It warmed up nicely this afternoon--above 50 degrees. After some major grocery shopping at Costco and Lin's, I took the boys to the park for some tennis. Austin has been loving his beginning tennis class and now we are both at about the same level. :) We played a while and then let Miles try his hand against Austin. They had fun together. I was back out on the court, preparing for game point, when my watch started buzzing on my arm. It was Emma calling us to come back home. The girls were ready with their Chef Challenge.
On Thursday I took down the Christmas tree by myself. The kids were busy building Legos in the other room and Greg was at work. At one point I plucked an ornament off the tree and found myself staring at Julia's little kindergarten face. She was so adorable, and I was struck by the quiet passing of time, like a thief in the night. Somehow that happens. Every human knows that time passes, and yet, in my experience, every human is surprised when it does.
Tears spilled over my lower lids and dripped down my cheeks. Father Time is slowly robbing me. Undetected and undeterred, he takes a bit more each day.
I reminded myself to be grateful for the years that I've been allowed to watch her grow--to watch all of my children grow. Those years are an immeasurable gift. I live and breathe motherhood. I like to joke that when God called for mothers, I fought my way to the front of the line. I love it that much.
But I don't love huge messes, and that was my first thought when Emma and Julia proposed their idea of a New Year's Eve Chef Challenge. Stifling a sigh, and staring straight into the face of excitement, I agreed. They filled a bowl with little scraps of paper--on each scrap was written a secret ingredient. After drawing out their own ingredients, they scoured the internet for recipes that would work with those items. Then came the shopping list. I was already feeling my heart speed up unnaturally at this point in the process. But how could I stop them now? I let them shop online at Lin's (a grocery shopping wonder!) and I agreed to pick up their items. My outlook brightened significantly when I left with the boys for some tennis, and my girls stayed home to cook dinner. This was new.
Fast forward to game point on the tennis court. My watch buzzed. Dinner was ready at home.
We stumbled through the mudroom door, flush-faced and happy, arms loaded with rackets, balls and jackets. And holy wowza! The meal that awaited us was a wonder to behold. Pasta primavera, breadsticks, bruschetta, salads, guacamole, apple cake and strawberry-filled crepes. I plopped right down at our kitchen table and happily stuffed food into my mouth, oohing and aahing with unabashed vigor. Greg and I were horrible judges--we ate it all and loved it all. Nary a critique left our lips. We ate until we were sick. The girls had stars in their eyes; they were so pleased and proud to watch us enjoy their creations.
However. Lurking in my peripheral vision was a mess to frighten even the stoutest heart. I'm taking this moment to digest a bit so I can move again. And then, forgetting every cleaning oath I made them swear before beginning, I think I will pitch in with the cleaning. Side by side, we will wash and dry. My baby girls. Cooking dinner all on their own. Where Father Time has robbed, Father in Heaven has blessed. These beautiful girls are becoming more and more each day. And someday, I'll read back upon this memory and shed a tear for my young girls, the budding chefs, and miss the days when our biggest worry was a pile of pots and pans, and who would wash and who would dry. So, Father Time, stay away. Just for tonight. I'm spending this one with my girls.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
December 31, 2016
It rained through the night. The sky is still gray this morning, but it is slowly getting lighter and I can see some clear patches peeking through. This is the final day of 2016. New Year's Eve. Last night, Greg and I went out for seafood together. We quietly talked about the new year and some of the things we want to work on and improve. We realized that Greg will turn 40 in 2017! That's big! Our list of dreams and goals was bigger than our capacity, I'm sure. There's never enough time. Greg reminded me of that.
I awoke with an enormous back ache. It was hard to stand. After sorting myself out, I walked in to get Lance from his crib. We snuggled on the couch and turned on the television. The first thing that came on was a yoga class. Lance and I watched it for a few minutes, admiring the way the whole class seemed to have strong, sturdy backs. Mine feels weak, unstable, and painful. Maybe I'll go ahead and try yoga, like the physical therapist recommended. I could add that to my list of Things to Do in 2017. I'm sure there's room. But first, an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is the order of the day.
It's gonna be a happy day!
I awoke with an enormous back ache. It was hard to stand. After sorting myself out, I walked in to get Lance from his crib. We snuggled on the couch and turned on the television. The first thing that came on was a yoga class. Lance and I watched it for a few minutes, admiring the way the whole class seemed to have strong, sturdy backs. Mine feels weak, unstable, and painful. Maybe I'll go ahead and try yoga, like the physical therapist recommended. I could add that to my list of Things to Do in 2017. I'm sure there's room. But first, an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is the order of the day.
It's gonna be a happy day!
Friday, December 30, 2016
December 30, 2016 - Part 2
Three miles. I did it! It was plenty warm--forty degrees according to Minnie. My lungs felt great. I kept thinking about how much farther it is to run 26.2 miles. But it doesn't really help to think that way. Taped inside my shoe locker in our mudroom is a paper that says, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step." I see that sign every day. If I just keep taking those steps, I'll get there. And if I don't, I won't. It's totally up to me. That's the truth.
Sometimes you've got to do something just to know you can. It's the greatest feeling in the world. Greg and I ran the 2013 St. George Marathon. It was my favorite marriage-strengthening adventure so far. Running a marathon has always been on my bucket list, but it was never on Greg's list. And he did it with me! Crossing that finish line, hand in hand, sweaty and chafed, exhausted and smiling, was incredibly romantic. Who trains and runs a marathon just because the person you love wants to run one? My husband. That's who. And I'll always love him for that.
But 2013 was a LONG time ago. And I took a long break from running to have a baby. So, it feels like starting over at the beginning. It's "One Small Step..." and all that.
This morning, I headed out on my favorite country road. I said hello to the cows trudging through the muddy pasture, and I breathed in deeply. The sweet smell of cows always feels like home. I started running in the fourth grade--one mile up the road, one mile back. Along the way, I would pass Fowers' old dairy farm. And breathe deeply. I swear, those moments just filled up my soul to the brim with happiness.
My mom was a jogger and I wanted to give it a try. Being the champion of the fourth-grade foot races only peaked my interest more. So off I would go, borrowing my mom's yellow walkman, one mile up, one mile back. One day, my dad told me that if I could beat him in a race, he would buy me my own running shoes. Who knows what I was wearing before that? So with the neighborhood kids watching, Dad and I raced along the road, the wind whipping my blonde hair. I was fast. And young. And I loved getting my own running shoes. I like to think Dad loved buying them for me too.
Today the winter sky was heartbreakingly blue with just a few wispy clouds. When my footfall crunched in the loose gravel, a whole flock of birds whipped up out of the brush along the road, soaring up to the blue backdrop. They looked as free as I felt. It's just like fourth grade; I still love running.
And I think the construction workers I passed were checking out my leggings. At least that's what this mother of six is telling herself...
It's a happy day!
Sometimes you've got to do something just to know you can. It's the greatest feeling in the world. Greg and I ran the 2013 St. George Marathon. It was my favorite marriage-strengthening adventure so far. Running a marathon has always been on my bucket list, but it was never on Greg's list. And he did it with me! Crossing that finish line, hand in hand, sweaty and chafed, exhausted and smiling, was incredibly romantic. Who trains and runs a marathon just because the person you love wants to run one? My husband. That's who. And I'll always love him for that.
But 2013 was a LONG time ago. And I took a long break from running to have a baby. So, it feels like starting over at the beginning. It's "One Small Step..." and all that.
This morning, I headed out on my favorite country road. I said hello to the cows trudging through the muddy pasture, and I breathed in deeply. The sweet smell of cows always feels like home. I started running in the fourth grade--one mile up the road, one mile back. Along the way, I would pass Fowers' old dairy farm. And breathe deeply. I swear, those moments just filled up my soul to the brim with happiness.
My mom was a jogger and I wanted to give it a try. Being the champion of the fourth-grade foot races only peaked my interest more. So off I would go, borrowing my mom's yellow walkman, one mile up, one mile back. One day, my dad told me that if I could beat him in a race, he would buy me my own running shoes. Who knows what I was wearing before that? So with the neighborhood kids watching, Dad and I raced along the road, the wind whipping my blonde hair. I was fast. And young. And I loved getting my own running shoes. I like to think Dad loved buying them for me too.
Today the winter sky was heartbreakingly blue with just a few wispy clouds. When my footfall crunched in the loose gravel, a whole flock of birds whipped up out of the brush along the road, soaring up to the blue backdrop. They looked as free as I felt. It's just like fourth grade; I still love running.
And I think the construction workers I passed were checking out my leggings. At least that's what this mother of six is telling herself...
It's a happy day!
December 30, 2016
It's the dawn of a cold day here in the desert. The cute little Minnie Mouse watch face on my brand, spankin', new Apple watch says that it is thirty-one degrees and sunny. I can see out the windows that it, indeed, looks cold. The grass in the yard is covered in a light frost, but the sun is fighting its way through the morning clouds, beckoning me to the outdoors. My running shoes are lonely. It's been a whirlwind since Thanksgiving when I got sick with bronchitis which put a halt to my running adventures. My sister, Stalee, and I have set our sights on the 2017 St. George Marathon, and things were moving along nicely until...bronchitis ("ain't nobody got time for that!"), and a full-blown puking marathon for my six children, and Christmas, and our after-Christmas Brian Head Ski Trip (it was awesome!), and now here I sit, on December 30th, wondering if I even know how to run anymore.
But never fear, I've got my warm, running leggings (the ones that my husband really, really, really loves to see me wear--too bad he is at work), and my running gloves, and the bright St. George sun to keep me comfy. And if that doesn't do the trick, I can just think of Stalee, who lives up north, running in temps hovering around ZERO! She is my inspiration. We got this, Stalee!
Now, to lace up my shoes and test out my lungs. It's a happy day!
But never fear, I've got my warm, running leggings (the ones that my husband really, really, really loves to see me wear--too bad he is at work), and my running gloves, and the bright St. George sun to keep me comfy. And if that doesn't do the trick, I can just think of Stalee, who lives up north, running in temps hovering around ZERO! She is my inspiration. We got this, Stalee!
Now, to lace up my shoes and test out my lungs. It's a happy day!
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