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.

Creative Play

We have been graced with some seriously gorgeous weather the last week and a half, folks.

Like, wow.

Beautiful beautiful, especially for the end of February.

And March hasn't disappointed so far.

The other day I was sitting at the kitchen table in the early afternoon.

I was writing an article for work, sitting in the sunshine as it streamed in through the window.

I stopped at one point to make a bag of popcorn and take it out to the kids who were busy outside.  

I snapped some photos, because they had created this whole shindig on the deck, and I hadn't even noticed.

And then, a while later, I snapped these photos through the window of this guy making his way around the yard on his bike.

And last week, when I went outside, I found them busy kitchening, setting up their own stations and busy creating.

And I thought about this quote by Fred Rogers that I totally love:

"Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning.

But for children, play is serious learning.

Play is really the work of childhood."

Honestly, who could give a care about school work on a day when they could be out using their minds like this---

stretching their limbs, 

being imaginative,

breathing fresh air,

soaking in sunshine?

Yes.

Play is the work of childhood.

That's their job.

A Perfect Day

You know, once in a while, you're granted a perfect day.  

And I guess there are different perfects.  Sometimes it's the perfect where you want to shout in joy.

Other times, it is as though you are wrapped in peace, in quiet gratitude, joy and awareness.

Such was Sunday.

The morning dawned with sunshine.

We got to church, and I found my heart full -- from reflections, from the text of the music, from the beauty of faith, from sharing with people I love and the community I feel there.

I came home and shared a precious moment with one of my sons -- one of those moments you hold close in your heart, and all you can feel is gratitude and peace and joy and faith, brimming, and budding.  We both sat in the school room in tears.

After making scratch spaghetti sauce, I sat on the deck in the sunshine and eventually, about 5:00, we headed to the cemetery to walk.  It was quiet, the sun's lengthening shadows stretching across the lawns, shining brightly on some gravestones and casting shadows elsewhere.  

And it was there.

I walked along, watching Benji kick a ball all the way around the mile loop, alternately throwing it up into the air.  Sometimes it came my way and I kicked it and he'd go running.  

I watched Isaiah, swinging the arrow that he found up the canyon the other day, walking up on ledges, singing and making noises to himself.

I watched Mia push the stroller, regardless of whether Claire was in it.  She'd get in briefly, but then get out to stroll again, holding my hand, and I held her for a brief spell, too.  

I was caught up in the beauty of it -- of the quiet, the evening, the way everyone was just enjoying time together, and it was so peaceful.  I don't know how else to articulate it.

I guess I felt aware of time.

The beauty of that glorious hour.

And as I walked with them, 

it felt quiet in my heart.

And I keep looking at this photo that we asked someone to take of us and feeling happy:

these two boys who are fast gaining on me, and soon I'll be the one that's shorter, 

these boys that now offer me glimpses of the men they're going to become.

And it's crazy.  And also awesome.

I don't know how else to say it except that I can sense their masculinity.

And then there's the small one, ever the ham.  Her zest for life is contagious, and this photo of her is absolutely perfect.  

It's her.  

100%.

And on my left, there's this beautiful girl.  

I keep looking at her smile here -- so genuine and full.

She's such a beautiful person.

We came home and had warm spaghetti and then read The Lord of the Rings (we're on the third and final book -- almost there!).  

After I'd finished cleaning up, this kid came upstairs and sat down next to me on the couch.  We admired his toothless mouth, 

 and then cracked ourselves up (literally bursting out loud laughing) as we took funny selfies.

 And after they were in bed, I got to talk with an old friend, read, and write for a bit.

My house was quiet, candles and low lights and beautiful music.

Life is a series of things you tuck away in your heart,

and I'm grateful for these little bits and pieces I'm collecting. 

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.

ABCs and Morning Rays

Doing our schoolwork in the morning sun.

Our school room is under construction in our (Mr. C. and I's) minds.

Desks and little chairs.

Stuff on the walls.  Ya know, like...

the alphabet in capital and lowercase

numbers

maps

a monthly calendar

something special

But, for now, we are busy enjoying the sun inside while we work.

Doing copy work (journaling) with accompanying drawing

And stuff in our workbooks.

Not pictured?

Reading time with the boys

Alphabet letters and sounds with the little Miss

Our numerical exercise: counting aloud to 100

Singing activity songs

Bursting to Bloom

Yesterday morning was beautiful.

We jogged out in the 10:00 a.m. sunshine.

I love the way you can feel the world awakening, beginning to stretch, enlivened by sunlight rays.

Before lunch I walked outside to take pictures of spring coming to our yard.

Dwarf Day Lilies

My personal fave: Peonies

Forget-me-nots

Beautiful iris

Cherry tree blossoming

Green ground cover with white little blossoms to come

Bleeding hearts

Hydrangea

Crocus

Budding on trees

Daffodils ready to burst open

Such happy flowers.

I wanted to go out and sit in a chair on the deck and soak some sun myself.

That is therapy!

But Wednesdays are busy, busy days around these parts and it wasn't to be.

Had to shower after the exercise and get off to the activities of the afternoon.

But yesterday morning, and every morning for several days coming now, I will notice blossoms and color begin to paint the landscape, proudly boasting the riches of earth, dark, lush soil, the smell of life and leaping joy.

Felt Like Spring

Yesterday we had glorious weather outside.

Blue skies.

Sunshine.

The buds on our flowering cherry.

 Making mud ditches

 Holding potato bugs

One of my favorites: the wood path they constructed over the past week by dismantling the pile of 2" X 4"s in the backyard, bordering the garden plot, through the grass, along the fence line.

Making mud soup -- and getting jammies filthy.

The "bonfire" they built in the middle of the yard.

And the wood bed they made.

We lay in the sunshine on towels and just soaked some of that warm in.  

I could have fallen asleep there enjoying the light.

Everyone needs relaxed, lazy, exploratory mornings like this.