invented that she could drink without being dosed insulin for it (a big change that happened this year), even though she knew that wouldn't happen.

When we were done, I cleaned up the kitchen, and Benji and I sang our hearts out to Steve Moakler's song "Suitcase," which I love.

I painted my nails (and the girls') gold, to be festive for the new year.

We piled on my bed and watched "The Mask of Zorro," followed by rootbeer floats in the kitchen in the last minutes ticking down to midnight.

And then?

Then we grabbed pots and spoons and ran out the front door into the dark night (morning?), those first few seconds of 2016.

Claire cried...exhausted from the excitement, scared from the noise, cold, and nervous about the sparklers we lit, shimmering, a pile of matches in the cold snow on the pavement.

We ran back in the house and everyone was in bed shortly afterward.

I held my tired baby in my arms, snuggled up next to me in bed, as she fell asleep.

And I felt joy and quiet gratitude, and sadness, too.

She's rapidly growing, and won't always say to me, as she does now at bedtime, "But I need you, Mom."

And the truth is, that pretty much breaks my heart.

So I held her.

And those quiet moments were my first blessing of the new year.

Two Bright Lights

Last night after I'd nursed Claire to sleep, tucked her in, and the boys were in their room reading, my gal and I went upstairs and stuffed party bags while candles burned on our mantle and the house smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.  Then, we wrapped presents and hung our birthday streamers from the table.

After we were done, we slipped out the door, drove to the library to drop off books and then to the grocery store to pick up sausage (part of what the boys had requested for breakfast today) and candy bars to top their presents.

It was just she and I in the dark, windows down, both in the front seat, music playing.  I looked over at her at one point and said, "I love you, Mia."  And, for a second, I found myself thinking about quick evening runs to the store with my dad years ago---sometimes really late trying to beat the Sabbath, or sometimes to grab some yogurts or ice cream or odds and ends.  I wondered if she'll look back and remember times like this.  

I know I will.

When we came home and walked in the back door, I was reminded of Christmas with those yummy fall smells combined with that scent that comes from the smoke when you blow candles out, and I instantly felt warm inside.

This morning, Claire sat on the counter in the kitchen, sunlight streamed through the backyard, the presents and streamers decked the table.

We turned on Pharrell's "Happy" and it set the whole mood while we grooved and mixed up some pancakes,

cooked sausage and fried potatoes, and then we sat around the table and I told the boys about the day they were born.  

I told them about how, the day before, an early Sunday morning about 6:30, one of them kicked really hard and broke my water, and I found myself out of bed, standing there, trying to figure out what was going on.  

I told them about soaking through two towels on the way to the hospital.

I told them about how they gave me a shot to ripen their lungs, if they'd stay inside for 72 more hours.

I told them about how that didn't work---that about the time I was ready to go to sleep that night, my body went into labor.

I told them about getting an epidural in the middle of the night and waking a couple+ hours later and throwing up my dinner, and then being sick for the next several hours, all the way through delivery.  

I told them the day was just like today was: beautiful, blue skies, a gorgeous September afternoon, and they were born in a room with huge windows and lots of medical personnel on hand because they were early.

I told them how I was so tired that the ground seemed to be swimming beneath me as they wheeled me to my room for the night, and how they'd flown in a helicopter, only a couple hours old, the same one they watched in wonder as toddlers.

I told them that as soon as we left the hospital the next day, their dad and I went straight to the hospital they were at, so anxious to see them.

I told them about when they were first put together again, in the same bed, four days after birth.  It was as tho they immediately recognized each other, snuggling up, nestling in.  The comfort was something you could actually see.

We were totally smitten, and I remember I couldn't stop taking photos of them that night.

After breakfast, they went down to their bedroom and started putting together the lego sets their sisters had given them and I started making birthday cake.

We finished up school and my sister arrived with her kids.  We filled a couple more bags for the party, I frosted the cake, we talked in the kitchen.

And then, the yard was full of children and we played Pictionary with sidewalk chalk on the driveway and Red Rover in the backyard, ate cake and ice cream and unwrapped presents.

(I must say here: I can only handle that many boys together for about an hour once a year.  And I feel saintly for it.  Wow.)

Later, after the party, the kids left with their dad, happy.

It was a good day.

I picked up the last pieces from the backyard and came inside.  I looked at photos I took of them this morning---goofy, excited and spazzy because of the birthday love, 

and posted one on IG and said this: 

"They've been lighting up my life for 9 years today.  I can't adequately articulate what I feel for them, but my stab at it tonight is this: they've humbled, encouraged, challenged and taught me; given me 9 years of stretching, laughter, love and tenderness; and filled my heart so full of beautiful experiences I wouldn't trade for anything I ever could have had in exchange.  Happy Birthday to these two bright lights."

And then I went for a run in the dark, feeling peaceful and content.

And, here's the thing.

Something I have never questioned, not ever?

Them.

My children.

I yearned for every one of them.

They've made life more meaningful and substantive, rich and blessed.

And getting to be a part of their lives has been such a profound privilege in mine.

I've said that before, and I'll say it again.

Because, it really has.