A Boy and a Map

It was the big weekend when my wonderful husband took T-man on a "rain check" father-son camp out. T-man has been counting down the days with growing excitement. The day of the camp out, T-man wore his backpack -- full of books, a flashlight, and a change of clothes -- all afternoon.

T-man picked the camping place (Bear's Den) and the menu (hot dogs & smores for dinner, pancakes & sausages for breakfast). We piled up the sleeping bags, tent, and other essentials in the living room so that as soon as hubby arrived home from work, all they had to do was load up the truck and go. I barely got a half-hug and had to steal a kiss as T-man left - he was so dang excited, he couldn't be troubled with a clingy mommy.

It turned out that the best part of the outing was the hike. As soon as they had their tent set up, Dad handed T-man the map of the trails and said, "You're in charge. Where should we go?" T-man took his assignment seriously and led them on a LONG hike, making sure that they traversed all three trails. Hubby said that T-man relished being incharge. They didn't return to the campsite until the sun had set. And they ate their dinner by firelight.

Camping, especially the sleeping on the hard ground part, no longer holds much interest for me. I'd much rather sleep in my own bed with my favorite pillow and air conditioning. But for my 5 year old son, it was the best night he'd had all year.

Long after they had returned from their camp out and the gear had been unpacked and re-stored, my son carried his map of the trails in his hand. I found the map last night, on the shelf above his bed, crumpled and worn, and still within his reach.

Hot Breakfast

When I was young, my mom made my sisters and I a hot breakfast almost every school day. She had a set weekly menu: pancakes on Tuesdays (my fave), biscuits on Wednesdays, oatmeal or cracked wheat on Thursdays (not my favorite day), and french toast on Fridays. I often woke to the sound of her working in the kitchen, beating batter with a wire whisk, grinding the wheat in the electric grinder (which sounded like an airplane engine), running water as she cleaned as she cooked.

One day, when I was in middle school, I remember realizing that while my sisters and I feasted on a steaming breakfast seated at the table, my mom ate a bowl of Cheerios. Standing. Everyday she stood next to the stove, flipping pancakes, serving us, and stealing bites of cereal in between her cooking. When I asked her about it, she said she really liked cereal and was perfectly happy eating Cheerios every day. At that moment, I realized my mom's hot breakfasts were an act of service. Hot breakfast=Love.

In my parenting, I've tried to carry over my mom's breakfast tradition. I've added Muffin Mondays and substituted cinnamon rolls for french toast, but other than that, I've stuck to her same menu. On the best of mornings, my cooking leads to a mothering high where I feel confident I am doing something right. I am happy to send my kids off to school with their tummies full of good homemade food.

When Baby C was born, everything came to a screeching halt. Suddenly my children were eating cold cereal by the bulk and I was eternally grateful for Costco-sized boxes of Eggo waffles (which I counted-in my sleep depravity-as a HOT breakfast). I banished any mother guilt, promising myself that as soon as possible, I'd return to my cooking routine.

One month turned into two, then three, and suddenly almost an entire semester was over. Empty cereal boxes accumulated weekly in the green recycling bin. Then my hubby left for three months, and hot breakfasts became a distant memory.

Finally, summer! When I asked the kids what they wanted to do this summer, in addition to requesting trips to the swimming pool and outings the park, Madi asked for blueberry muffins. So I rededicated myself to cooking. Of course, the later wake-up time helps, and the lazy summer mornings make things easier. But, oh, it feels good to serve a piping hot breakfast again. Almost as good as hearing the kids say, "Thanks mom! This is DE-LI-CIOUS!"

Goodbye Sally

Today Meya had to say goodbye to her dear friend "Sally the Horse." Sally was a Christmas present to Meya when she was two years old. She's been well loved. Meya liked to sit on her and pretend to ride across the living room. Madi used Sally as a chair when watching PBS. And Sally was the center of many princess rescues, cowboy chases, and farm adventures.

What the pictures above do not show is that Sally has slowly come unstitched from the base of her neck, down her back. White cottony stuffing comes out in hand-fulls of fluff. And Sally's back legs are broken, making her hazardous for riders. As hard as I tried, I couldn't figure out a way to save her.

So at 8:30AM this morning we held a memorial service for Sally before leaving her next to the blue garbage bins for the weekly trash pickup. Madi made a sign that read, "Rest in Peace, Sally." And Meya hugged her and cried huge crocodile-sized tears. She kept saying, "You've been such a good horse, Sally. I love you."

This isn't the first time I've watched a child have to part with a beloved item. For Leasie, it was her special blanket "Ba Ba" who had been cut, resewn, and loved until it was little more than a rag. For Madi, it was her ducky, a stuffed duck with a large orange ribbon around its neck, who we accidentally left at a Days Inn on Cape Cod.

I had mixed feelings about this morning, watching Meya mourn. As an adult, I rationally knew this was for the best--and knew that, if needed, Sally could be replaced. All I had to do was pack the kids in the car, drive to the nearest Target, and find a new Sally. But Meya's emotions were real. Honest to her core. She truly loved this inanimate object with her entire five-year-old heart. And for that, I was so sad for her.

I also knew, sadly, that this would only be the first of many goodbyes. I remember the day we packed up my blanket, "softie," into my mom's cedar hope chest. I remember selling my favorite doll at a yard sale, she had been so loved that for years she only had one arm. We called her affectionately "one-armed dolly." Those were hard goodbyes. But then later, as a military child, I learned that saying goodbye to blankets and toys were nothing compared to saying goodbye to places, schools, neighbors, and friends.

So this morning, I mourned with Meya--with her as she said goodbye to Sally--and with her, knowing full well, that this was only the beginning of goodbyes.

I found our copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit" which I'll read to her this afternoon in an effort to bring her some comfort.

And hopefully, in her five-year-old way, she'll begin to understand that goodbyes that hurt only mean that you've felt real love.

And that's a good thing.

Blessed to be an American

We ALL got into the spirit of the holiday! And at the end of the day, we all agreed that the 4th of July is one of our favorite days of the year. Here's why...

We ate the annual pancake breakfast on the church lawn complete with sausages, orange juice, fruit, and even mini boxes of sugar cereal. I can't remember a more temperate and beautiful 4th of July morning.

Madi decorated Baby C with stars to complete her patriotic outfit.

Madi, Leasie, and I rode on the church's float in the parade. We sang "My Country Tis of Thee," "This Land is Your Land," and "America, the Beautiful." Madi stood in front of me - I could hear her pretty voice. I loved seeing Meya yelling from the curb "Hi Mommy! You're doing so good!!" I loved seeing people sing along as we passed by. I loved feeling all warm and tingly with patriotic love.

Wonderful phone call at 2pm: "Do you want to come over for a BBQ?" My response: "YES! I'll bring blueberry pie!" Picnic with friends was wonderful. The kids got soaked with a waterballoon fight. I stuffed myself with marinaded zuccini, grilled chicken, savory pasta salad, raspberries fresh from the bushes, garden-grown cucumbers, and homemade blueberry pie. We ate outside at tables decorated with wild flowers. Laughed as we watched the kids play a game of kickball.

Annual fireworks at the bishop's house. Our former bishop lives adjacent to the park where the fireworks are shot off. His ideal backyard is the gathering spot for the entire ward, plus friends. We arrived just as dusk was darkening to night. The stars were out, the moon was full. The yard was a maze of blankets, chairs, and all our friends. We helped ourselves to more food and took our seats to watch the show. Meya sat in my lap. She gave a running commentary of every single firework: "That one was beautiful! Oooh, that one was pink. Wow that one looked like fireflies..." I loved feeling her warm skin as I wrapped my arms around her, and I relished her excitement.

Baby C clapped her hands and giggled nonstop for the first half of the fireworks. Then she collapsed asleep in hubby's arms after a very full day. Not even the fireworks finale woke her up.

I am so glad to be an American. On this day, I feel very blessed.

Meya-isms

Meya is sunshine and storms rolled into one. She is the first child to wake each morning (not counting Baby C) as though she just can't wait to begin the day. She's either giggling and smiling or pouting and crying - nothing in between.

She likes to be in the thick of things...stirring batter with me in the kitchen or sitting on my lap while we read books. But she also likes her alone time. She colors by herself, drawing pictures of princesses and families. And sometimes I find her alone in my bedroom with every single ponyville spread across the carpet.

She says what's on her mind:

"This looks a lot like throw up" (she said as we ate Sunday dinner at a friend's house - AHHH!)

"CLEARLY, I'm out of watermelon" (she said in great frustration)

"I'm punishing myself by eating this chicken!" (do we have food issues??)

And then this morning, she came running to me with a bloody lip. "What happened?" I asked. "Sally bit me!" she cried. "Sally?" I said, completely confused. "Yes, Sally!"

Sally is Meya's stuffed horse.

Life is never boring with Meya.

Backyard Kickball

Madi approached home plate, an arbitrary spot on the back porch, and prepared herself for the pitch. We eyed each other - I crossed my eyes. She buckled. I pitched while she was still laughing. In the split second before the ball reached her, she regained focus, and kicked the ball with all her might. The large blue rubber ball flew over my head. I chased it, grabbed it, and attempted to tag Meya who was rounding the make-shift bases. I missed. The opposing team (everyone but me) went wild!

We played kickball, which bordered on silly-ball, until my sides ached from laughing.

T-man ran with his eyes closed, which meant that, most of the time, he missed all the bases. Baby C and Hubby were a great team; Hubby kicked and Baby C clapped while he ran.

Play ball!

Savor Summer

We just got back from a wonderful five days at the beach. It was the perfect way to kick off our summer: sunshine, boogie boarding on the waves, sandcastles, ice cream cones, and the hint of a tan.

When I was little, summer seemed to last for years. A single day was easily 48 hours long. Now that I'm a mom, I know the summer days slip by much too fast. So, here are my goals to try to savor the sweetness of summer a little extra...

1. Read - at least four novels by the end of the summer (surly I can fit that in!) and chapter books to the kids every night.

2. Berries - pick, eat, and make into pies and jam.

3. Let the kids catch fireflies every time they ask.

4. Take more candid pictures. My pictures are always the posed, cheesy-smiley pictures.

5. Go for long runs (I'll have to build up to this one).

6. Walk or play in the back yard with the family as soon as dinner dishes are done.

7. Weekly trips to the library.

8. Weekly trips to the swimming pool.

9. Weekly trips to the playground.

10. Keep the freezer stocked with Popsicles.

11. Take advantage of the $3 movie on Thursdays.

12. Go to the zoo.

13. Use the grill at least once a week.

14. Laugh more, clean less.

15. Sit out on the porch swing with hubby when the day is done.

16. Let the big girls stay up to play board games.

17. Plan a few playdates for the kids (dare I say, even a sleep over?!)

18. Raft the Shenandoah River (in August!)

19. Attend the family reunion in Salt Lake City, UT (in August!)

20. Go barefoot.