Our Fourth (the abridged version):

The photos are all from the Provo parade. What I forgot to photograph was the fun with cousins, food, and fireworks.

What we've been doing so far this summer:

The Friday before Mother's Day

My father calls and wants to know when I will post on this blog. Often. And I've talked of vacillation before. Yesterday the sky was perfectly blue. This morning was grey, but wait! Now again, it is blue with swirly white strands of cottony clouds. Last night I had very little sleep which lends itself to a morning of need. Yesterday, I was a tinge frightened by the apathy I felt toward the (necessary) dependence I should feel on my creator. And so as I approach Mother's day I take an assessment. (Really, always, everyday.) One of my children breaks me. Every single day. And it has always been. From the day she was born I was broken, and I am just not sufficient enough. Every morning we do the same dance, and I think: Really? Really? It is like some kind of SNL skit. At some point I think it must improve, but it doesn't. And I fall flat. And there it is, this hardness, a difficulty that is really more than me. Sometimes I think back on former episodes of my life. And about change. About times when the Lord's grace seemed to bubble over from inside and change seemed to take place quickly. But I am on no fast track now. I am slow to learn, I find myself often confused. But when in the right place the question arises: have you felt to sing the song of redeeming love? And I have! I have! The Lord's love and grace is about change. And when I come to Him with my broken pieces (over and over) and childish questions (because I am such a child) I am never condemned, there is never a Really? Really? And this grace defines. It defines people as God's children. By love and not by their sins. And not by mine. And so tomorrow I will try again (and the next day). And I know I will keep coming up short. I don't know what this will mean, for my daughter or for me or for anyone else. But every hardness I've encountered has been a gift, a treasure that has brought me steps closer to my Savior.

The blog continues:

I don't know why I say I will...because I won't, but I try. Mostly, the last thing I want to do is blog, I want the stories and the photos, I just don't want to do it myself.

I am a lucky girl. That is the truth. I tell myself this often, I have struggles-things that seem Mt. Everest in the moment but really are just the facts of life in the long run. But really, life is good to me.



Our spring break was pretty peaceful. We had a zoo trip with friends and did some cleaning, and I had an alone trip to the dinosaur museum with Abram and Rosemary. My favorite part of the museum is the mammoth screen, I don't go to the theater often, but when I do, it is to the mammoth screen to learn about rocks!











Norah has a fun teacher who has the children put on some sort of presentation quite often. I haven't done my best to document this but here are a few:



Norah and Neptune. At least I think it was Neptune, I can't remember.





Norah as Josephina, her favorite character from a book.



Norah at her Christmas pageant.

Speaking of Norah, she was one of 90 children who tried out for the school talent show, about 20 were chosen and Norah was one. I am not a delusional parent, I can admit when my child wasn't great, but Norah was awesome. Seriously, one of the best. Brad had practiced with her for quite a while and she sang beautifully, played the tambourine perfectly, and kicked A on the harmonica. And when I figure out how to get it off of her video camera, I will post it on here.

Starting Over

The air is still a bit chilly, but I can feel the promise of spring.

We are ready. We planted primroses in little terracotta pots, the pansies are waiting on the porch, and the dahlias are going in the dirt today.



My children are getting all itchy for outside and I cut my hair off. My stomach is pretty darn flat (standing only, sitting all bets are off.) Marathon training is well underway, 19 miles alone last weekend, at an eight minute average. Yay for gluten free!

I am anxious for arugula in my garden (spiders and all) and on my plate. And I am just ready to let the work begin, because I love the work of spring.

Because I will forget these things...

Rosemary truly can be a pill, and she often is, everyday. But she is at that age when everything (almost) she says is pretty darling. These are the few I remember from the past few days:



Lulu is on the early track so from the time I get her up to the time I hustle her out the door, it is a race. Yesterday, as she was putting her socks and shoes on, I yelled: Hop to it Lulu! Rosemary who was sitting at the counter eating breakfast said: Lulu isn't a rabbit momma!



Rosemary is also at the stage where she is laying down some serious manipulation. Bottom line is, she wants to be treated like a big girl while simultaneously being treated like a baby. She often wants me to carry her, which leads to the: my leg hurts, or my throw ups, or the token "cough". Last night, at bedtime, she refused to walk across the bridge that joins both halves of our upstairs. She pleaded with Brad to pick her up and carry her. When asked why she couldn't walk she said, pointing over the railing, speaking in her most dramatic whisper: it's dangerous dad, it's dangerous.

Just wanted to get this in...

I want this in my blog book so here is a little post:

This year we wanted to not only save money on our Christmas cards/pictures, but I wanted them to feel a little more organic. In my old age I guess I am too underwhelmed with the contrived/manufactured look. I just wanted a somewhat decent snapshot that we could tape on some paper that Norah water-colored. Good idea no? Well, in my somewhat idealistic brain it seemed easy-peasy, but that is not quite the way it played out.

On Thanksgiving we dressed in nicer clothing (brushed our hair and that sort of stuff), asked my father to take a few pictures in his back yard, and then the festivities began!

Apparently, being photographed is akin to torture.

#1


Not that bad, but not that good either. And Rosemary!

#2


Seriously? How hard is it to look at the camera?

#3


Whatever. And we all look a little sick.

#4


This was as good as it was going to get, but Rosemary!

So I caved, and had my running friend switch her head, which made it look manufactured and far from perfect. But I suppose that was the point.



And so it is. My favorite photographs of my family (siblings, parents) are the silly, either trying way-too-hard studio portraits or snapshots where people are posed far from perfect, eyes are crazy, someone is doing something that I'm sure made my parents cringe, and personalities are conveyed.

Maybe I don't want to forget how crazy it is to assemble a family of six before the camera.