Pinecone Hearts

This morning was...

Braiding one daughter's hair into a crown braid

Throwing the other daughter's hair up in a top-knot bun

Making muffins because Claire wanted some

Watering the garden

Switching the laundry

Pulling out chicken for the crock pot

Running kids to play with cousins

Grabbing a few things at Costco

And now I'm finally plugging in to work for the afternoon.

Will stop at some point and throw chicken in the crockpot and wrap potatoes to throw in the oven. 

Gonna make gravy later, shred the chicken, make salad.

(Doing the home thing is my very favorite. It really is. I mourn the time when I was able to just be a mom full-time without having to work, too.

These simple tasks of tending, reading, talking, feeding, cleaning, and caring for my people are my very favorite things to do.

That being said, I feel so fortunate to work from home with a good job. 

And to work for good folks.

So lucky, and so grateful.)

On Sunday evening, we went to a couple of cemeteries, 

taking red geraniums to a few of our people.

We stopped at dad's grave first, and then at Huldah's, 

an ancestor of ours that crossed the plains.

As we made our way back across the cemetery, Isaiah wanted to make a pinecone heart like we'd seen by someone else's grave. 

So, as the sun's rays were stretching across the valley, we gathered pinecones and went back to dad's grave.

We arranged the pinecones into place there, and then gathered another bagful to take with us to my grandparents' grave at another cemetery up on the east side of Provo.

Isaiah arranged pinecones while Benji was shooting a gun (his hand). 

We sat in the grass at their grave and I told them about Vera's laugh and the way she shushes with her mouth at the end of it, and how I can still hear, right now, my grandfather chewing his tuna sandwich.

Random, right?

But I love these snippets of life we shared.

And as I look at us, it's beautiful and humbling to realize that we are the harvest of what came before -- and we wouldn't be without them.

Today, we hold them in---and love them with---

all of our pinecone hearts.

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. 

Letters

 (pics of my Mom with Mia)

 My mom made a big move to the Middle East this past weekend for a new job.

I am so proud of her.

She's almost 61, and went to teach at a school that was founded with the express purpose of educating women to be leaders.
I think it's brave.  She went without knowing anyone.
I love my mom.
From her example she teaches me to think for myself, to stand alone if that's what it means, to be honest in my feelings and how I express them, to be brave, to be okay in my own skin, to not stop learning, to be considerate of others, to never laugh at or mock something different from myself and to respect all peoples.

That's a tall order.

I'm trying to live up to them.

I love these legacies.
This is something to be proud of.
Thank you, Mom.

Each day we're doing schoolwork, we do something with reading and something with writing.
So, we wrote letters last week. 
To my grandparents, who we were going to visit.



 To give well wishes to my mother, beginning this new chapter and adventure.


 We added scratch-n-sniff stickers.
 And wrote these cards for my sister who is recovering from knee surgery AGAIN.


These are so cute I couldn't not share them.
I am proud of these boys.

Mia wanted to write letters, too, so I helped.



As I was getting ready to post these the other day, I thought about how much I love letters.

Super heart heart love them.
They are so romantic and timeless.
There is something about taking the time to put pen to paper, to personalize them with your own handwriting, something that calls back yesteryear in today's frenzy of gmail and text and everything quick quick quick. It's a beautiful thing to take the time for personal, quaint, charming touches that say I CARE.
I've written a few letters in my day.
I think about the role they've played in my life.
I have cards and letters saved in the hope chest at the foot of my bed, in scrapbooks, tucked in corners of desks and stacks to be organized into meaningful reminiscences.
Each a tangible reminder of someone significant in my small world, of a specific time, of how that person influenced and blessed my life.

I went to the letters that Scott and I exchanged on his mission.  
We have four huge binders of letters.

 I looked at the fun letterheads, at the cutouts of Calvin & Hobbes' comic strips, various pics that were part of this or that joke, nicknames, bunches of hand-drawn flowers.

I choked up as I read expression after expression at the beginning or ending of his letters to me -- about what an amazing woman he thought I was, about being such a lucky guy, about how beautiful I was, how special I was to him.
He was so focused as a missionary, so dedicated.
(In fact, later on, I wished he would say a few more of those cute things because he was so into the work.  I knew he loved what he was doing, 100%.  But it was lovely he was so dedicated to truth that I felt so passionately about, too.)  

I knew he had me tucked away in a safe place, tho.
I was reminded of this the other day, and became pretty emotional.

I had forgotten.
One of my favorite parts that I read in those few minutes was a snippet where he remembered the night that he really kissed me for the first time.  And he said something like, "Honestly, I knew I wanted to be with you forever from that night."
I'm more grateful today for his companionship than I was then.
We've been through a helluva lot more.
I feel more bound to him.
But I look back and I see these seeds that were planted.
I see things I've forgotten.
I felt gratitude again.
I felt like a little dry, parched piece of earth in my memory of time got some rain, and little flowers remembered how to grow over there.
A beautiful, shocking, outcropping of wildflowers abloom again.

I plan to order a copy of THIS book I read years ago, but want to read again.

I keep thinking about it.
I loved it.
This is a lovely, lovely compilation.
So romantic.
So sweet and genuine.
Charming and heartfelt.
Inspiring.

Maybe you wanna order it too and get into the valentine love?
And maybe you also wanna join my personal goal for the week and send out a few handwritten somethings?
A card, a letter, something genuine and with a personal touch?
I do, I do!

A Walk Through My House

This morning all my babies were in the tub. After bathing the boys, I washed Mia and then pulled the plug and left her playing because she wasn't ready to get out. A few minutes later, I walked down the hallway and peeked around the corner and whispered, "Are you ready to get out?"

She turned around and looked at me, smiling.

And you know those old family movie reels where you see the kids growing up? (Think Marley & Me) It was as if I had a weird kind of dejavu -- looking into the future and remembering that exact moment.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she was telling me how she thought her house was nothing special (I beg to differ) --- but that to her, it was special because she raised her children there.

And as I stood in the doorway watching Mimi's cute face and the way her wet hair lay on her head, I thought about walking through my house -- one day, when we sell it.

It is our first house, which makes it special in and of itself. All of our dreams were packed into it and it was a place of our own.

A place of our own!

On my front porch I'd remember hanging wreaths for each season and loving the whole process of coming up with someone new. I'd think of how much I loved the windows in the door and peeking inside to see what I could see. I'd remember Christmas time and seeing Scott and Mimi peering out from inside to me outside and taking their pictures.

(Can you see them?)

I would walk in my front door and notice the latch we had to attach at the top so the boys couldn't sneak out without me knowing and watch the trains down the street and scare drivers because they were sitting on the curb ("Where is their mother?!").

I'd see the cute little cubby mailbox in the alcove and in my mind's eye see Maters and hot wheels and trains and teddy bears that were frequently left there. Oh, and the time there was a whole bunch of crunched-up-tortilla-chips left there, too. The time we couldn't find Mr. Bear, and I found him later tucked inside. And the way you could hear the mail being dropped down inside in the mornings.

I'd walk into my front room and see the nice pillows scattered all over the floor, despite however many times I've told them we don't play with those. I'd look down inside the pillows and find cars and trains hiding behind. And I'd remember finding food stashed there, too -- even raw, uncracked (hallelujah!) eggs on one occasion. I'd look toward the backyard and the french doors and think of opening them when it was really windy outside and just listening to the wind in all the trees out there.

I'd look toward the front window and remember our somewhat crammed antique wooden table given to us by Scott's parents when we got married. I'd remember the evenings with classical music playing while I got dinner ready. Setting that little table, pulling the piano bench around for the boys to share on one side. I'd see Mia's little booster seat and think about how cute she was because she loves to eat. The pounding forks and spoons and knives while they waited to be served up. And I'd look at the window ledge and think about how many times their little feet walked across it and all the smudged fingerprints that I'd clean off the glass that never ever seem to go away.

I would remember the sweet prayers over the food -- and really starting to hear my children think up prayers of their own, sometimes laughing at what comes out of their mouths and something caught off guard by how sweet they can be ("help us be kind and gently").

I'd remember our beautiful Christmas tree and warm fires for cold winter evenings when the world is quiet and wet and white outside. I'd think of running down the street in front of my house and seeing the twinkle lights wrapped around my mantel and about how inviting it looked.

I'd remember singing around the piano and the way my heart nearly burst with pride at what good singers we have and how they would let it all come out in our family home evening tunes. I'd look at the beautiful wood floor and think of how we danced on that floor sometimes, turning the music up and how Isaiah especially loved to dance with me.

I'd walk through the kitchen and think about how it really was and is a tiny kitchen. But I'd remember the cute little table in the bay windows and all the daily activity and buzz that happened there. All the yummy food, and the baby on the counter all the time with me as I cooked. And the way Isaiah always had to pull a chair from the other room to watch whatever I was cooking as well. I'd think of how Scott and Garrett ripped that wall down only to find a plumbing pipe (Oh good henry!) that we luckily were able to re-route. I'd feel gratitude for my husband and brother-in-law for their work and for what we made of this house.

I'd look out the bay windows into my back yard and I'd stop there for a long time. The yard was what first sold us on the house.

I'd think of the hours and hours and hours I spent there. Cleaning out the flowerbeds, planting things, tending. I'd see the garden plot and remember how much satisfaction and joy I got from the harvest and seeing things come to fruition. I'd remember how hard Scott worked to restain the deck and how we loved sitting out there with family and friends. I'd remember frozen custard with our friends, late at night. Popsicle sticks littering the yard. Watching my sons (and Mimi) too -- but especially Benji -- pushing his little lawnmower around the yard following his dad mowing the lawn. And the way they rode in the wheelbarrow. And I'd think of playing my guitar on the deck steps outside by myself, in the dark. The way you could hear crickets so prominently. I'd look up at the huge sweeping tree and thank it over and over for its beauty. I'd remember the warm summer nights and rotating the sprinkler and smelling the earth and those lovely summer thunderstorms with massive, tumultuous, churning clouds of deep blue.

I'd go into our bedroom and remember nursing little Mimi every morning and loving that quiet time, loving the way the room looked clean and white and quiet in the morning. I'd remember admiring the sunshine that poured in the bedroom and the mountain view. I'd think of bathing the boys in totes in the shower before our bathroom was finished and buzzing heads in that bathroom and potty training the boys there. I'd think of the nights that one of the boys (or both) would climb into bed with us and we'd all sit there talking. Or the Sunday mornings when this would happen too. I'd think of the stack of library books that was always in the closet on the floor.

I'd walk downstairs to their bedrooms and walking into the boys' room I'd see where their bookshelf was. I'd remember all the stories we read, over and over and over again. I'd think about how many times I had to clean up spilled cereal from off their floor. I'd think of crawling into bed with them at night and singing to them and listening to their small voices when they'd sing along, the forlorn little Christmas tree branch that was their small "Christmas tree" in their room with homemade ornaments and red lights. I'd remember that we almost always said family prayer right there, on that floor. And squeezed together afterward in a big family hug. I'd remember snuggling with them, hugging them, watching them start to slip into slumberland. I'd remember looking down at them, asleep in their beds, and thinking about how long they were getting, how fast they were growing up.

I'd remember rocking Mimi each night in her room, and checking on all of them before I could go to sleep. I'd remember folding clothes in the big room, watching movies together, and all the running around/goofy happenings in the evenings up and down the hallway. I'd look in my pantry room and think about how small it is and how proud I was of all the stock we had. I'd remember the kids wanting to help me as I loaded the washer with the dirty clothes -- standing on the detergent box and dropping things in.

I'd walk through feeling very wistful.

Just the other night an eighty-year-old woman that I was visiting with turned to me suddenly and somewhat out of the blue and said,

"You know, this is the best time of your life."

I do know.

Even just yesterday I had that thought. I was cuddling one of my little boys who was crying because he was disappointed he missed Grandpa and Grammy when they stopped by. The other one came and climbed into the chair on the other side of me and all of us were just talking. And I fast-forwarded then, too, thinking about how wonderful it was to just be there, talking with my sons who are so anxious to tell me things. I won't always have these children like I have them now. I feel very aware that they are going to grow up and their dreams will open up before them as they open their wings. And I'll see my own taking flight.

Because they were my dream.

And we probably won't always be here --- but in just a short nine-and-a-half months, there's already a lot that will make this space sacred to me. And it's like what my friend said: to anyone else, it may be just a house, and not even a very spectacular one. And even though I happen to really like the house, I feel deeply about it mostly because of what happened here and watching my family grow.

Summer Retrospective

This morning I woke up. My room was darker than normal due to the cloud cover and lovely rain outside. It reminded me of mornings when I was little. I'd wake up in the 6:00 or 7:00 hour and could hear my dad getting ready to head to work in the bathroom. I would slip out of bed and go sit on the floor in the hallway outside of the open bathroom door and watch my dad shave. I remember the Gillette shaving cream with the red cap, the way it smelled. The way he spread it evenly and the scratchy sound the razor made as it went over his face in precise lines. He'd let me come in the bathroom and put shaving cream on my face, too, and I could pretend we were shaving together. I'd follow him into his bedroom and watch him get dressed for work and spray his Calvin Klein Obsession cologne on...that smell will always remind me of my dad. I felt special and secure and warm. I was blessed with a lovely childhood...something that's more than a bit of a treasure trove of memories.

I felt a little like the woman in Nanci Griffith's song where she talks about sitting on a southbound train in the rain, thinking about her childhood and trying not to cry.

Lately I have been remembering a lot. I've thought about the way the house smelled and the expectancy in the air on Christmas Eve, among other things. Childhood is something magical I think in part because you really don't realize how quickly it will be gone and become a memory. Sometimes I wish I could go back.

I felt distinct peace and sweetness this week on a couple different occasions. One was yesterday, out working in my garden. The kids were asleep, the sky was gray which made it not so hot and it was windy. I had the sprinkler going in the backyard, and I was out weeding and raking through the rows making everything tidy. It was so quiet. Just me and the dirt. Everything stripped down to simplicity and careful, tending work.

And the other day I was folding laundry during naptime. I was listening to the recent conference talk Mothers and Daughters by Elder Ballard. It brought tears to my eyes. I thought about how much I love being a mother, how much I love my kids, how I don't want this time in my life to ever be over. It brought strength and conviction and peace. And I felt such gratitude for prophets of God. It is a truth that resonates within me over and over and over again. I'm not sure if there are many things that I am more grateful for than that.

And fall is creeping into my thoughts and coming around the corner. I am oh so ready for 75 degree weather in the middle of the day instead of 95. But I'm not ready for garden harvest to be over...so I can wait. I am excited to decorate for fall. And, of course, for the holidays. I am finding that they are more and more fun as the kids get older. Returns me to my own childhood. I feel alive again from the brightness of their eyes and their excitement, energy, expectancy and wonder. It is a lovely, magical, beautiful thing. I baked zucchini bread recently and smelling the cinnamon and cloves baking just about did me in and made me want a wide selection of fall candles to burn and fill my house with delicious aromas. You see what this does to me.

So yes...I am anxious, oh so anxious for fall...but looking back on a summer that has gone too fast. A small selection of photos, in no particular order.

Goofing around before bed

Bedtime stories. This guy is a very committed, great dad. He doesn't give himself enough credit. I don't tell him enough how great a dad he is.

This view I love so much when I look back when we're in the car. These are the best days of my life, and I know it.

Before bedtime.

Our sweet boy.

Wheelbarrow rides

Watching the "cul-de-sac of fire" --- lighting off fireworks in Scott's brother's family's street.

Snuggling during the parade for the 4th

Me and these sister-in-laws of mine that I love

Cousins visit from Arizona and stay with us

Love these bright yellow flowers in one of the flower gardens in the backyard

My garden -- love love LOVE!

Camping -- took my sister's girls with us, too

Summer mantel

Scott and I cracked up over this picture. Isaiah had the camera and we didn't know when he was taking it. We laugh every time we look at this pic.

LOVE

I love this pic...but it makes me sad...she looks so grown up!

Playing before bedtime with her daddy. Love this pic.

Hiking to some lovely falls in beautiful mountains and here we're crouched around the water, tucked back in a small little cave.

I got to go to girls camp because I am in young women. I love these women that I serve with and have gotten to know. They are lots of fun.

Hot air balloons for the 4th. Love this tradition. Someone told me that they had to double take looking at me because they thought I was Julia Roberts. Far too high a compliment, but not too shabby considering it was like 6:45 am and I was unshowered, no makeup (which isn't uncommon no matter what time of the day) and in my pajamas. ;)

Visiting the Salt Lake Temple with sister-in-law and her kids

My sis-in-law and I after going to the pool with the kids

Family shot at my dad's house

Sunday band concerts in the park in June

Sparklers

Cute, cute baby

My sisters -- my favorite women in the whole wide world.

Honest.