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. ❤️

Hands

Today while driving Claire to dance class, I found myself unexpectedly choked up in tears.

She was holding my hand, and then started to feel my bones and look at my fingernails. She was pushing the skin together (“I’m making your skin have wrinkles, Mom.”). 

I found myself thinking—and I told her about—how I used to play with my dad’s hands when I was a little girl. The veins in his hands would sometimes get big—like mine sometimes do—and I loved to sit by him and push them around, play with them. 

At the same time, Claire and I were listening to a song in the car by Lori McKenna that I love titled “You Won’t Even Know I’m Gone,” and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It’s a song about a mother who’s preparing so that when she’s away, her children won’t notice her absence.

“I pray that every prayer I pray will reach you, every wish I make will keep you safe and warm.

And may God forgive the things I do that put one mile between me and you—

To thine own self be true, to thine own self be true.”

That is a prayer I hold for my children, and it’s probably dad’s prayer as he cheers us on from where he is.

And it is in these little things that I find him—the smell of pie baking in my kitchen, the feel of dirt on my fingers as I plant geraniums, a particular hymn, the way I rock a baby, a favorite carol, a late night grocery store run. He is with me when I rake leaves and make apple butter in the fall, as I listen to conference, when I carefully place years of tradition on my Christmas tree. I could go on and on.

Dad, I do feel your absence.

But you are also here every day and I love your hands and the ways they were used—your talents, your hugs, your time, your service—to bring so much love and goodness to my life and the lives of others.

You are in us and through us and a part of us.

Car Talk

Tonight I was thinking again about something Claire said to me last year when we were driving to dance class.

We were listening to Drew Holcomb's song "Wild World," a favorite of mine.

And there's a lyric in the second verse that goes like this:

"Whether or not you pray, black or white, straight or gay,

You still deserve the love of your neighbor."

Well. 

We're driving along and we come to that part of the song.

And as soon as those words are out, Claire, without skipping a beat, 

said out loud, with emphasis:

"Of COURSE you do!"

I love that she said those words, and I've thought about that little moment so many times.

I hope these four people in my care grow up to be good humans--people who treat others with kindness, respect, love, and compassion.

Unexpected Gifts

I was laying in my bed on Saturday morning when I found these selfies on my phone. 

I started to scroll through them and found myself laughing out loud.

 Especially at this one:

Oh, Claire.

I love you so very much.

Letter Writing on Thursday

Last weekend the kids and I drove to Southern Utah to spend a couple of days at a friend's parents' ranch.

Can I just say how much I love that wide open, rugged landscape? I felt so happy and light as we drove along. 

I've got the West in my blood and bones.
(I also heart this picture of Mia.)

And every time I travel with these peeps, I'm amazed at how easy they are.

They read, sometimes we listen to audio books, we talk, listen to music, and sometimes we dance.
They are the best travelers.

While there, we rode 4-wheelers,

the kids got to help feed the cows,

and despite the fact that Lisa's mom has cancer and her hair just started falling out, she loved on all these kids and taught mine how to ride the 4-wheelers on their own.

Coop shot a little bird when the boys were out on the 4-wheeler by themselves. He and Benj pulled off the wings and feathers, cut it open, salvaged the meat, grilled it up, and ate it.

 (Claire wanted to try it too.)

I want the kids to write thank you notes to send to Lisa's parents, so after Claire and I ate breakfast this morning, we worked together on hers. (I write the letters on one paper, and she copies them on her own.)

I've said this before, but 

I'm not sure there's anything I love more than learning-to-write-your-letters handwriting.

(See this post and this post and this post, for example.) 

I love her little tongue poking out in concentration, and the amaryllis on the table (see that little green spear just beginning to emerge from one of them!).

 After the note was done, we did her first reading lesson.

(I've taught all my people how to read, and I'm not about to miss out with this one--even if she does decide to do public school for kindergarten this year.)

Then we listened to some tunes, danced the "Boot Scoot N' Boogy" together in the front room, and I cleaned up the kitchen.

She's watching The Nutcracker now (her request--we have a DVD of it by the San Francisco Ballet), I'm sitting beside her on my bed about to plug in to work, and I've got meat thawing on the counter for meatloaf and baked potatoes for dinner.

I love these simple, quiet, ordinary moments of day-to-day life.

They are special.

Have I told you how much I love being a mom and how I wouldn't miss it for the world?

#truth

So far, this Thursday is giving me alllllllllll the good vibes.

Happy Thursday to you too--whoever you are, and wherever you are.

xoxo

Topknot

While driving Claire home from dance class today, the combo of this girl plus topknot was killing me. 

 We were listening to Meghan Trainor’s “Better When I’m Dancin’”, a song we both like these days. There’s a lyric in the song that says “I don’t know about you, but I feel better when I’m dancin.” Frequently when Claire hears that line she’ll look at me and say, 

“I actually do, Mom.”

Mmm hmm. Me too.

True words, those.

Sheesh. 

I am loving watching her grow up.

Christmas Blessing

I'm going to blog about the holiday at our house, but haven't gotten that far yet.

Late last night, at the end of a full Christmas Day, I scooped up this little person from off the boys' floor (she'd fallen asleep there while we were reading The Penderwicks on Gardam Street). 

I carried her into my room and laid her down on my bed where she always sleeps. And then I got in bed, pulled that peacefully-sleeping-bundle into my arms, and just held her for a few minutes. 

It was quiet and I felt peace and gratitude. 

I had only been lying there a second or two when I thought, 

"This. This moment of the whole day." 

And my next thought flowed to God:

"Thank you. Thank you for this."

xoxo

Rhyming

Claire and I got home from dropping the kids off to school on Thursday morning. 

We ate oatmeal together at the kitchen table, and then went outside to retrieve a couple of onions and some carrots from the garden that is almost over.

Came inside, chopped them up with celery, garlic, and red bell pepper, and then threw it all in the crockpot with split peas, water, spices, and chicken bouillon.

I made artisan bread dough and stuck it on the table to rise, and then cleaned up the kitchen.

Then Little Miss and I went into another room and began sorting clothes, a project I HATE.

Let me say this: hate is a strong word, but I am totally intentional here.

When I think of tasks I don't like, this ranks right up there.

When you have to pull down clothes, decide what you're keeping, what you're discarding, what's going to DI, and then clean out drawers to make room for the next size/season of clothes, get them washed, put them away, etc.?

Excuse my French, but it's a pain in the butt.

Flat. out. tedious.

(Ugh and eye roll.) 

What's a girl to do, though?

It had to be done.

So, there we were. I'm dumping out bags and sorting, Claire is oohing and ahhing over various articles and trying stuff on.

At one point she put on a shirt, and I think it might have been made out of wool.

(And here's where I insert that they've clearly been discussing rhyming in preschool and Claire is absolutely taking it to heart. I heard about it one day after I'd picked her up and we were driving home, and another time she ran into the laundry room to inform me that sandwich and witch rhyme. Indeed.

So, clearly, it's on the brain. Hers, that is.

She's trying words on for size.

And now, back to sorting.)

She puts on a shirt.

And I hear her say, kind of muttering to herself, completely oblivious to the expletive: 

"Well this shirt is
itchy bitchy."

And you know what?

I started to quietly laugh and didn't say a word.

And I'm still laughing.

Childhood is beautiful.

#ohmygoshiloveher

20 Times

When Claire and I got home from dropping off the kids at school this morning, we were still in our pajamas. We wrapped ourselves in blankets on the couch to read for a while. Claire picked up the first book she wanted to read and said that she love-love-love-love-love-love-loves it. (She said “love” so many times.) 

And then, I guess to summarize, she said:

“I love it 20 times.”

Which brings me to this: October is back again. 

There are leaves on the streets and the smell of autumn is here: crisp and changing, brown and earthy.

The tops of the tomatoes are dead with frost and it’s time to pull everything out. 

The mornings and evenings are crisp, sometimes downright cold. 

I’m looking forward to making a batch of apple butter on the stove, filling my house with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. 

I bought spring bulbs to put in the ground so we can enjoy a bunch of beautiful happiness in six months when tulips carpet my small flower bed in front.

We’ve started burning fires, and there’s a sparkly spider and little witch hat on the mantle to show some October spirit. 

That’s all fine and good, and I love it all. 

But when I’m outside these days, I can’t stop staring. You’d think I have never seen golden trees before. But they are my absolute favorite. 

And every time and every day, I am—figuratively, and often literally—stopped in my tracks. Over and over...and over.

It was cool on Saturday when I woke up, and a bit breezy outside. I put my shoes on and went running. I saw sunlight filtering through a tree close to my house that never can decide, every year, if her leaves should be yellow or red. So she is both, and beautiful. And when the morning sun catches her, she is something to behold. 

Seeing her lit my heart right up. 

Life! Joy! Light!

And I know that this autumn will be over in just a minute.

But here’s the thing:

I love it 20 times.

This Little Sequence

We were lying in bed next to each other and I snapped these photos in succession.

And the thing I keep thinking is that this little sequence pretty much sums her up.

She is funny, inquisitive, smart, verbal, zesty, surprising, articulate, energetic, full of life, laughter, and energy.

She always wants to go and she always wants to do.

She cries if she's left behind, never wants the party to be over, loves to snuggle, and is kind of a boss.

She always has an opinion and she'll let you know what she thinks. 

If you can't find something, ask Claire. She almost always knows where everything is.

She's insightful and has a vocabulary that amazes me.

I could just eat her up.

Claire's Insight On Mothers

A couple of weeks ago at bedtime, I got upset with Claire about something.

(I've kind of been edgy of late.)

 When I climbed into bed next to her, she'd obviously been explaining my behavior to herself because she turned to me and quietly offered up this gem:

"Mothers sometimes get mad and sometimes they get irritated."

And then, to further her point, she added:

"They sometimes get mad.

They sometimes get irritated.

They sometimes can't handle things.

Those are three things that mothers can't do."

I pulled out my phone and wrote it down.

And reading it now is making me laugh out loud.

It's flat out truth.

All of it.

#winning

Thursday Inspiration

I wholeheartedly believe that love is never wasted, 

which is probably why I loved this quote when I read it a while back. 

I don't know who said it, but it resonates with me.

"don't cross oceans for people 

who wouldn't cross a puddle for you.

No, do it.

Do cross oceans for people. Love people, all people. 

No conditions attached, no wondering whether or 

not they're worthy. Cross oceans, climb mountains. 

Life and love isn't about what you gain, 

it's about what you give."

Also, Claire Elizabeth was lying down next to me in my bed this morning as I worked, 

trying hard to figure out how to snap her fingers. 

I got the pleasure of hearing her first successful snap.

"Mom, I did it!"

(#lifegoals)

Friday Funny

Wanna hear my funny Claire story of the week?

The one that made me crack right up, look away without words, and feel such joy for her?

Monday night.

All of us had watched a couple of episodes in this series we're watching while we ate dinner, and I was finishing a little cleanup at the sink in the aftermath.

It was about 10:15 or so. 

Claire had been in the bathroom doing her business and came upstairs for me to inspect her bum. 

(This is what she does every time she poops. She does her stuff, wipes her bum, and then has me check it. It's our system.)

So, I look down at her, she bends over, and I see she is going to need a bit of assistance from me.

I'm standing there, washing a bowl, and I offhandedly reply:

"Hang on, Claire. You've got a bit..."

...and I trailed off into silence as I swished suds around.

At which point she perked up, looked back at me, and in her sparky little voice piped up, 

"A bit of a situation goin' on?"

Yup, yup, yup. 

You could say that, sweet cheeks.

On Name Calling and Expletives

On Saturday night, the kids got home and we read a lot from 

To Kill A Mockingbird. 

(We were in the heat of the trial and it was getting intense.)

When I stopped reading, we were all clustered at the bottom of the stairs talking.

And I don't know what I was doing, but at one point, Isaiah said,

"Mom, are you hearing this? Did you hear what Claire just said?!"

I looked at him quizzically. No, I hadn't heard.

"She just called Benji a butthole."

Special.

From my cute, sweet, hilarious 4-year-old.

A few minutes later, she was laying back in my arms on my lap as we were all still sitting there and I looked down and said quietly,

"Claire, don't say butthole."

And she said, 

"Okay."

It's a term she's no doubt heard from her brothers---so I told them, again, that I don't want them using that word.

(I've always hated that word.)

I told them it was gross and beneath them.

But since we're talking about telling kids not to say stuff, let's talk about that one time last week when I was telling my boys not to swear. I was standing there in the kitchen, and as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized what a joke it was because I've become quite fond of saying hell. Awesome.

(#motherhoodforthewin)

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.