Remembering . . .

  I pulled Rachael onto my lap and held her close, feeling her wispy brown hairs dance onto my cheek. I looked into those dark, dreamy eyes and we talked about brown eyes.  I slowly rocked back and forth and gave myself over to the emotions.   The crib was coming down in just a few minutes and I wanted to just sit with my growing-up baby and remember.  Remember how all those babies looked, scrunched-up and swaddled, all tiny on the mattress.  Remember the piles of newborn diapers and wipes, the first sitting ups, the baby howls, the smiles that greeted the morning and mama.  Those endless times of rocking and rocking and wishing Jared would just let me lay him down in that crib. The quiet late afternoon golden moments, light streaming through the dormer, holding my babies and reading and reading and reading.  The screws that held together the well-used rungs, the splints tied on, the trip to WalMart for a crib mattress.  Mostly I wanted to remember and feel and let it all wash over me in holy gratitude for the hours that passed like instants.  Grateful for the then, and grateful for the now.  Wishing the now would just pass a little slower and that the thens hadn't gone so fast. Feeling like here was an end, and knowing that a bend in the road was ahead, even being on the bend, but wanting to look back, just a little longer, before I really turned the corner. 

        

Nature Meets Farmboy

Ripping February wind blew across the dry, brown Salt Wells basin.  The grey skies, tinting at times with pink and orange and blue, looked down cold and distant on the dry fields. Mamma cows followed the feeder, first with their big dark eyes when the tractor started, then with their big, bulky, calving-fat bodies, like they hadn't seen food in days.  All of them so hungry, their bodies needing the nourishment for labor or milk.  Their babies hopped and played after them, staying close to those protecting ladies, the source of their warmth, food, and safety.

"I've got to go check on that one," Farmboy motioned with his head towards Echo Mountain where a laboring cow lumbered back and forth, tail cocked and back-end tense.  He thought out loud, next, about how the next bit would play out,  "I need to get the side-by-side and take it back up to the house, get some gates, maybe a horse and trailer, got to get the cow where I can help her. . ."

Just then, as an answer before a pleading prayer, Hyrum came down the fields, siblings in tow, all strapped in the needed side-by-side Gator.  Farmboy hopped in, and hurried to check on the cow.  We watched as he gently prodded her across the fields.  We stayed in the warm truck, playing "I Spy" and "Telephone" and waiting.  We wait often-wait in trucks, tractors, at windows.  These kids, they are champion waiters.

My phone rang, and Farmboy needed gloves.  Off we went in the truck, the kids and I.  Another un-uttered prayer was answered because a bunch of gates lay at the edge of the field and the side-by-side was full of baling twine.  Farmboy fashioned a chute and had that patient, calm, good, sweet mamma pinned in.  He looked up at me, grey eyes determined and pleading.

"Could you please hold the tail?  Here's my gloves."

He stripped off his coats and sweatshirt, wind biting at the thermals underneath.  He rolled up his sleeve as best he could, donned the latex gloves, wishing he had longer vet gloves in the truck and went to work.  He murmured comfort and encouragement and I cried and prayed over that good mamma.

"It's coming, all four feet first . . . no, one foot is back,"  Farmboy drew out his arm, thought for a moment, and went back to work.  "It's twins, and they're trying to come at the same time," he breathed heavily now, trying to maneuver the unseen babies, trying to comfort the anguishing mamma, fighting against nature's honest mistake,  Nature's way would have that mamma give up, dying in her plight.  But nature met Farmboy in Salt Wells that evening. And while man's arm is puny, Farmboy's isn't.  Neither were the prayers we uttered in every pull and breath and contraction.

Finally, two tiny hooves appeared and then a small black head.  The little baby landed in a slimy thud on the cold frozen ground, and Farmboy heaved a sigh, "it's gone."  He pulled the limp calf away from the staggering feet of its mamma and went right back to work.

"It's breathing," I started to say, but that mamma beat me to it.  She started cleaning that little limp baby with all the fervor of instinct and care a new mother has.  She prodded and moved and worked and moaned and bellowed and wailed.  I held her tail, crying and praying, and wondering at it all.  I looked up at the stark mountain and wondered why.  Why work so hard for this?  This dying baby calf, this laboring, languishing mamma, the yet unseen twin. 

Farmboy struggled and pulled and grunted and worked, and soon another set of hooves appeared ahead of a small black and white face. Its tongue lolled out of its head and I thought it was gone, too.  But Mamma had other ideas, and as soon as that baby landed, she went right to work, selflessly cleaning and prodding and licking her babies well.  We stood back, breathless and grateful and amazed.

"Does this count as a date?"  Farmboy's eyes twinkled in Promontory evening light.

"Best date ever,"  I smiled back, wiping a bit of muck off my boot onto the frozen ground.  We hugged and turned to see Jared get out of the truck, reverence and wonder on his face.  He didn't say much, but stood and watched the mamma and babies from a distance.  Eventually he motioned towards the western skies,

"Look at that," he said, nodding towards the brilliant sliver of sunset, almost stifled in the heavy blue night.

"That's neat, isn't it?"  I agreed.

And then I knew why--why all of this.  It's for our benefit and use.  It's given to us, from a loving Father who knows all.  He's given us the good things of the earth, the beasts of the field, fowls of the air, the herb, for taste, smell, food, raiment, strength of body and enlivened mind.  To please our eyes and gladden our hearts.  For us to use, not to excess or extortion, but to use in gratitude.  And to take care of.  Because in all of the caring for and praying for and working for we recognize His grace in a sunset, a new life, a wondering boy. Gifts to us from a loving Father and his Son.

So, then it was time to leave.  Farmboy washed in the icy cold trough, enough so Rachael let him sit by her on the way home.  As we drove through the fields, bumping and thinking and pondering, a clear voice came from the back seat,

"I never want to be a farmer's wife.  That's disgusting."

Well, I'm glad I'm a farmer's wife. . .

'Tis the Season . . .

"It won't be snowy," I said, half thinking and mostly doing.  Doing dishes, laundry, cleaning, organizing, dressing, hair, bathrooms, dishes, weeds, raking, dinner--doing it seemed everything that needs doing in a house.  Doing it all about half way. 

The sun shone in the valley.  Bright, warm Thanksgiving sun.  November sun that shines golden and warm and thankful to be shining.  The last hurrah of the sun before the gray takes over.  The sun that enhances the last of the royal statice in the garden and the remaining emerald strands of grass.

"It will be muddy, but not too cold and not snowy."

I was wrong!  Thankfully, we had boots and coats, a few gloves and hats, and a Magaw a bit more wise than me.  We didn't freeze trudging through the two-foot deep snow.  We didn't loose Pops as he cut a path for us all.  We didn't loose Dad as he happily drug out the choosing.  He drug it out so Magaw and I would KNOW we had good trees.   When we set up those trees full of forest life, a bit scraggly and see-through, not designer at all--when we set those trees up we would remember we looked them all over.

Rachael skimmed across the snow on her still-baby sized feet.  Matthew and Emma sunk and giggled and threw snowballs and giggled.  Jared's boots filled with snow and then water, but he held it together.  Hyrum didn't want it to end too soon--he is his mother's son.  Magaw found the trees.  Dad and Hyrum and Pops cut them down.  We threw snowballs.  The sun shone through the mountain forest, dropping golden drops of shining water off the evergreens.  And we drank in that smell.  Ahhh.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Emma, playing with the newly set out nativities.  The Nativities are played with all the time.  Since Hyrum was a toddler, they are a source of never-ending adventures.  One day we won't have any littles to play with the flying wise-men and hold the little babies and break the brittle Josephs.  Every glued together crack and missing ear will be even more special then.  

Christmas story magic.  

We really did have summer.  

We basked, gardened, farmed, ranched, vacationed, broke noses, played with cousins, camped with the Young Women, The Boy Scouts, and Good Friends, picnicked, read stories, swam, swam with cousins, reunioned in Ephraim, played at Bear Lake, woke up early, stayed up late, explored the river bottoms, fireworked, said "Hello" happily and "Goodbye" tearily, batted mosquitoes, sprayed weeds, looked at stars, entertained neighbor kids, enjoyed story time, pulled weeds, and tried to hold onto the moments just a little longer.  And Then . . .

First Day of School 2014

UEA Adventure 2014

               

Rest stop near Morgan

Playing in the Leaves at the School!

    

Halloween Fun!

Rooster's #11 Birthday!

Kathy's Miracle

We planned and worked for months.  We informed, asked, smiled, copied, organized, spent hours on the phone, disagreed, laughed, cried, pleaded, prayed, and pulled our kids all over the place planning our 5K and fundraiser for Kathy and her family.  

She moved to town just 5 months ago.  We picnicked together, watched kids play together, worshiped together, gardened together, and began forging friendships.  Our time together was limited, though, and she became sick.  Our hearts broke for our new friend, and they continue to break.  So, one warm late summer day, we met at the park determined to do something.  Could we really do anything?  Carissa's brain child was born, and the scheming began.

October 25 dawned bright and autumnal.  The kind of blue that only happens in October.  We gathered, sleepy-eyed and anxious, a culmination of emotions and efforts almost to the breaking point.  Would anyone come?  Did we know how to organize a race, an auction?  Was it going to flop?  What would we do with the thousands of dollars worth of donations from good and generous people and businesses?   What would we say if we heard one more snide comment?  But mostly, what if no one came?

Sondra, her girls, and I marked the race course.  Michael and James measured and remeasured the route.  The Knights had the Taylor's lawn decorated.  Ryan gathered tables.  Kate and Carissa and Kristie and Amber and Cindy and Susie and Sondra and I were working on the fumes of little sleep and anxious hearts.  We blew up the final balloons, wrote the final signs.  The Party Barn was brimming over with donations, and all were ready and at our posts.  I ran home in a brief moment, to frantically get my kids and whoever else's kids ready to bike and run.

I know my brothers will be here, I thought.  I know as many Rees' will come as can-- my heart lifted a little with that thought.  It really is good to have family.  Good for so many reasons.  Caroline and Becky were organizing all the kids at home.  Theirs, mine, the neighborhood!  What kindred spirits to recognize that need.

I ran out the door again, heart pounding.  Janeal was just leaving her home, and I thanked her for coming!  At least we would have someone else!  And then I looked up.

Hundreds of people filled the road.  They'd come.  My eyes filled with tears in gratitude.  I wished Kathy could have seen them.  They came for her, a stranger, but they wanted to somehow help lift her burden.  They were showing her love.  And they came.  

The race started and I will never forget the pictures in my mind.  Some serious runners, but mostly families.  Ally pedaling with all of her 10 year old might, wearing a shirt in honor of her mom.  The ladies from the care center where Kathy was.  Spiderman.  Nikki, taking charge of the registration and making it happen!  Fancy t-shirts, Kaden and Jared, winning the mile.  Hyrum flying by on his bike.  Emma and Jace, wondering how they had biked the 5K instead of just the mile.  Quin, diligently pulling Makaell across the finnish line.  Caroline and Becky and Adrienne, loaded full of kids.  My brothers and their families, getting there late, but racing just the same!  I wished I could have raced with them, ran around the Taylor's turn and cheered and waved.  I wish I would have gotten to the auction sooner, by the time I arrived, it was over.  Everything was purchased, generosity flowed.

One day I may post pictures.  I don't have any for now.  But the day and experience buoyed my soul.  I wish I could take Kathy's pain away.  I wish her cancer would go away.  I wish her Luke had lived.  I wish she would live.  I wish her children and husband didn't have to go through this.  I hope she knows a little of the love we feel for her and her family.  I hope that that love can be a balm for her family.  It is for me.

Spring is Here!

Spring has Sprung!

The sun came back, and so did the slamming of the screen door.   What a glorious, happy sound.
We eat dinner too late and go to bed far too late!  Sometimes the kids go to school with yesterdays' grass stains still smeared across winter white knees.  The world's green (for now!) and all is bright yellow and green and easter-egg hued.

WELCOME BACK SPRINGTIME!



 

 

 

Tomato Plants

For Sale

Order now to be delivered by Mother's Day.

To order call Hyrum or Jared Rees

Variates include:

Hamson

Celebrity

Amish Paste *heirloom*

Cherokee Purple *heirloom*

Sunsugar (delicious orange cherry tomato)

$0.25 per plant

*Order soon-limited quantities available

 

 

 

Four-Year-Old Wisdom

 

 

"The Bath is HOT!" Matthew said, running into the kitchen buck naked.  "It is hotter than CHESTER!"  Chester just turned 100 years old and is apparently one hot man.

"It is hotter than a heater!  NO!  IT IS HOTTER THAN CHESTER'S HEATER!"

HAP


We like to talk about the "best things" at dinner.  Last night Emma told us a great story.  She and Hap and Princess were out ice-skating on the ditch/pond in the borough pit in front of our house.  A rock jiggled out of place, leaving a puddle of water.  Princess hurried over to the the little puddle and lapped up the water.  Not wanting to miss out, Hap ran over to a smaller rock, pried it up out of the frozen earth, excitedly watched the water pool under it, and then he leaned down and lapped it up.  Emma told it matter-of-factly and without any questioning.  To her this wasn't strange, watching her brother lap up the ice-puddles like a puppy.
Does this reflect absentee parenting?  Did we forget the safe-drinking water lesson?  Have we come this far?  Our oldest son never left the house without his own personal bottle of hand sanitizer.  And now this . . .  Perhaps we are tired.  Perhaps we are lazy.  Perhaps we should sent Hap out the door with his little reminders:
"Did you remember to put your pants on?"
"Are you wearing clothes?"
"Please don't drink in the gutters."
It really is the little things that are most important.

"All the noise, all the noise, all the noise noise noise noise!"

 

Perhaps that familiar grinchy phrase best describes our home this time of year.  We fill our home with goodies, smiles, decorations, activities, music, lights, and trees.  Every year I tell myself, "this will be the Pottery Barn year.  The year of less and the year of class."  And every year I put up the same familiar decorations.  We listen to the same music.  Those decorations show more wear every year and the music gets louder and scratchier every year.  Once in a while I pull together some sort of L.L. Bean type magazine cover decoration, and that makes me smile.  But most often our home isn't going to make any part of any magazine.  And that's okay.

The best part of putting up Christmas is watching the wise men fly.  Years ago a chubby cheeked H remarked how cool it was that the Wise Men can fly because they have capes.  And every year since then they fly.  All season long!  This year I heard Emma explain which one was her favorite--and it was because of its cape.

The other day I stole a moment to look at our Nativities.  Golden sunlight danced across our heavy-laden fir tree.  The bright snow sparkled out the window.  The donkeys were all gathered on the window sill.  The wise men all gathered together on the couch.  In one scene, Mary, Joseph, the shephards, and angels all were walking away from the manger.  But there was no manger.  On the shelf I found 4 mangers, all fully of smiling swaddling Jesus's, completely deserted by any doting mother figure or heavenly messanger.  Another grouping near that had all the characters huddled in a circle.  "Sweet," I thought.  "Here is an Ensign talk coming"  Baby Jesus was no where to be found and the closest one was upside down on the piano. 

My mom gives us a Nativity scene each year.  My husband gave me a treasure the first year we celebrated Christmas together as a family.  These all hold dear places in my heart.  As the years pass, they become more dear.  My kids know that and they take care of them as gently as four year old fingers can.  And in years to come I will be grateful for all those flying wisemen.  Merry Christmas!

Matthew and Church

 

 

 

He loves riding Bodacious, playing basketball, and the color orange.

He despises church.

 

"Today is church day, Matthew."

"I am not going to church today.  It is not church day."

"Matthew, church is fun, you have nice teachers, and it makes Heavenly Father happy."

"But I am not a Mormon."

"Really?"

"Nope, I am not a Mormon, I am Matthew Frank Rees."

 

I love his bright eyes and funny crooked grins.  He scowls and growls and smiles and jumps and runs and does everything that a little boy should.  He picks up bugs and splashes in puddles and loves his puppy and sisters and the brothers.  I am glad he is mine forever.

 

"Girls have to not play basketball.  No, they can't play basketball.  Boys have to play basketball."



A Gentle Reminder . . .

 

 

Emma matter of factly explains what she will take to kindergarten as she stuffs dolls and books into her fuzzy pink caterpillar backpack.

Matthew listens attentively and offers advice.

Rachael craws and smiles.

 

Sometimes reminders come acutely and sting my heart--I know how fast the footprints in the snow melt.  I know that the eager hand I hold now soon won't be in mine.  I know that letters and numbers and sounds become essays and projects. 

 

And then I look into the eyes of my big boy and see a pure goodness and righteous desire.  Sure hope and faith overcomes that spirit of fear of change.  I look into the eyes of my second boy and see determination and decision.  I look into the eyes of farmboy and see humility and strength. 

 

And then I look into the innocent eyes of those little ones still mine all day.  These days are heavenly gifts.  I believe in the great expanse of eternity that we will recall these days. 

 

That will be a happy time . . .

 

 





Why I love America . . .

Rare, warm November sunshine bounced off my blonde-haired kids as we strolled through the schoolyard, through the gate, and into the Civic Center's parking area.  Two big American flags stood sentry on either side of the front doors, heralding a reminder that today was the day!  Vote here! Yet, I doubted anyone in this modern Mayberry would forget--this town pulsates politics.  The election judges call you out at church if you fail to turn up to vote.  I know all about this . . . it happened to me one November a few years ago.  It was a small election and I was tired and kid-weary and truth-be-known--I didn't really care.  Not only did I get a scolding at church, I also got a phone call from the county commissioner (who happened to be my mother-in-law) wondering why I didn't vote . . .

So, there we were yesterday--my five kids and I, lined up to vote.  They came with me to see how it worked and they helped me select the candidates.  They pushed the buttons, ate the licorise from the election judges, and proudly wore "I Voted!" stickers the rest of the day. 

But perhaps the greatest realization of the day came late that night.  The votes had been cast and our man lost.  Dissapointment dappened the hope of before, but as I reflected on the events of the day I realized how much I love these United States.  I realized that without any concern for my children's safety we walked through the doors of our city building and voted freely. 

And here I am tonight, thinking about these freedoms we've been blessed with.  Blessed by the sacrifice of generations and dreams long passed.  We are free to think and speak and vote and campaign and disagree.  We are free to worship and free from want.  We are free from fear.  These freedoms come to us because we were lucky enough to be born here.  But they can only stay with us if we continue to work for them.  Work will save us and our children and their children.  Work will save us from want and fear.  Active worship is work.  Making a difference is work. 

So on the day after this Presidential Election, I want my children to remember how the sun felt on their innocent cheeks, how it made the church steeple glow across the street, how the election judges smiled and gave them treats, and how the freshly-plowed fields held the promise of bounteous harvests yet to come.  I want them to know of the promise and blessings of freedom and the responsibity we have to protect this great blessing.  I want them to know that we harvest these freedoms from seeds planted long ago and that we plant seeds of freedom for those who come after us. 

A Bit about the Roost

 

And now a little bit about our Rooster . . .

Just bearly nine

Strong of will and strong of body

Athlete

Shy of soul

Sure of family

Friend

Patient

Early riser and intense player

Deep sleeper

Desire for right

Watcher and internalizer

My little boy, not so little any more.  A man in the making. 

Not for show, prefers to be in the back.

Non-conformist--he has his own drum and own beat

Definately one of the Chosen and Great Ones

Potential to the Divine

He is my boy, and always will be because of the strength of a Heavenly Vow

And the mercies of our Heavenly Father

He knows my Jared and loves him too and we share that love of boy and son

 

 

 

 

Moments

"Let's go see the most glorious thing in the world!"
(the pear trees in blossom at the school)

Rounded up cattle all day Saturday on horseback
Thinks, dreams, wears, and talks Aggie
Eats

Shrankie, inunciator, attacker, HUG MEE!

"What if instead of boys voices' changing, their face changed?  And what if in the middle of speaking in church it happened?"

Smiler, giggler, patient, soft fingers, almost roller, heart-melter, but not sleeper!

How do you capture forever?  

Remember . . .Winter/Spring 2012

Meeting Rachael

The way two boy footprints look in the snow, going towards school

A white princess dress and "oh they say when you marry in June"

"Peez hug meeee"

Basketball dunk it hoop it clothes

A drive to the Tremonton hospital, the billboards, and feelings of eternity

 Savoring the last of the baby kicks on the inside--not wanting to forget them

Making it to an 8:00 am Jr.Jazz game--Roosters incredible court skills and H's tenacious D and view of the game

Almost making it to 1:00pm church!

Baby fingers on the outside and cuddling the "question mark"

Hyrum and Jared saying the best thing about this Christmas was Rachael . . . (I worried that our sweet Rae might have messed it up a bit)

Favorite stories: Duck on a Bike, Pete the Cat, Kevin Henkes, Tasha Tudor, Big Pumpkin, Pinkalicious, One Morning in Maine, and lots more

Emma showing her sister the pink peach blossoms and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Jogging with the kids through Bear River one spring evening

Good days

Bike riding boys

Neighborhood soccer games in the back yard and all those crazy kids . . .

Watching Farmboy and H work in the garden

Rae and Chris on blessing day

Rachael's brilliant sparkle and a blessing of joy

Hyrum watching the Joseph Smith movie in SLC
Looking over the Salt Lake Valley from the Church Office Building

Catching Jared and Rachael's quiet moments

Hyrum's talk in Sacrament Meeting and his testimony

Alma 57:27, Mosiah 2:17, 2 Nephi 9:52, 1 Nephi 3:7, 1 Nephi 8:15, Alma 53:21-21, Moses 1:39



I knew their stories--the classmates that I idolized. They weren't the cheerleaders or the Homecoming queens or the jocks. They looked and acted and lived completely normal teenage lives, but one trait fascinated me . . . they were the farmkids.

I remember being mesmerized by one friend's explanation of how her brother cleaned the cows' udders prior to milking. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and we were eating lunch under an ancient sycamore in the school yard of old North Cache.

The ripe peach she held in her hand brought images to my mind of her family's kitchen, where her mother was probably standing at that very moment, wrapped in a vintagey apron and bottling those same fuzzy, warm, juicy fruits. I remember one friend talking about how he milked in the morning and talked to the cows about his future--mostly about his mission. I could picture the dark, moonless morning and the steam rising off the cows. I could hear their bauls and snorts, and I could smell the hot and cold and sweet and stink of the milk barn. In my adolescent mind, I determined that this was the life. . .

Well, THIS IS MY LIFE!!!
In patient moments I realize I'm living a dream. In not so patient moments I wonder what I was thinking . . . I'd never smelled the stench of afterbirth on overalls, seen the lifeless form of a newborn calf, wet and forgotten in the straw. I didn't know that my bathroom would one day resemble a bottle making, grease washing, manure laden haven of wet boots and stinky coveralls. I didn't know the dizzying monontony of harvest or baling or swathing.

Then again, I'd never known what it was to be all alone, nothing and no one for miles but the quiet drum of an occasional airplane. I hadn't seen the milky harvest moon rise heavy and bright over the Promontory wheat fields. I hadn't fought off the mosquitos and mud during the summer night irrigation turns. I didn't know the companionship of the stalwart horse, steady and sure under my saddle. I'd never walked over charred and smoky ground, watching the junipers explode into flames, nervous and safe at the same time. I'd never watched the sunset on Susie's View, or seen the million stars of the Milky Way twinkling in the icy November water troughs. Thanks to Farmboy, that world I dreamed of came true. . . Thanks also to Farmboy, we now have a couple of baby calves whose moms forgot to take care of them. This is our newest adventure!!!

Feeding the motherless calves for the first time is a little nervous . . .









But it's also pretty fun . . .

Sometimes they fight over one bottle, or try to eat each other. . . Hello Flint and Sassy

Farm kids are still my favorite!!!

What we do . . .

Summertime begins with the cows, ends with the cows, and is full of cows.

While some families welcome the season of sun with pool parties, we welcome the long days with one of the longest of all . . . the day we work the cows (working cows means branding, immunizing, casterating, sweating, and tagging).

It is a long, dusty, dirty way to herald the sun . . .

Rowdy children

But summertime also means lots of time outside . . .

Popscicles

Swimming lessons

Bike riding

Late nights

Dinner on the deck

Vacations

Betty and Bego (boating and camping)

Bear lake trips, nights in Promontory

Porch sitting

Hugs and luvs and laughs--welcoming back cousins, tears when we say goodbye . . . again

The Fair

Playing--from early morning til late at night

How nice to have the summer . . .

Princess Emmy Annie

Frankie and Jocey

To add one more . . .

To Add One More . . .

"Are you and your husband planning on having any more children?" the kind, well-meaning doctor asked. I blushed, as I always do. This question is one I never know how to answer. Most of the time the phrase NOYB comes to mind, but I couldn't very well use that on the good professional just trying to do his job.

I looked down at the frazzled and fluffy blonde head and sparkly blue eyes flahing back at me. She reached out a chubby two-year-old hand and through clenched teeth, "lovingly" squeezed our sweet 4-month old's soft cheeks. He gooed and smiled back at the girl who loves him by pinching his nose while covering his mouth, squeezing his tummy, and pulling his soft fingers back and forth. I thought of the two big boys in school--the six-year-old athlete who spends hidden moments talking softly and loving this newest baby. He told me after one particularly long post-partem day filled with more needs than I could meet that he wished we could always have a baby. In that instant gratitude filled my exhausted soul--gratitude that Heavenly Father's plan of families includes perfect love. I thought of the eight-year-old, in many ways mature beyond his years. More often than not, he pulls the weight of example and makes us happy and humbled at his wisdom. Thankfully, though, he's full of little boy innocence and energy and an unrivaled patience and love for his brothers and sister. I thought of the little one, just finnishing up his check-up. I remembered the holiness the sterile hospital room took on as he entered mortality and our lives. His easy-going attitude and crooked grin fit perfectly into our family. My mind turned again to the man they call D-D-Dadeo and of his sacrifices so we can be comfortable. I contemplated how the years have flown my and how full they are of happy memories.

I don't know what the future brings. What I do know is how happy I am to have added one more, how grateful I am to his siblings for their acceptance of him, and how even though we're exhausted and looking forward to sleeping again, how nice those little baby fingers feel as they brush my cheek, and how warm and soft his cheeks are against mine.

Oh, so Pretty!

Grasshoppers bounced off the front of the Polaris Ranger as we bounded down the dusty ranch roads. We tried not too smile too much--those grasshoppers landed just about anywhere! But we were having fun. Just the five of us, a family, enjoying the coveted family moments that come by sacrifice and disappear in blinks. The summer evening cooled us, the still green hills softened the hazy landscapes of cedar and sage, and the giggles and questions from the kids made us smile. And then the Ranger died. Completely. Michael and I tried to heave it up the hill so we could coast as far as possible before we had to walk, but we try as we might, the Ranger stayed put. Nearly two miles from the house, and with night approaching, two boys started asking frantic questions and exchanging worried glances. After a couple more futile attempst, Michael turned and said, "well, boys, lets start running!"
Run they did, a long set of man legs and two sets of boy legs. They ran down the mountain towards the house. They promised to return as soon as possible, but the mosquitos started biting and Emma and I started itching. The sun disappeared behind the hills, and a rosy shadow fell like a fog. I lifted the soft baby-ish, but growing up too fast, girl onto my shoulders and we started to walk. The sky became a glowing masterpiece of summerish oranges, reds, pinks, blues, and puffy cream clouds. A chubby cheek leaned down and smooshed mine. "Hi Mom," she said. The next instant she almost leaned all the way out of my arms, pointing to a clump of Indian Paintbrush, and in ecstacy said, "Oh! So pretty!" I stopped, noticing and acknowledging her find. We continued on, my heart happy with the perfect scene unfolding. Yet, we had a couple of miles more to go, and it wasn't getting any lighter. Then, no more than two steps later, she lunged at another clump of flowers--this time Bluebells, and exclaimed the same "Oh! So pretty!" After a few more "pretty" finds, I realized the next two miles would probably take a long time. I set her down on the ground, she put her chubby hand in mine, and we continued on, one or two steps at a time, before she found the next "Oh, so pretty!" and we talked about it. The sky continued it's sunset's granduer, each moment prettier than before, and we made time to enjoy it.
Soon, a flashing light from the shop truck heralded us--our rescuers had returned. Three sweaty boys made room for us, and before we knew it, we were back home, clean and mosquito free. But we had seen so many "Oh, so pretty's" and the dust and mosquitos hadn't overwhelmed us. Still, it was nice to back with the boys.
I learned a lesson that evening. We had started out on a good family adventure--one that was worthy and righteous. And then we hit a bump--a big bump for us at that moment. We had to change our plans--our future wasn't to be what we had planned or intended it to be. More effort and different roads had to be taken. But if we hadn't hit the bump, I would haved missed all of the "oh, so pretty's". In the end, not only were we safe and happy and together, but Emma and I had experienced beauty beyond description, and my soul was sanctified. Sure, the mosquitos had bit us, my feet and pregnant body were tired, and we were covered in dust, but all was right with the world, and better than it would have been otherwise.
So, as the past few months have passed, I've remembered this lesson. More appropriatly I've realized yet another tender mercy from a Heavenly Father that knows all, loves perfectly, and desires to bless us with all He has. Sanctification doesn't come from figuring out what will make us happy and doing it our way, but from humbling our wills and trying to put them in accordance with His will. And, as we do this, our paths will be covered with bounteous moments of "Oh, so Pretty!"

The stuffy, dark biology lab room sweltered in the August afternoon heat. Left over smells of last years' formaldehyde and the dust on the top shelves added to the staleness, leaving all present, including the grad TA, happy for the excuse to collect soil samples from outside. Everyone lingered under the shady Ginko tree, not hastening their return to the lab. All too soon, one by one, students filtered back in, carrying dusty vials full of campus dirt. But a tall farmboy still crouched under the tree, talking to the girl in a ponytail and tennis shoes. Their conversation soon turned from lab topics to life topics, and they became fast friends. Over the course of the semester, they worked on soil projects together, he learned she had tennis class right before lab, and she learned he loved to farm. Summer soon turned to autumn, the Ginko's golden trees danced in the cool breezes. Soon the lab's dinginess was replaced with anticipation of finals and Winter Break. The Farmboy anticipated home, farm work, and family. The Girl welcomed the calmness of home in comparison to the social madness of the life of a college co-ed.

Winter semester at USU started again--cold, wind, more cold, more wind, and more cold. Snow fell and ice froze the old windows in the Ag Science building shut. Outside winter raged like only it can in Logan, but inside the humid heat of the old building, a glow started in the heart of the farmboy and girl with the ponytail. Together they laughed over Dr. Thomas' disregard of Farmboy's wealth of knowledge by experience and the girl's blatant brown-nosing. One afternoon Farmboy asked the girl for a date that night. She hurried home in a mad frenzy, eager to get something new to wear!

And that first date--so different from akward first dates of their pasts. Kindred spirits from before, perhaps long before, their conversations flowed from drills, to siblings, and a common dislike for "Mormon rock.". . .

Memories of the first moments of our relationship warm my heart to the core. I could fill volumes about those good times. How soon those first moments have become fond memories. And now, ten years later, my heart grows more every day for that tall farmboy under the Ginko tree. He became my best friend, my husband, father to the three greatest kids in the world, provider, protector, and presider of our home--a kindred spirit from all eternity and for all eternity. This post is begining to sound like a "coolest husband" contest. I don't mean it to. Because there is no contest--he is the coolest husband. Happy nine years to us!

Chicken Coops and Valentines

The day that Magaw and Pops built the chicken coop dawned hot in the shade-- August mornings sometimes just start that way. They came as early as they could, armed with the tools and wood and mesh needed to create the finest coop money could buy. And then they went to work. A couple of days later and a few dozen popscicles later, the chickens found a new place to lay their heads . . . or beaks, or talons, or eggs, or whatever.

I am not a fan of chickens. They stink, roosters crow all night (at least ours does), and they lay eggs of various shapes and sizes and colors that PAAS Easter products just don't stock. Their brains (if they even have them) lack abilities of common sense. Yet, these chickens still needed a home, and thanks to my parents, they got one! My dad thinks and plans and figures better than anyone I know (rivaled only by my ever-encouraging husband) and my mom wins the sportsmanship award when it comes to these projects. This spring they will be trying bees . . .

Something of dependance happens the moment we come into the world--even before our entrance into earth, we depend upon our mothers for everything. Our fathers become our heros and providers and protectors. These people represent everything to our little bodies and minds: nourishment, safety, happiness, answers. Even now as a full grown adult with children of my own, I look to my parents for these same things. This year I asked them to please build our countertops and stairs in our new home. I didn't ask this out of ignorance or disregard for their time or talents or experiences (neither of them had ever done this before). But I needed something done that I just couldn't do myself. As a mom, I've learned that that's just what you do for your kids (even if you don't have a clue how to, you just figure it out!). And as a daughter, I guess I still rely on my parents a bit. Now every time I wipe sticky jam off the counter, or chase a basketball-shooting son down the stairs, I am grateful for their nourishment, safety, happiness, and answers that they have and always have had for me.

My Valentine's night date this year was a snowy walk out to the chicken coop. We walked hand in hand through the knee-deep drifts, under the bright winter starlight, to feed the birds, gather eggs, and balk at the rooster. He had a few things to say, as well. Once again, I was reminded that the best things in life are found in times of sacrifice and love, for our sweethearts and children, generation upon generation. Michael and I often remark how blessed our lives are, just to have been born into the homes we were. Decisions we made to bring us to the point we are now were planted in our hearts by the people that do things for us (even still) that we just don't know how to do. Thanks Mom and Dad!