Thankful

Why, hello there, little blog. Miss me?

I am just unpacking, laundering, and detoxing from four days spent off the grid with our cousins from the east in Amish Country, Ohio. While having no cell or internet service whatsoever was a wee bit inconvenient at times, this was my view first thing every morning:

We stayed once again in these charming little cottages smack dab in the middle of a working Amish farm. Our kids spent approximately 18 hours outside every single day and got so dirty it made my mama heart warm. They hiked through fields. They shot bows and arrows. They ran hard. They slept hard. We sat with our husbands around a table and laughed until our sides split.

It was a little taste of heaven.

The farm also allowed our kids to indulge their inner pet ownership fantasies, as the two farm dogs kind of adopted them. One of the dogs is missing a leg, and we respectfully dubbed him Tripod (though his real name was Tango). We suspect he lost the leg while trying to win a race with an Amish horse buggy. He tends to be a little reckless, this one.

Tripod's companion on the farm is a small four-legged dog that our kids called Little Dog (creative naming geniuses at work, clearly). Little Dog sometimes lifts that fourth leg up and runs on only three legs. We think he does it so Tripod won't feel left out. You know, with his disability and all.

Everybody needs a friend like that.

Tripod also has no clue that he is a land-dwelling mammal. He was always frantically scrambling to keep up with the kids on the paddle boats. Pretty good swimmer, too, considering he's minus a limb.

The gratuitous turkey dinner was fed to us by the locals at the one and only restaurant in town. Gabi and I thoroughly enjoyed not having to lift a finger to cook it, and took devilish delight in walking away without washing a single dish.

It makes me wonder why I ever spend the holiday cooking for days at a time.

Plus, it was sinfully delicious and sent us all into that magical tryptophan coma.

Mmmm, tryptophan coma.

On our way home, we stopped in to see some very good friends, and felt sad leaving, as there just wasn't enough time spent with them. It was like we had been together yesterday, instead of four years ago. It was so easy to pick up right where we left off. We drooled over their fabulous home, gorgeous boys, and shared a meal like old times. Remind me sometime to tell you my favorite story of our friend, Chris. He's a good man, that one. He and Emily are the best.

A lot of hours on the road later, and we are home safe and sound. There is mud in every crevice of my children's jeans, a pile of mail to go through, and a million calls and emails to return. But I find my heart is full from the love of it all - good friends, family, simplicity, and time.

I feel so blessed.

Thirty-six

Today, I am thirty-six.

Lots of people asked me today how I felt about turning over yet another year. And do you know what I said?

I feel so damn good.

For sure, my thirties are a lot more fun than my twenties. In my thirties, I no longer have to change diapers. Most nights I get a full eight hours of sleep. I feel more confident - like I am finally at home in my own skin. My wrinkles are not yet prominent enough to be requiring the botox. And I am slightly less concerned with how large my rear end is than I was in my twenties.

Only slightly.

But still. That's something, right?

Plus, I am actually getting paid to do something I love to do, on my own terms. I spend approximately seven hours every day all by myself. I have three beautiful kids who I can't wait to see at the end of those seven hours. I have a husband who, though out of town today, made sure to send two of my favorite birthday things: Cash and flowers.

I have friends who went above and beyond to make me feel loved and adored today. Friends that are like family. I have actual family who called and texted the birthday love. I have the Book of Face (which happily announces your birthday for you), thereby leading many old and new friends to wish me a happy day.

So as I sit here tonight, proofing pictures from a fabulously rich weekend in Philly, my new favorite soundtrack (Glee) is playing softly in the background, and I can't help but notice it --

I am just so blessed.

Can't wait to see what thirty-six has in store for me.

The Funeral

I huddled under the large umbrella, wishing for a lull in the endless, gray rain. Goosebumps covered my bare arms, and I found my thoughts drifting to the jacket that I knew I should have brought along. Hannah's tiny hand clasps mine, and the Husband shifts his weight from one leg to another restlessly. I watch as dirt is shoveled solemnly onto the tiny coffin. Nearby, the forlorn sound of Taps signals that the time has come for us to do what we came here to do. I reach my arms out and hold him as he cries. With each wracking sob, my heart aches for my little boy and this loss. I hate for any of my children to face mortality.

Yes. Even the mortality of pet hermit crabs.

As I stood barefoot in the rain yesterday at the funeral of Chase's hermit crab, I grumbled at the absurdity of it all. I winced as McKay played Taps on the trumpet, hitting a particularly painful high note, one that pierced my eardrums to the core. I fought the urge to snap hatefully as Hannah hung on me and whined for dinner. I glanced around shamefully, hoping none of the neighbors were watching.

And then it occurred to me: Is this really my life?

I flashed back to my 15-year-old self and remembered wistfully some of the dreams I had for myself. I wanted to travel ALL. THE. TIME. I was going to be thin and rich. I would never have bad hair and would certainly not be scrubbing my own toilets. I may or may not have thought I was going to marry Johnny Depp.

No one ever told me about these kinds of days.

The days where you feel pulled like a rubber band - stretched in so many directions that you fear the sheer pressure of it all will cause something in you to snap. Wondering just how many more seconds you can take before you lose it and scream at them all.

But then, almost all at once, it changes.

It softens somehow, my heart.

I look at the tear-stained face of my sweet son, see that his heart is breaking, and I know that I would move heaven and earth to ease his pain for just a moment. I look over and smile at the thoughtfulness of my oldest child, paying respects in the only way he knows how. Not because he loved or cared for the stupid little crab himself, but because he knows it was important to his brother.

My eyes suddenly fill with tears at the realization of just how strong the bond between them is. That for all my failings as a mother, I know that these boys love each other fiercely, and maybe, just maybe, a small part of that is because of me.

I bend down and scoop up that hungry, scrawny, seven-year-old girl, getting an eyeful of her jack o-lantern teeth on the way, and remember what it was like to be her age. I briefly wonder if I drove my own mother crazy with my nonstop chatter, and feel pretty sure that I whined and complained while having to wait for dinner myself.

And all at once, I realize something wonderful. At age seven, waiting for dinner is pretty much her biggest problem in life. I silently pray in gratitude at the sheer providence in my life because of that.

Then my eyes meet the Husband's on the way inside the house, and we share a smile of understanding, of solidarity for these little creatures that have become our life. And I think, surely, he knows just how desperately I still love him after 15 years together. I vow that I will show and tell him more often, just in case he has forgotten it.

Maybe this wasn't the life I pictured as a love-sick teenager, mooning and dreaming over what would be. But do you know what?

It's so much freaking better.

Counting my blessings again

I have nothing for you here, my friends, but can send you elsewhere today for some of my words.

Mormon Women is featuring a post I wrote over a year ago that was definitely life-altering. Go check it out if you haven't read it yet or read it again if you need a reminder for yourself, like me, that somebody is watching out for you.

I still get chills when I think about what could have been. And I still tear up when I wonder why it wasn't.

God is good. And He blessed my little family in a very simple, yet profound, way.

Happy pretend Monday.

Bliss

I am startled out of sleep by the loud, merciless beeps. It is chilly this morning, and the tiny warm body in my bed is snuggled up close, stealing my body heat. I smile at her tangled mass of hair and wonder how she makes that perfect rock star hair in her sleep. I sigh and hit the snooze button at least three times before I can force myself out from under the warm covers.

I strip down and stand on the scale. I smile, for today it has been kind to me. I pull on the workout gear and slip into my pink, fuzzy slippers. I plod down the hall to wake the boys. As usual, they are already up. Up, at the crack of dawn.

Just like their father.

I chuckle and shake my head in awe, not comprehending how it is they manage to wake so early every day. And do it so cheerfully, too.

At breakfast, their sleepy faces start to light up as they speculate about the upcoming day. I take the morning poll and find out who is bringing and who is buying. I can almost always predict this, even without asking. Today they all surprise me and want to bring.

I suspect it has something to do with the pan of brownies on the counter.

I do dishes. I pack lunches. I blow dry the now smooth and very un-rock star-like hair. I smile and listen as she chatters on about every boy and girl in her class. I love her endless chatter, and silently wonder if everyone is lucky as I am.

I tie shoes. I zip backpacks. I look over and notice that both boys have a peanut butter smile on their cheeks. I laugh and send them in for a wash. I wipe counters. I sweep floors. I give hugs. I give kisses. I miss them already.

I stand at the door and wave. I watch the big, yellow bus take them from me, as it does each morning. I pray in my heart for their safety and happiness, as I do hundreds of times a day.

I sigh, content.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

My favorite time of day

I think I love the half-hour after dinner, showers, and PJ's the best. The dishes are usually done. The kids all smell nice and clean. The house is silent, but for the sweet little voice of this girl, reading out loud to her mama. Our favorite lately is anything Junie B. Jones. But we laughed ourselves silly at this old classic the other day.

The quiet is briefly interrupted by one of these wily fellows, wanting to share something funny from their books, or stumbling upon a word they're not quite sure of.

The day's cares have melted away. There is a look of contentment on each of their faces, as they are immersed in one of my favorite worlds - the wonderful world of books. I have raised three readers, and I might just think myself a success for fact that alone.