Our Summer, in Pictures: July

Plus, This is the Place park...I don't have pictures of that day, but it was oh, so fun to see our cousins dressed in their pioneer garb at the Rich house!

Our Summer, in Pictures: June

we

I snickered to myself as I pulled the recycling out to the curb this morning.  Twelve years ago (today), I thought getting married meant (in part) never having to take out the garbage again.  I've since come to know that there are some things that just need doing when they stink (trash duty, among other things).

Thankfully, in the last 12 years there are some things I've NEVER had to do (like set or empty mouse traps) and many things I've rarely done (like wash the car) because my mister is good to me that way.  And there are a few things he can always count on my doing, too (like organizing family photos, refilling soap dispensers, grocery shopping).  So we make a good team, this man and I.

So glad we've been WE for these dozen years. 

Here we are, wacky bowling a few weeks ago.

(xoxoxo to my love)

helper

Every toddler has their 'key,' I guess.  Praise at being such a good boy and fear of losing sight of Mommy kept my Dallin doing whatever I asked.  Kate was eager to be the 'big girl,' so getting her to do something was a matter of proving it's grown-up-ness.

With Davis, I've discovered that he loves to be a helper.  If I ask him to hold tight to the cart while we cross the parking lot, he takes off in the other direction.  But, if I say I need him to 'help' me push baby Lea, he'll grab on tight (and grunt as we walk) while he 'helps' me push the cart.  It's like magic.

Tonight, in order to ward off the no-nap grumpies, I told him I needed a pizza making helper.  He gladly washed up and climbed on the stool to assist.  It was cute to watch his little hands smoosh and poke and push the dough.  He love sprinkling on the cheese and adding the toppings; proud to be the big helper.

Later when I noticed that his energetic 'painting' the oil on the crust had resulted in a big grease mark on his shirt, I could only smile as I rubbed on the stain remover.  Shirts will come and shirts will get grimy, but pizza making memories with my 2-year-old helper are some of the 'slow things that stick.'

home

"How old's your baby?" came the query from the little ice cream shack.  The woman working at the campground refreshment stand called me over from across the walkway.  With no customers, she looked a little lonesome.  Lea and I headed over to chat for a minute.  We spoke of children, the weather, and the beautiful springtime scenery in Durango, Colorado.  The ice cream lady said, "Yeah, my boys and I like it here.  I think we'll stay a while.  I'm kind of a gypsy, but this place is one where I can imagine putting down roots."

Roots. 

It got me thinking about mine.  Will I forever consider myself 'from' Utah?  How long can you live away from your home, and still claim it as such?

***

I put Lea on the bottom step of the newly framed-out staircase.  I snapped a quick picture and imagined taking more: as she plays with her dolls on the steps or poses in her white baptism dress or helps hang a garland for Christmas or gracefully glides down these steps, ready for prom.  This home is where we plan to nurture roots in hopes that our children will blossom.  This is the place they'll forever consider 'theirs.'  It sometimes seems strange that their recollections won't be in the same location as my own childhood memories of neighborhood night games and Tasty's Donuts and community plays in the Hollow.  I wonder if my own parents thought it odd that my early memories didn't include sledding down the backyard canyon hill or living in the shadow of Mount Olympus?

The specifics of memories differ, but hopefully, the feelings are the same.  Home, for me, is a place of safety and belonging; of shared sibling secrets and good-night kisses; of backyard baseball games; of knowing the best hiding places; of feeling loved.  I hope my children can say the same.

I guess we put down roots in order that blooms might spring up, and eventually, that seeds may fly away and put down new roots for a new garden.  In a new place called home.

maybe

If you had been in the parking lot at the church on Tuesday evening when I drove up to drop my cub off at scout meeting, you might have wondered why my toddler was naked in the back seat.  Or, maybe you've had a 2-year-old before.  And, maybe your two-year-old was also obsessed with water.  Maybe you had a day like I did, where your small one went through several sets of clothes because, although obsessed with water (dumping it, filling cups, etc.), he HATES it when his clothes are wet.  Maybe, like me, you came down to a kitchen with 2 inches of water on the floor and a boy repeatedly filling up and dumping cups of water out of the refrigerator dispenser.  Maybe you also found your toddler had climbed up on top of the bathroom counter, several times, to make bubbles in the sink with soap and water.  And, maybe, right before you were going to load up your gaggle of children to do said scout drop-off, your water-lovin' child came to you with outstretched, wet hands and arms.  When you followed him, cautiously, to the source of this wetness, maybe you, too, found that he had been in the bathroom.  Emptying the water from the toilet into the garbage can.  With his hands and a wad of tissue.  ("bye-bye tissue" he chimed, when you flushed it down, his first un-prompted 2-word sentence.  A small speech miracle amid a disgusting cleaning moment.  How quaint!)

Then, maybe you can understand why my boy was in the backseat sans clothes.

Bitty Boo, water free (for a moment) and lovin' on baby sis.

Maybe.

pinned

I ceremoniously painted the symbolic colors and shapes on a squirmy, excited-but-sort-of-embarrassed boy.  He 'pinned' me with the Bobcat.  This whole world of cub scouts is still quite a mystery, but we've hurdled our first-ever rank advancement.  Together.

I sure love to be the mom of this one!