Monday, July 21, 2014


Is this really my seventh time being here? 39 weeks (well . . . 39 weeks tomorrow). The emotions are probably the same as they’ve always been – conflicting, somewhat maddening – and yet they still feel like I couldn’t have possibly already seen my way through them six times before, like I couldn’t have seen my way through them ever before.

It feels like . . . I am back to being a child on Christmas Eve (the night unbearably long, the magic of what is coming palpable, the hours of waiting unthinkable, the excitement near consuming) and that, amidst all of that child-like, impossible-to-stand anticipation, I have suddenly been told – rather hesitantly -- that . . . nobody is actually certain if Christmas is for sure coming the next morning after all.

The bearer of the bad news (whoever that might be) assuring me that it really will come. And it still might be in the morning, but it also might be the following morning . . . or maybe the next . . . or, possibly, not for ten mornings. But maybe not that long, . . . but also . . . maybe even longer. . . . It feels like, just as a child would, I have questioned my way around this news in utter confusion and slight panic until the unsatisfactory answers have left me afraid that, despite the assurances, Christmas might never come; and wringing my hands over what can possibly be done with all of the excitement and emotion that has boiled out of me and is riding all over the surface of me where it can’t possibly be put back in closed compartments or drawers or anywhere at all that it might possibly  be calmly managed while I wait for an event that I had been confident in -- and now can scarcely believe will ever come.

Throw into that odd little description a mix of anxious nervousness, anxiety, and even occasional panic over impending labor and the life-changes that will follow; as well as, a strange and utterly new (for me) sense of loss over this person who I feel knows herself so well, who I feel I know and feel I have understood and communicated with, suddenly forgetting everything – suddenly being a helpless baby with no recollection of all we’ve been aware of together these past months, and . . . you have some idea of the strange type of person I am currently existing as.
Photo Jul 08, 4 31 55 PMPhoto Jul 19, 9 52 05 AM

But, life continues to demand its living. I continue to go about my days doing the things that need and even want doing – just as if I’m the most normal person who has ever lived: church duties have demanded taking care of, emails have been sent, family gatherings have been happily attended. Today I took Abe and Daisy to register for Jr. High and then let all the kids choose their new school shirt – and Jesse his first school backpack; I made plans with my sisters for a mid-week get-together (because mid-week very well may come . . . just as it typically does); I ran with Goldie.


And, I have held off this stage of slightly crazy for much longer than usual. I typically hit it at about week 37, but even I have finally learned that week 37 is never going to be anything like “the end” for me – so I shoved and pushed the feelings as far as week 38, and then, they were kept mostly subdued by a fun-filled family reunion that ran me close to this current week. . . . and, well, we’ve stated where I’m at mentally now. . . .

Last night Mike asked me when I would most like Summer to come, and while, I openly admitted that, after a week of being on vacation, there was so much I needed to accomplish this week that it would be much better for her to wait; I still felt like a child who wanted to stamp her foot and shout, “I want her to come RIGHT NOW!”

I have also become this strange creature of superstition (though my sister teased me about my open flouting of superstition the other day when she saw the giant ladder that is currently in my entryway – waiting to be carried to the garage – and, in the mean time, walked under roughly twenty times every single day), but I have to catch myself constantly thinking things like:

“I have no desire to clean my bathrooms. I must not be nesting. I guess no baby is coming.”
”I just mopped the floor! I haven’t done that forever. I must be nesting! Surely she’s coming. . . .”
”Aaah! The bishop just said he really hopes I will be present for this combined Sunday meeting! He’s certainly just cursed me to be pregnant ‘til then.”
”Sunday is my mom’s and my grandpa’s birthday. Naturally that is the day she is planning to come. . . .”

She will come though. And, in the mean time, this strange individual who I have become only rarely has the opportunity to surface. I suppose I may as well embrace her (oh dear I’m talking about myself as if I were two people now) and this whole roller-coastery experience!
Photo Jul 08, 4 32 09 PMPhoto Jul 16, 7 57 38 PM

End note: I took almost zero photos during our family reunion, which I am rather heart-sick about; but it felt like, with so many people around, I had to be fully present and aware of where my children were and what they were doing most of the time (which is sometimes difficult when I am behind my lens). Below are a few cell phone shots I did manage to get from the talent show that my cute Daisy arranged for one of the nights as well as an impromptu guitar, banjo, fiddle, dancing-little-cousins’ night (which, blessedly, almost always happen at our family gatherings with Mike’s side of the family). Also, a few miscellaneous shots from the past week or two.
Photo Jul 15, 9 34 44 PMPhoto Jul 15, 9 34 48 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 19 08 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 24 30 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 33 13 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 35 20 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 48 01 PMPhoto Jul 16, 8 48 10 PMPhoto Jul 14, 2 59 09 PMPhoto Jul 08, 3 21 05 PMPhoto Jul 08, 4 33 12 PMPhoto Jul 09, 5 54 10 PM (1)Photo Jul 09, 5 54 10 PMPhoto Jul 11, 7 08 38 PMPhoto Jul 11, 7 08 46 PMPhoto Jul 11, 8 48 27 AMPhoto Jul 11, 8 48 36 AMPhoto Jul 11, 8 48 45 AMPhoto Jul 17, 3 35 28 PMPhoto Jul 17, 3 35 31 PMPhoto Jul 18, 12 47 17 PMPhoto Jul 19, 2 27 30 PMPhoto Jul 19, 8 42 57 AMPhoto Jul 19, 9 50 46 AMPhoto Jul 19, 8 43 14 AM (1)

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Darth Vader and Shelling Peas

A gallon-sized bag of freshly picked peas is sitting on our kitchen table. Anders is pulling a few out and rather awkwardly breaking them open to get to the round little pods inside.

“Can I have some of these peas for my friends?” he asks me.

He’s only two. I didn’t know he had a lot of friends. Still, never one to dissuade someone from a friendly desire to share healthy snacks, I answer, “Sure.” And then, curiously, “What are your friends’ names?”

“My friend’s name is Darth Vader,” he responds casually.

I’m about to express concern over this choice of pals when Mike comes along and says, “Huh. Somehow I’ve never really pictured Darth Vader sitting around a table shelling peas.”

And suddenly I realize that, perhaps, I’ve been a bit hasty in judgment. Surely someone who enjoys garden fresh peas can’t be wholly void of goodness.

But if Anders tells me his other friend is Skeletor, so help me . . .
Photo Jul 09, 12 42 06 PMPhoto Jul 09, 12 42 44 PM (1)Photo Jul 09, 12 51 34 PM

Also . . . someday, I’ll come to do dishes and just . . . not find things like this, I guess? Huh. That’ll be weird.
Photo Jul 09, 1 22 07 PM

Monday, July 7, 2014



Yah. I made them scrub our bar stools. You wouldn’t believe the amount of little, white, milk splatters on those stool legs.

And, doesn’t Daisy look lovely?

And she’s useful to boot! Really though. She makes the birthday cakes for our family now (and, you know, birthdays happen A LOT around here), and she helps me figure out computer things that confuse me, and she figures out things like . . . how to make pajamas as a birthday present for Goldie -- with not so much as a speck of assistance from me (and little more than a few bits of sewing “learnin’” from her few times sewing with her Great Aunt Leisa and her Grandma Sharon).
IMG_6088_edited-1IMG_6122_edited-1IMG_6124_edited-1IMG_6052_edited-1IMG_6085_edited-1(OK, so she did buy the white T-shirt, but she sewed the bottoms all on her own and added the matching heart on the shirt. Clever girl.)

Also, if Mike had wanted me to agree to marrying him any sooner than I did, he should have known to pull out his fiddle sooner. I mean . . . really. I love that my strapping, rugged looking husband can just up and fiddle.

And, Bear Lake miscellany:
IMG_6113_edited-1IMG_6133_edited-1IMG_6150_edited-1IMG_6128_edited-1IMG_6166_edited-1IMG_6167_edited-1IMG_6170_edited-1IMG_6107_edited-1IMG_6184_edited-1IMG_6185_edited-1IMG_6125_edited-1 (Who on earth could all those blonde kids belong to??)

And . . . some miscellaneous . . . miscellany. (Huh?)

That Costco, pink, Hello-Kitty nightgown was a couple dollars well spent. It’s basically like a princess dress that she gets to sleep in . . . and wear every other chance she gets.

The End.

Nope. Wait. A few cell phone shots . . . including me at Bear Lake this weekend looking pretty close to “full term”. 37 weeks tomorrow!
Photo Jul 04, 5 19 10 PMPhoto Jul 04, 11 01 16 AMPhoto Jul 05, 4 16 54 PMPhoto Jul 05, 4 33 18 PMPhoto Jul 05, 4 59 28 PMPhoto Jul 05, 6 53 09 PMPhoto Jul 05, 9 21 23 PMPhoto Jul 06, 5 24 09 PMPhoto Jul 05, 9 22 04 PMPhoto Jul 08, 12 49 51 PMPhoto Jul 08, 12 50 55 PMPhoto Jul 08, 12 52 23 PM

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