9/11

When I woke up this morning, I knew it was 9/11. I paused just briefly before turning off my alarm clock and flipping on the lamp next to my bed to think about where I was and what I was doing eight years ago. I was six months pregnant with Leasie and at a doctor's appointment. The office closed early and sent all the patients home. I listened to the radio as I drove around the beltway in complete disbelief.

The rest of this morning was normal. Routine. Kids dressed. Breakfast served. Baby tickled. With only the slightest pause to watch a bit of the Today show as I cleared the breakfast dishes and heard Matt Lauer announce the memorial services in NY. It was background noise, really, drowned out seconds later as I turned on the faucet and steam fogged the window over the sink.

Then while checking email and facebook a couple hours later, I saw this picture that my friend, Justin Hart, posted on facebook. He wrote "Rode behind this guy on the way to work. God Bless America."

I more than paused.
I felt.

The image tugged at my heart-strings. And I remembered why it is so important...to remember.

Ode to Summer

Summer, how I love thee! Let me count the ways...

Cool water on hot days
Amusement parks and elated screams

Lazy mornings with freshly picked raspberries and blueberry pancakes
Walks to the playground with post-park stops at the General Store for orange creamsicles

Spontaneous water fights in the backyard
County Fair week

Family reunions, road trips, and beach vacations

Mid-week, long solo runs on the shady W&OD trail

Library visits and entire afternoons spent reading our "new treasures" on the couch together

Back-patio grilled chicken and garden fresh vegetables for dinner
Counting stars, catching fireflies...
and going barefoot

It was a great summer

Third Time's the Charm

I attended my third Kindergarten orientation today with the twins. As I sat in the small chair, with my knees nearly to my chin and listened to Mrs. Jacobson, I couldn't help but think back to my first mother-Kindergarten experience.

Nearly five years ago, Madi and I walked into the same classroom hand-in-hand. I was so nervous. I'm embarrassed to say, I wore glasses (fake) to look older and more intelligent. And can I just comment: Madi's poor Kindergarten teacher - I was hyper-concerned, overly judgmental, and zealously protective.

And while some emotions remained the same (none that are listed above), I'm happy to say that I've come a long way.

As a veteran Kindergarten Mom, here's how I was different today:

I left the glasses at home.

I was much more excited about Kindergarten than T-man or Meya (although Meya was skipping-all-morning-long excited).

I didn't have a single question to ask the teacher.

I was thrilled to learn that snack is provided and I don't have to pack any food - the daily love notes can wait until first grade.

I was not disappointed in the least that "birthday treats" are limited to non-edible items.

I was not concerned about Meya or T-man finding a friend to sit by.

I sat back and watched without interruption or coercion as my children discovered the Kindergarten room for themselves.

I signed up for weekly volunteering!!!!

Here's what has remained the same:

I held their hands as we entered the school.

I hugged them as we left.

As we ate lunch together, I listened with a mother's joy as they told me all about their new adventure.

Pots, Pans, and a Chair

Who needs toys when pots, pans, and a chair can be so entertaining?

A "True" Bedtime Story

I've been a bit blue over the last two days. Maybe it's the summer heat. Maybe I'm ready for school to start. Maybe I'm tired of the constant, never-ending messes! Or maybe I just feel tired, unproductive, and useless. But whatever the reason, suffice it to say, I've felt blue.

As I tucked Meya in bed tonight she asked, "Mommy, can I tell you a story?"
"Sure."
"Once upon a time, there was a Mommy. And she was the best Mommy in the world because she took care of her children. Her name was Holly and she lived happily ever after. The end."

I was too heart-melted weepy to respond.

"Do you know what, Mommy?"
"What?" I managed to blubber.
"It's a true story."

And it was just the story I needed to hear.

Y Mountain

"Why is there a Y on that mountain?" the girls asked as we drove into Provo.

"It stands for "BYU," I explained.

"Oh."
"But why is it on the mountain?" they persisted.

"I guess because it gives the freshmen students somewhere to hike." I couldn't think of a better reason.

"Oh."
"Can we go there?"

The last morning of our Utah trip, the girls and I parked the rental car at the new-to-me Y parking lot (very nice). We ambled our way up the mountain just as the morning sun was squeaking over the top.

We held hands.
The air was thin and cool.
We took frequent water breaks.

I thought of the many times I'd hiked to the Y while I was a student, and marveled at how much time has passed. If only my 19/20 year-old self could have had a glimpse into the future to see my life now. Perhaps I would have hiked, way back then, with a little more lightness of step, a little more gratitude, a little more joy. As I remember it, I often went to Y mountain with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

And here I was, walking with two of my daughters. Laughing. Encouraging each other.

Then just when the girls were out of breath and the water bottles were empty, we arrived. At the Y. Madi scrambled up the white-washed cement like a mountain goat while Leasie and I took the extra switch-back trail so we could sit together on the tippy-top.

Ah the view - the buildings, roads, and expansive lake spread out before us miniaturized from our high perch. The city looked like it was a model under a glass case in a museum, the cars just matchbox toys.

As we sat side by side, the sun rolled over the mountain top until its rays rested on our shoulders and warmed our backs.

All is well.

Cousins - Woodland Family Reunion Part 2

I can count the number of cousins I have on one hand. Unlike many Utah families (or non Utah families, for that matter) who have countless numbers of cousins, so numerous they can't even remember all their names, I only have five. Total. My Dad was an only child. My Mom has one brother who had two children and one sister who had three. So with my two sisters, there are only eight Woodland clan cousins.

But pity me not, for my five cousins are awesome.

When I was growing up, we made an annual pilgrimage to Idaho or Utah to visit family. And the best part of those visits was playing with my cousins. The cousin closest to me in age is Nicole. Oh the adventures we had! We jumped on her trampoline, ate Popsicles and added the sticks to her collection in her tree house. We built a fort using old carpet squares behind Grandma's house amongst the grasshoppers and sage brush. We scoured the mall in search of the perfect present for Grandma. Nicole introduced me to swatch watches, Depeche Mode, and tube socks. Hands down, she is the coolest couz on the planet.

One Christmas, in particular, I remember having a grand time with all the cousins. We found a pile of sleeping bags neatly stored in Grandma's basement. Grandma's stairs to the basement were steep and carpeted. We dragged the sleeping bags to the top of those stairs, got in the sleeping bags and slid down. Surprisingly, we escaped with only minor rug burns and no one got seriously injured, but as I remember it, Grandma's basement door did not fair quite as well.

That same Christmas, Santa came to Grandma's house. Literally. Red suit, white beard, big belly. He knocked on the door and to our utter amazement he walked into Grandma's front room, sat down on her formal yellow wingback chair, and allowed each of us to sit on his knee and make any final Christmas requests. I have a picture of this moment. We're surrounding Santa, David is just a baby, some of us are smiling shyly (Wendy, Jen, and Katie) some are wide-eyed and in awe (Luke and I) and some are grinning uncontrollably (Jill and Nicole).

And even now, when I think of my cousins, more often than not, this picture comes to mind.

Now we're all grown up, dare I say, even adults. And it still thrills me to spend time with them. On par with the new family reunion tradition, the cousins planned a night out - just us. No parents allowed.

On the cousin-dinner evening of the reunion, Wendy (my second youngest cousin) and I were not interested in shopping and too tired to even window-shop, so we arrived at the Chez Betty restaurant early, sat in confortable chairs, sipped deliciously cool water, ordered appetizers, and talked. I learned Wendy had taken three creative writing classes as part of her English degree. I learned she loves short stories and is on a Flannery O'Conner kick. We talked about school, career, family and goals. The conversation was easy and the food, seven mushroom risotto and fried green tomatoes, was scrumptuous. It ended up being my favorite part of the night (though the Man-Jill picture is definitely a close second).

So the only thing better than an evening with my cousins, was getting to know one of them even better.