Fingerprints

There are certain people in life who embed themselves in your memory.. they nestle into the crooks of your thoughts and make sound homes in the deep chambers of your heart. Maybe you haven't seen them in years, but there they are: quiet in the back of your mind. You wonder how they are, what they've had to go through without you, if they're happy, if you'll ever see them again. And you realize that they'll always be there, etched into your memory, your past. There are certain people who, it seems, are a part of your chemistry.. hidden there, in the curve of your fingerprints. They're a part of you; a part of who you are and the decisions you made and the feelings you once felt.

There are people in my life who I'm so overwhelmingly comfortable with. We pick up where we left off, have intense conversations about nothing at all, drink nauseating amounts of coffee, put together the pieces of each of our memories like a puzzle. I wear sweat pants and talk about food and admit that I'm lucky to have them, because there were times when I didn't deserve them. And all these words.. they melt from my mouth, sloppy and hot. They're not eloquent. It's incredible, after you've kept your thoughts inside for so long, harbored them in the furthest corner.. once they come out, they're not what you expected them to be. They're not at all soothing, reassuring or even intellectual. You come off as nonchalant, sometimes even bitter. They're so rusty, so meaningless and ugly.. You can only hope that they understand your sincerity. Hopefully they understand that you missed them, that they're an irreplaceable part of your personality, a memory that flutters softly against your skull on a cool summer morning.

Kade will have these people- people who make a huge impact on his life and then are gone in an instant. People who betray him, who break his heart, people who take him for granted and of course, people who cherish him and admire him. When this thought first struck me, that he would inevitably be hurt by others, it made my stomach flip flop. How could I prepare him for the heartache? I want him to have life long friends.. friends he grows up with, goes to summer camp with, graduates high school with, goes off to college with. I've always craved that connection with my peers- a tight string that thread us together as one unit, a reassurance that we had each others backs. Kade may not get this- like me he may move often, be quarky, go through many awkward phases. But one thing, I realized, will always be a constant in his life: Me. I will always be his mother, his confident, his best friend. The friend he grows up with, who see's him off to summer camp, who sits in the front row at graduation waving and blowing kisses, who squeezes tightly before seeing him off to college. I can't protect him from life- hardships are sure to come his way. But I can hold his hand through them, be the ever present rock that keeps him steady.  I can be that person, bending with the graceful curve of his fingertips, but he won't ever have to miss me.

 

 

Happiness and Discouragement

Life is fleeting. Lately, the most blessed, heavenly moments of mine have been so unexpected, I've had metaphorical goose eggs on my head, throbbing where the happiness hit me. I'm afraid to admit that I've been caught up in the mundane duties of being a human being. Every night around five o'clock, you can find me in the cozy, unairconditioned quarters of my 1993 Toyota. In the 90 degree weather, I sit in a traffic jam and fan myself with whatever may be in my passenger seat at the time: a twix wrapper, junk mail, a size 4 diaper. And I find myself thinking, there has got to be another route. Today, an especially congested one on the I-15 route, I got to thinking about my life. All the things I need to be taught, need to teach, to pour out or be poured into, and I began to stress. I began to think, there has got to be another route.There are forks in roads, traffic lights, traffic jams, all funneling us into a certain place. Be it happiness, boredom, depression. Whatever the case, like a traffic jam, we feel like we have no control over the situation. Our precious lives being the situation that grows more complicated each fleeting moment. (There's that word again). But the thing is, we do have control. Taking control of our minds, our emotions, essentially our souls, is the foundation to pure bliss. So, when the next exit approached, I changed lanes and veered off the freeway. I found myself roaming through neighborhoods, approaching a stop sign or dead end and turning right or left, whichever I thought would get me home. Nothing looked familiar, no landmarks beckoned me their way, just rambler after rambler, green grass, yellow grass, crooked mailboxes. I started doubting- You should have stayed on the path you KNEW! And then- there it was. A tree, rather, half a tree that was so vividly familiar to me. The top had been cut down to avoid power lines, the reaching branches strong, new leaves sprouting from the sawed  limbs. I turned left, and there was a house, also so vividly familiar. When I was in the fifth grade, my best friend lived right here. Right in this front yard, with the red mailbox and the strawberries growing rapidly against the steps, I learned how to jump rope. I pulled over, mesmerized. I thought about how good God was, always guiding me. I kicked myself for being doubtful- of course I'd make it home. I've lived in Utah my entire life, something would become familiar.
The point I'm trying to get across here is that life becomes alarmingly unfamiliar; we become frightened and we doubt. Especially when we decide we're sick and darn tired of the way things are going and choose something new, something foreign. But always, a familiarity will form, and blossom amongst the thicket.
These moments in life, these fleeting moments, are my oxygen.

 

 

***

Discouragement is my middle name these last weeks.. I work hard, come home exhausted, and small comments set me off. I'm like a ticking bomb, agitated, sensitive, emotional. Kade brings me back to my center, of course, but when even my keen sense to his wants and needs is judged, I become a big fat wreck. I'm trying, hard. I really am. But those fleeting moments of happiness are just that: fleeting. Being Kades mom is the one thing I'm confident about; knowing the ins and outs of his intricate personality. A jab at that confidence and I'm left feeling empty- what else do I have but motherhood? Sometimes I wish there were instructions: How not to piss your family off or make them feel burdened by your decision to be a young mother. But there isn't. So instead, we pray. Pray that they'll be understanding, a little more patient. Pray that the mistakes I'm making aren't huge, life impacting ones. Pray that relationships won't be strained by the lessons (whatever they are) that I apparently still have to learn. But that's just it: I'm still learning. One step at a time, baby.

Sit back and relax

It's been a long time away from this place- a place of release and understanding. I suppose the stresses of every day life, numbing routine, distract me from sitting down and letting it all out. The thoughts that have piled up in my head over the last few weeks sit patiently awaiting my not-so-graceful plop into this wooden yellow chair. Cracked hands bang out the words that have been eagerly anticipating release from the mixed-up depths of my head. But, here I am: sore to the dickens from a late night of dancing, pushing my over-grown bangs out of my eyeballs and wondering to myself whether there's any Easter candy left... It's better late than never, this whole writing thing. The thing is, I just haven't freaking felt like it. When I get off work, I pick Kade up, fix up a quick and easy dinner and hit the pillow literally moments after laying Kade down for bed. This weekend was Mommy time. There's a time for work, there's a time for Kade and there's a time (though not as often) for Mom. My time was spent on a dance floor, clearly evident by the way I'm arched over the keyboard. My body just doesn't work the way it used to, you know, pre-baby.

I could write an entire post on how I fell in love with a pair of bright red-orange overalls today. While Kade napped with Nana, I ventured to our local hand-me-down store and roamed the aisles for some new summer digs for my baby. Because he's such a petite little thing, it can be frustrating finding something that fits his length and width. He was blessed (and cursed) with his fathers long torso and short legs. Here I sat, on the floor of the Kid-to-Kid, defeated. But then; It was one of those moments when you come to the conclusion that an angel was watching out for you. The Osh Kosh Angel put them in my arms and from them, a chorus sang, take me home, love me, button me upon your baby. No, but seriously, I think bright red-orange overalls should be a staple in every childs wardrobe. Kade's personality seems to blossom in them. Maybe I'm partial to Osh Kosh, Because by  gosh, I practically lived in them as a child as well.

 

***

Mothering is a crash course in self-discovery. You have to find new ways to be you. Moms, in their motherly instinct, are artists. Combining ideas and resources in personalized, creative ways. But we are also scientists, testing a hypothesis we think will work for us as mothers. We tweak it again and again until the creative and scientific processes merge into something that works for us and our kids- a way to other that is uniquely our own.

 

When God thought of Mother, he must have laughed satisfaction and framed it quickly- so rich, so deep, so divine, so full of soul, power, and beauty was the conception. 
- Henry Ward Beecher

There are two things I've had to remind myself constantly as a mother. The first, that I am wonderfully made. When God knitted me together in my mother's womb, he knew that I would one day also be a mother. Yes, I would mother: at a particular time, in a particular situation, and, most importantly, with a particular child. When he promises that he will take care of everything I need, he isn't excluding what I need to mother my child well. God's generosity is endless; he's given me all I need to be a great mom to Kade. The second, simply, is that I was made specifically to match Kade's needs.

 

As a young mom, I can be conscientious about knowing and following the rules. Never drive with an infant in the front seat, never give in to tantrums, never let toddler sleep in parental bed, never allow children to watch cartoons.. The rules have ruled the way I mother. How well I follow them and how well Kade responds to me following them, leaves me trying to determine how successful I am as a mother. Don't get me wrong, rules are important. But there are two problems with this approach: 1, the list keeps growing and changing. One day I'm a good mom, the next I'm a bad mom. 2, Kade isn't always going to respond to the rules the way he's "supposed to." He's his own unique little soul, not a cookie cut out.

Ladies and gents, I have discovered a better approach. Instead of focusing on rules, I'm going to focus on the end result, a pretty picture of what I want Kade to be like when he turns into a big people. I want to influence his heart, soul, body, and mind. In my mind, I'm developing this big picture filled with the things I deem most important; things like faith, family, fun, respect, security, integrity, learning and independence. Back to moms being artists: I am a sketcher, a mother focused on filling that big picture with the intentional daily actions, activities, and attitudes that will result in a masterpiece.


And so, here we are. I'm frazzled and sore. But in the next room, my freshly bathed baby is snuggled with his lovey, fast asleep. I just threw those overalls in the wash because by george, I want him to wear them as much as he can, always on hand. Tomorrow, we'll wake up in the wee hours so I can go to work, a sad departure, but I'll be singing "see you soon, baby" the whole way to the sitter. And when I pick him up in the evening, I'll take him in my arms, spin around and giggle as he kisses my cheeks, My mama! We'll go on a walk before bed, because it's been a few days and we're both itching for the soothing movement of Mommy Baby walk time. The way I see it, each little moment is a pocketful of opportunity to teach him how to be a strong, loving person. I'm holding on to each moment for dear life.

***
As weekends go, this one was busy: filled with family, the perfecting of The Newspaper Hat, fat boy after fat boy and beautiful weather. Time for Kade, time for friends, time for relaxing and for working hard. As usual, it's all about balance, baby.

 

And now? Back to the real world: 

Healthy Heart Celebration

Tomorrow, April 12, marks one year since Kade received open heart surgery. It's incredibly humbling to think about- where would we be now if things hadn't worked out the way that they did? I can't bear the thought that things might have turned down a tragic road but have to remind myself always of the truth. We could have lost him. But the fantastic reality of this sad beginning is the incredibly happy new beginning. Tomorrow, we celebrate one year with a healthy heart. One year of progress, growth, strength. Last year, I found it hard to show any emotion toward the situation. I didn't shed a tear until they actually took him back to the operating room and that wasn't because of the surgery, but because he was so frightened and confused. I was holding my ground, showing a tough but nurturing exterior so that those around me, Kade especially, would feel confident in the procedure. The truth is, I was a nervous wreck, mulling over different outcomes in my head, wringing the statistics in my hands until they were raw. So today, a year later, it seems all the emotions I had bottled were released- like the cork of a wine bottle on a cruise ship. Meaning, there are tears, but they are such happy, warm, celebratory tears. They are tears of gratefulness,  tears of humility. There is a sadness there, but only a dull pang, over cast dramatically by the relief and encouragement I feel. Through Kade, I think all of us learned a little bit about courage. I expected him to be brave; he's a brave little soul. But I didn't expect him to be quite as brave as he was and continues to be. He's a little flame of hope, a blinding light of courage.

***

Of course, Easter happened since the last time I updated my blog. A time of reflection, faith, gratefulness for the incredible sacrifice given so that we could live-  Easter is life. It was beautiful, sunny and filled to the overflowing brim with family, hugs, and church services.
The way an Easter should be.

My little niece seriously just melts me. I call her Lou Lou. 

 

These cupcakes will forever go down in family history. My sisser and I, we're a hoot. 

 

 

Note: Kade was extremely cranky on Easter, hence the sparsity of his smiley face in this pictures.

***

I knew the day would come when Kade would have to move into a toddler bed. I just never guessed the time would be so soon. But it happened- he climbed from his crib and bumped his head. It didn't only happen once, but three times. I couldn't figure out how he was doing it- so toddler bed it was. I'm so impressed with how well he sleeps in it! With the exeption of a few rough nights, he stays tucked in snug and doesn't wander out in the wee hours. Also, that quilt on his bed is one I recently made. It's got an old vintage look to it that I love and is my inspiration to his new room decor.

Gotcha

My heart is drumming out a steady rhythm; so hard against my chest that it aches. But, it's the good kind of ache. Like the feeling you get on the first day of autumn, when the air is crisp and smells vaguely of smoke- like the end and the beginning of something all at once. And I guess that's what transition is, the end and the beginning. I write a lot about ebb and flow, beginning and ending, new chapters, old books... Because life is full of these incredible metamorphoses. We're meant to change immensely. For some of us, we become unrecognizable even to ourselves. People we've spent most of our lives in close contact with may whisper amongst themselves. I never knew she had it in her. I imagine that's what people think of me. I was a wildly emotional, unstable, shy little person just a few odd years ago. Today, I'm wildly happy. I'm stable, even in unstable situations. I'm outgoing when I need to be and calm appropriately. Of course, that little girl is still there. And she comes out sometimes, sometimes welcomed. This is the edge I dangle from; a teeter totter between insecurity and humble confidence. A friend of mine describes me as the "gotcha" type. Meaning, as I understand it, that I'm  quick to adjust to situations. If you call with news that will change the fabrication of the next week of my life, my likely response (although not verbatim) will be gotcha. On the outside I'm calm, reposed, in charge. On the inside, a volcano is erupting. I'm ready to push the big red SURVIVE button and switch into automatic gear. A constant routine gets me through it painlessly, a smile gets me through it happily, and God gets me through it gracefully.

A prime example: I was recently presented with an incredible opportunity to work at a terrific daycare just a short drive from my home. You'll be teaching the two year olds. Cue my "gotcha" attitude; I switch into high gear, put a giant smile on my face and look at all the incredible things these new little pals of mine will teach me. Never mind the fact that I'm so nervous I'm shaking and I wonder what on earth I was thinking. If you had a voice as soft as mine, you'd understand. They don't hear me. But there's a lesson there, even. Speak loudly and clearly, mean what you say, carry through.

***

Kade has developed his own little language. He doesn't talk much- quiet like his Mama. But when he does speak, it comes out in long strings of babbles. The one I hear most often sounds remarkably like "scrub a dub dub" repeated over and over. I try to hide my grin when he waddles up, so serious mama? scrubadubadubadubadubpicup? He's trying so hard to communicate, an encouraging reminder that he's learning and that when I push him Kade, use your words, he understands me.

I think I speak his language.

 

 

Breakfast has been a special time at our place these last few days. We're trying to eat healthier, try lots of new foods, spend more time at the table with just us two. After breakfast, if it's nice out, we go out on the patio. I finish my coffee, Kade roams about the yard chasing the cat and "mowing the lawn" with a toy lawn mower. It's such a refreshing way to start our day. It certainly puts us in a good modd and sets the scene for lots of adventure.

 

Another EyeLash picture. I can't help it. Just look at them! 

Notice how the cat is flinching. Poor Parker is picked on. 

***

This post is sort of all over the place, a testament that life is never as organized as we think it should be. When the words come, I type them. No more backspace key banging for me, no sir.

The Great Compromise

In the winter it's a big thing around these parts to stuff your entire family into your car and ride around spying out extraordinary Christmas light displays. Most everyone does this- bundled up and sipping hot chocolate and oohing and awing at the twinkling lights. I do something similiar in the summer- much less known and that makes it even better. Side walk chalk. If you put your baby in a stroller and walk around the neighborhood on a cool spring evening, you will giggle and nod at the sloppy art on peoples drive ways. Things like "Samantha Rocks! no she doesn't'' and other sayings and pictures jump out at you in green, blue, pink and white (the usual colors for a  box of chalk). Kade and Mommy have been going on a walk almost every day before bed. We take a bath, brush his teeth and cover him in a blanket, usually with moose slippers sticking out the bottom. The rhythm of my quick footsteps and the gentle March breeze lull Kade into a Spring Coma. By the time we get home he's relaxed and actually reaches for his bed, his hair dried and his eyes heavy.

I'm stressed to the max. My nerves are fried and my knees ache. My head is fuzzy in the morning and by bedtime I'm ready to sit down and cry. But there are, of course, beautiful moments of serene clarity. That's the Great Compromise. It's just a part of life. You can't have shadows without light. No laughter until you've cried. No hello without goodbye. I look around me and I see people taking for granted the blessings God has so graciously given them. I'll admit, I resent them. They have all they need and little responsibility and they're complaining. I'm working my butt off; when I get a perk, I celebrate. When things are hard, I try to concentrate on the upside. Life isn't fair. It's not supposed to be fair. You're going to have trials and heart ache and moments when you want to throw your hands up in the air- a huge gesture of I freaking give up. I've said over and over God doesn't give us what we can't handle. And I believe that with my whole heart. I just wish others could see that truth as clearly as I do.

Okay, off my soap box and on to some adorable pictures of my son.
I know that's really why some of you are here.

One of Kade's favorite places on earth is the book store. We spent over an hour there in our jammies on two different occasions last week. He has a knack for picking Used books. That means Mama digs up the change from her purse and Ta-Da! My baby is in the back seat babbling, "reading" me the book the whole drive home. A new book is something to celebrate. Especially when it only cost two dollars.

 

Another favorite is being outside. If the weather is nice (which it has been), you can't keep this kid indoors. He even eats sitting on the floor beside the sliding glass door- as close to the outside as he can get.

Earlier today, I was a point of total exhaustion. I needed a break. I wanted coffee with a friend, a long bubble bath, a full nights sleep, a freakin' pedicure cause God knows I need one. I thought this isn't fair. I resent Kade's dad for not having this problem- if he wants to go on a run, he can go on a run. Without taking the stroller and a cranky baby along with him. If he wants to sleep in until noon, he has that freedom. But I have to remind myself: there's something he doesn't have. He doesn't have my strength, my patience, my dedication, my appreciation for the blessings I have. He doesn't have the positive attitude I have, hasn't learned the incredible lessons I've learned. Really, I'm the lucky one.Things are hard but there's a silver lining. As with everything, there is a hidden beauty, a raw lesson of integrity. I'm still learning.

finger lickin' comfort

The other day a friend of mine said something that sparked a fire beneath me- a peculiar thing that I thought about and related myself to and I'll admit, had a good bellowing laugh about. It used to be that women grew up to cook like their mothers. Now, they grow up to drink like their fathers. It was raw, it was blunt, it was real. It took me a moment to process the statement before finally, a panic bubbled in my gut. While I'm certainly no alcoholic, I'm no gourmet chef either. There is such a pressure to become the "Domestic Goddess" that no wonder young women are turning their backs to the traditions of the home. But I think about my grandmas Danish food, my mothers fantastic and exciting way of celebrating unique holidays with food, my aunts pasta salad that I look forward to for months before Christmas Eve. These are all things that I've depended on throughout my childhood. They were just there; warm and delicious and comforting.
Comfort is such a key component to a healthy, happy home. Right now my laptop sits propped upon the hope chest that was my grandmothers and my mothers before it was handed down to me. Tucked inside are quilts and afghans made by the most nurturing people in my life- the jelly bean quilt I slept with into adulthood, the afghan my great-grandma made me for high school graduation, a patchwork from my mother one Christmas, an intricate blue and yellow quilt from my dearest friend, Hailey. Each of them holds a special memory- the softness or stiffness of the fabric, the tattered edges of the jellybean blanket or the smooth, starched edges of the intricate machine quilt. The smells, the yarn, the patches, they bring me back to my center, a place deep in the depths of my soul that makes me feel home no matter where I am.
I want Kade to grow up in a home full of hand made things. I want him to have quilts piled in his closet, hand made baby clothes to hand down to my future grand babies, recipes that live longer than I do. I hope in a hundred years, in my great-great-grand daugher's kitchen there is a recipe card that reads "Grandma Jessica's Peach Muffins." My own legacy, my own generation of traditions, of food, of laughter, of nursery rhymes, of love.
You only get to live once. One fleeting journey that can be whisked from under your feet at any given moment. You have to white knuckle the steering wheel and pray to God that your doing things the way He would want you to, taking full advantage of the beautiful life that He has so graciously gifted you.
It's time, friends, to be an in the now mother. For this girl, there will be many more afternoons spent in my grand mothers kitchen. I want to perfect Danish almond cake, learn to make a killer sausage soup and jot down every trick there is to fantastic leftover casseroles. I want to sit in my mothers kitchen and learn to crochet bonnets, blankets, you-name-its. Summers will be spent on my hands and knees in the dirt of who-ever's garden.  But it isn't just the tasks that I want to absorb from the nurturing mothers in my life, it's the wisdom. The things they experienced, the lessons they learned, their greatest joys, regrets and hopes.
We're losing this- this legacy of family, of tradition, of familiar comfort in the home. Today I sat down and reflected on this; I was finishing a quilt for Kade's bed and was becoming increasingly frustrated with hand stitching the final opening. I thought, why didn't anyone teach me this? And suddenly was struck with a heart wrenching realization- my mother did teach me how to hand stitch the opening so that the thread would be hidden. I remember it vividly. I was sitting on the dining room floor, pregnant and in tears with frustration. I had her do it for me, I said I didn't want to look at it again until it was done, I didn't listen to her. So, retreating to my mother for her never ending thread of encouragement is my only option. This time, I'll pay attention.

A flour dusted apron, a fresh cup of coffee and being completely engulfed by love and security. This is but a small flower on the path to happiness but it's bright and it's beautiful; a flower that you tuck behind your ear and take with you on the rest of your journey.

***

Kade has been progressing rapidly in the way he communicates and has been much calmer transitioning from Mama to whoever-is-babysitting. He's been so patient and has floated calmly on the raging sea that has become our life. He's relaxing a bit, sleeping in more often, "singing" in the car; finally settling in to the new life we're trying to mold. He's adjusting- a perfect example for me to look upon when, like lately, I've got a bad case of the Single Mom Blues.

It's good to be back to this place- this place of writing and relating- to slough off the layers of doubt and insecurity that are building up on my chest. A familiar place for me to dump my thoughts and finally have them come out fluidly. After weeks and weeks of pacing, rapidly typing, deleting... I'm back.

And dang, it feels good.

Bowling. I don't care if you haven't done it since high school and your terrible at it. Just Do It. It's fantastic. 

 

Kade beat me. twice. 

 

***

If you take your favorite peanut butter cookie recipe and then add Nutella, you get these:

And these are finger lickin' good. I made a batch for fun and then decided they were so good I had to share them with my bible study class. This one earned a five star spot in my recipe box.

 

And lastly, I received something in the mail today that made me jump for joy. I am an official member of the Letter Writers Alliance. Which means a never ending stream of pen pal opportunities, cool gifts and much, much more. Hurray! Long summer evenings spent scrawling out messages on personalized stationary? Sounds like a paradise vacation to me.

Do yourself a favor, call up a loved one and spend time with them. Write more letters. Weed more gardens. Bake more cookies. Whatever your craving: a book club, a coffee joint study group, a movie night. Your soul needs that kind of stuff, dude. Don't deprive it.

Sugar Coated Air

Sometimes, you have to sit down and force yourself to write. You don't want to, you cringe at the thought of banging out the words in your head and arranging them in straight little lines. The chaos of your life can't possibly be captured within this little white box- words simply do no justice to the incredibly inspiring, sad, peculiar events that have become the carousal theme music of my life. But writing is like tapping a stack of pages against a flat surface. All the crooked edges and loose corners suddenly lay straight against each other. The words on the pages don't have to make any sense at all- they look nice. They look presentable. You might be tricked into believing there's a novel written on those pages, if you only glance. I guess what I'm trying to say is that writing puts some order into my life. So, without further ado:

Spring has shown it's gleaming pearly whites. The air smells sweet. I'm not even kidding; all day I've been looking for the culprit to the incredibly enticing sweet smell in the air. But then, after an hour of yard work and many, many deep breaths I realized that is was the air. It's like sugar plum fairies were dancing on the wind. (Pause. Let us for a moment appreciate that sentence). So, spring has shown it's gleaming, pearly whites. And apparently, spring has good breath.

We slept in today. I woke up before Kade and lay with my face beneath the sheets, breathing and listening to the groans of the house, kids playing next door, the cat clawing at the carpet on the stairs. I knew it would be a good day before I stumbled my way up to the kitchen. The sunlight literally seeped into the house,  tiny dust particles floated across the kitchen table. When Kade woke up, it was time for play. We took a huge bite out of Spring, let it dribble down our faces, wiped it on our shirts. We played in the dirt, we went on three walks, we have eaten more fresh produce in the last week than I probably have in my entire life combined. We drove to the grocery store with our windows rolled down, cleaned out the car, changed our sheets.  It's been a few years since Utah got a real spring. I'm not sure how long it will last so while its here, we're going to hold on tight.

Kade is such a lover- his favorite toy right now is a stroller that he can push his 'baby' around in. He pushed it almost two blocks today before tiring out. He pauses to make sure baby is still tucked in safely, goes extra careful over hills and "pops wheeleys."

 

***

I love the smell of dirt. Around three o'clock pm today I was down on all fours in a flower bed. I pulled weeds, raked leaves, threw rocks back into the window wells. By the time I found myself back in the house my knees and hands were black, I had a spider bite on my knee and my cheeks were a rosy red. I also had a giant smile on my face and the faint smell of dirt in my nose long after my shower. There will be much, much more yard work for these hands in the near future.

Life has been its usual rhythmic chaos. Pockets of stress encased in glorious, fleeting moments of comfort. I'm ready for spring and the freshness that it brings with it. I hope the sweet smelling air lingers, leaving traces on my clothes and hair. I hope the sun's warm kisses leave freckles on my nose. I hope I can slow down and enjoy this. But mostly, I hope that you can too.

 

Happy Spring.