tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56660704232060712532024-03-12T20:12:19.790-06:00glass (...like a window) ford (...like a truck)Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.comBlogger1158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-41495024531644994642017-02-04T22:02:00.001-07:002017-02-04T22:05:32.289-07:00Forty degrees does wonders on my soul....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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TODAY: The girls did a craft. / Mems spent majority of the day in her pull-up and only her pull-up. / Erik solved his rubiks cube for any/every audience he could wrangle. / We washed dishes and did laundry. / We played on the swings in the backyard. / We had a basketball game and cousins over to play. / We took a bike ride to the park. (It was wet, and slushy - but so very worth it.)</div>
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And all of these together reminded me just how much I love summertime.<br />
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I can't wait for it to warm up.</div>
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(On the side: As I was leaving for the basketball game, I told the girls I'd pay them real money if they shoveled the iceberg at the end of our driveway. They did - and did almost all of it all by themselves! But then later I heard stories of how they accidentally hit each other a couple times with wet shovels of snow during the process. (I laughed on the inside - and secretly wished I could have seen that in person. I love these girls.) I offered them each a dollar and a "THANK YOU!" for their work - but Robs practically marched in place with a sign. (...Girlfriend might have politics in her future.) I upped it to two. Robs was barely satisfied, and Mae carried it with her for the rest of the afternoon.)</div>
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Best Saturday of the year so far...</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-91955333138088212822017-02-04T00:40:00.004-07:002017-02-04T00:54:57.665-07:00feeding ducks in the snow...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We've had weeks of snow and cold. And snow and cold. And snow and cold... </div>
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So today, when it hit forty five degrees outside it felt practically tropical. I felt like celebrating. Frolicking? Running? Jumping? Skipping? Anything! As long as it was outside. (The cabin fever has been especially intense this year.)</div>
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But the kids were still cold. (After walking home from school, Robs curled up on the couch with a book and asked for a blanket.) </div>
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But after a tiny bit of convincing, Robs and Mems agreed to come celebrate with me. (And after they got used to it, forty degrees felt tropical to them too.) Adventuring with the pirates individually (or with only a couple of them, like this afternoon) is so fun! </div>
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I'm so grateful for this warmer weather, even if it doesn't last for all that long. If we could only have them every couple of days for the next six weeks...</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-71735231704586305592017-01-10T20:30:00.003-07:002017-01-10T20:30:57.620-07:00aaaaalmost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Right before Erik started walking I distinctly remember wondering what it was going to be like to have two kids walking... But now that Reesiepiece is only a couple steps away from stepping out... I can't wait! I'll have FIVE kids walking. Hard to believe... because I swear Erik was learning to walk only months ago. Time passes so fast. </div>
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(Ha! It's funny to be talking about <i>Erik</i> and <i>walking</i> today - because he sprained his ankle at school playing basketball. He came home with a melted ice pack tucked into his sock.) </div>
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We're loving having Reesie in this stage. When she takes little steps we cheer. And she gets such a thrill from standing up all by herself. Sometimes she'll stand up long enough to get us all looking, and then plop herself down on purpose. I sometimes wonder if it's just so she can see our reaction. (We love this baby!)</div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-29699088109863914422016-11-14T13:35:00.001-07:002016-11-14T14:00:11.334-07:00Fort Pajama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Sunday, Robs built a fort on our bed. She used every blanket, and every pillow she could find and called it her "PAJAMA FORT." She even found a red dish towel and fixed it on a pole so she could "wave her colors." It was fantastic - and the younger girls were practically beside themselves with the perfection of it all. (Sunday morning and fort building is a match made in heaven.)</div>
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I will always remember the day I found out Robs was a girl. I was elated. (I'd had an inkling all along that I was carrying my girl.) I would have been just as happy to have a boy at the start, of course, but I'd always wanted a girl! And my little Robs is everything I ever wanted. Happy. Brilliant. Creative. Kind. Bossy, in the best sense of the word. And an amazing builder of forts.</div>
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The girls played for at least a half an hour. Each of them took different roles and played their little hearts out - until Steve stumbled on the scene. And took to bombing it with all the stuffed animals he could find. (Thanks to Mae we have quite the collection!) </div>
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We haven't had such a fun Sunday morning in a long time! (Erik came up to join the fun too... but my camera battery had died by then.)</div>
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I love families. I love how each family has a different dynamic - and every member of the family matters. It's the best way to organize people, and still make sure every person gets the attention and love they need. It's genius and it's, so. very. fun.</div>
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After several rounds of bombing, Steve took the kids downstairs to write a treaty. He used his "bad guy" signature, and had each of the kids sign their names to represent the peace agreement. (It was about time to get ready for church... so we needed to find a deal quickly.) Mems signed hers too, although hers looked more like a drawing with a happy little face and stick arms. </div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-59461548943224653322016-11-10T23:16:00.002-07:002016-11-10T23:17:26.422-07:00something so simple.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4iMTRMBYORmrv4wa6PWJG06zoVAby_ndE-hyEfDvlg-RZ_MDWjstlRVxWYo3ps8Ukq7TsAWQfNuqpdtwrAMB3C1kGBeLJ9w5HgZAxWLFNPjiThF4JSG7YNRO1f-4f42p9-hvZQfAtnCd/s1600/leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4iMTRMBYORmrv4wa6PWJG06zoVAby_ndE-hyEfDvlg-RZ_MDWjstlRVxWYo3ps8Ukq7TsAWQfNuqpdtwrAMB3C1kGBeLJ9w5HgZAxWLFNPjiThF4JSG7YNRO1f-4f42p9-hvZQfAtnCd/s1600/leaves.jpg" /></a></div>
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Halfway through playing in the leaves Mae told me she was going to write about this in her journal the next day. I need to remember to give more time to every day adventures. Because they matter - a lot! I love these girls.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-85405740749903174182016-11-09T23:43:00.002-07:002016-11-09T23:50:21.735-07:00Afternoons in the sun.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We've had such beautiful weather this Fall. (It's almost halfway through November, and for the last week we've had sixty degree weather. It's going to be so difficult to accept the cold when it finally comes!)</div>
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The past week I've been reminding the girls how important it is to get outside and play. Playing indoors is no problem - both of them have imaginations that are larger than life - but with this nice weather I've almost felt like we need to save the imaginative indoor play for when it's our only option. So I've kicked these girls outside every day this week. </div>
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And we've been having so. much. fun! We've all loved our outdoor time. I've loved talking with these girls. And listening to them play. (<i>I've also been wondering where in heaven's name my babies have gone?</i>) I look at their sweet little faces, and want to burst at how fast they're growing. <i>(Parenting is such a mix of every emotion. I love the people they're becoming - but I can't help but wish to have them tiny and in my arms again!) </i>I love these girls!</div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-10509772518449559112016-10-11T00:40:00.005-06:002016-10-11T00:42:35.847-06:00Family Home Eveneeng.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last evening we went to the amphitheater down the road a little ways, and ran wherever our feet would carry us. It was delightful. <i>Eventually.</i></div>
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But before it was delightful, it just wasn't. Someone pinched someone else. And then that someone else bit someone on the shoulder, which started a volcanic argument that lasted for the entire four minute drive. And then within minutes of arriving, someone else bumped their shin, which left a mark. </div>
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Our uplifting thought for the evening was <i>"Don't hate other people"</i> which I tried to change into something like <i>"Love everyone!"</i> but all that positivity landed on the flat rocky ground... and stayed there. So I tried to remind them that Reesie was watching their every move...</div>
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Because she was. And she was enthralled. She politely gave me one glance, and then looked arrrrround the camera to see what the other kids were up to. <i>(Please don't grow so fast, Reesiepeesie.) </i><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">It was grumps, interspersed with teasing, mixed with sassy remarks. None of it was my favorite. (And to be honest, I'd kind of given up.) But on our walk to the car, I forced a game of tree tag. (My dad used to use that trick.)<i> And it worked like a charm. </i></span></div>
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(After someone got upset because they felt they were unjustly tagged. And after Mems took a spill, pell-mell down a hill.)</div>
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But our ride home was chirpy instead of whiny. And happy. <i>(So I'm putting it down as a win.)</i></div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-37523405089303493292016-10-06T01:00:00.000-06:002016-10-06T01:00:04.575-06:00Happy Birthday Reese!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One year ago. One little year ago, this <i>love</i> joined us. <i>How has it already been a year!? </i>Yesterday I re-watched all the videos we took in the minutes right after she was born, and then I went upstairs, snuck into her room, and watched her as she slept. <i>I love her. </i>She has the same feel to her today as she did when I first met her: Calm. Observant. Sweet. A little stubborn. A lot happy. <span style="text-align: center;">I love this baby more than words. </span><i style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday Reesie! </i></div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-28703663376479686092016-10-05T08:39:00.004-06:002016-10-05T08:40:48.293-06:00If you give a Mems a cape...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We were at Steve's parents' house, and it was a perfect evening for running around. Mems asked for a cape. But then Mae and Robyn wanted one too. So Mae and Robyn got capes, but then Erik wanted one too. But in searching for Erik's cape, we found all sorts of costumes! A witch dress, cute polka dots, and a chicken. (I think the chicken one was Steve's sister's at one time... which cracks me up! I love it!) Mems ran around the backyard like a tiny little thing, yelling "BOK! ...BOK! ...BOK!" We were dying laughing. </div>
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And the girls didn't stop with these: there were robes, dresses, aprons, suspenders, silly socks... I love these fun kids and our fun grandma.</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-67000444013598259492016-10-04T18:22:00.000-06:002016-10-04T18:22:44.500-06:00This evening was perfect. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-23370698174575263312016-10-03T00:56:00.000-06:002016-10-03T15:12:29.492-06:00when Dav comes to town...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
My brother Dave called me on Thursday night to tell me he was coming into town on Friday. <i>And I didn't tell a soul.</i> I wanted it to be a secret - because fun follows Dave wherever he goes. So when he shows up by surprise, it's "SURPRISE!" and "FUN!" all in one.</div>
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So when he came waltzing in the front door on Friday, no one suspected it. Robs was reading a book, Erik was outside, and Mems and Mae were in the family room. <i>(When Mae heard his voice she came flying.)</i> They love him. <i>(We all love him.)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbWpR6Xj_S40H9ydLPW4BLKe4RhCS5akJkdmkwV7edPlOw7LYTmhqQ3yobbCO12qqxKwD56bYIRHf-xzaJEhdqLgcgnknHg6sWyuEB8nxKFEa40Be4OsKRwlrJYg5eq5CMU0aLtKGHFA/s1600/whenDavcomes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbWpR6Xj_S40H9ydLPW4BLKe4RhCS5akJkdmkwV7edPlOw7LYTmhqQ3yobbCO12qqxKwD56bYIRHf-xzaJEhdqLgcgnknHg6sWyuEB8nxKFEa40Be4OsKRwlrJYg5eq5CMU0aLtKGHFA/s1600/whenDavcomes.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfG7Hb5OSKW6hzCRPSNTVF59CZdOJFOMUtGuNtdp5kFXYOgfiAvv4x4XO668Tsmji6CLamu8xfCWSFlwXH9WtD6NqH6i1C4-TlMmWHc01RK0FDRwvVu75mFRPdFkh02bKzZWrr2SIKEY/s1600/whenDavcomes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfG7Hb5OSKW6hzCRPSNTVF59CZdOJFOMUtGuNtdp5kFXYOgfiAvv4x4XO668Tsmji6CLamu8xfCWSFlwXH9WtD6NqH6i1C4-TlMmWHc01RK0FDRwvVu75mFRPdFkh02bKzZWrr2SIKEY/s1600/whenDavcomes2.jpg" /></a></div>
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First things first - they had to inspect his rental car. Every button. Every buckle. Every seat. Every window. Every angle. Every wheel. Every everything. Everything is fun with Dave.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-1BPfDjck1JWfyFtc3le5dfZS8AUTPwbPUOlGriHdTiOS57FQLc6DmrxaWIGaw2cY8O_s3exMwLIsgw04vYz1q7vShLep9M3BNtR-kXImsNUAHSqNVb4Uh_Ry19vcJHnTSiE8WvFoEY/s1600/whenDavcomes4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-1BPfDjck1JWfyFtc3le5dfZS8AUTPwbPUOlGriHdTiOS57FQLc6DmrxaWIGaw2cY8O_s3exMwLIsgw04vYz1q7vShLep9M3BNtR-kXImsNUAHSqNVb4Uh_Ry19vcJHnTSiE8WvFoEY/s1600/whenDavcomes4.jpg" /></a></div>
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And then I called my mom and invited her over for dinner. (I did forget to mention Dave would be there too - minor detail, right?) We played games. Jumped. Found a praying mantis. Made dinner. And when my mom came, Dave hid in the ...pantry. The pirates did <i>such</i> a great job at keeping a secret! They invited her in and chatted away for twenty whole seconds while we waited for Dave to pop out. And when he did my mom yelled. It was a "DAAAAAAVID!" in this somewhat scared, somewhat surprised tone. We all died laughing. He has a history of surprising/scaring her and her reaction is almost always the same. Even down to the tone... </div>
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...Come again soon! </div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-42783325780086050952016-10-01T10:00:00.002-06:002016-10-01T10:21:32.995-06:00juxtaposition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGS0YsZUJpqrGVOUDEKaEowIiCwYDeMaG_uSKqzCPAnoG70P9XXel07nLmKZ2Ri6yESH2zQ4LX_-7yAnz1xB7nqwQrbcUv3u4vd9dh29GB3us3oCeLHvyd6uHxOYVtQMNi3R2BFg7FNan/s1600/Robsthen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGS0YsZUJpqrGVOUDEKaEowIiCwYDeMaG_uSKqzCPAnoG70P9XXel07nLmKZ2Ri6yESH2zQ4LX_-7yAnz1xB7nqwQrbcUv3u4vd9dh29GB3us3oCeLHvyd6uHxOYVtQMNi3R2BFg7FNan/s1600/Robsthen.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Kk9dXqens1b8I5av12JpMnzdJfC8HxhRn2oYF_90I2uRS1vbiMeMULI-VuiRiz3lDUmwpTqpqljW9kaLAeyfEkIfUfy1Kai31bM6dG83s6xCKIRWSmOF3MpNUJLrQ7NAzp23SzEkZFPK/s1600/Robsnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Kk9dXqens1b8I5av12JpMnzdJfC8HxhRn2oYF_90I2uRS1vbiMeMULI-VuiRiz3lDUmwpTqpqljW9kaLAeyfEkIfUfy1Kai31bM6dG83s6xCKIRWSmOF3MpNUJLrQ7NAzp23SzEkZFPK/s1600/Robsnow.jpg" /></a></div>
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I love things like this. Robyn loves burgundy tops. I love my Robyn.</div>
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Michigan (October 2007) / Utah (October 2016)</div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-88075957640219204022016-09-30T23:47:00.001-06:002016-09-30T23:47:14.203-06:00Fifth, Third and Kindergarten.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This past summer we found a cruiser bicycle for fifteen dollars - complete with a wide, soft, leather seat and a braided basket. Robs fell in love with it before we could even fully inflate the tires, and I think the bike was made for her. She rides it to school almost every day. (I love this girl.)</div>
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Erik has a soccer game at least once a week. We pass fields and old farm houses on our way, and every week at the same point in our drive, he tells me that when he's grown, he's going to have land with plenty of space to run. (I love this boy.)<br />
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Mae plays baby games with Reesie, dress up and stuffed animals with Mems, Playmobil and dolls with Robyn, and battles Erik with light sabers on the trampoline. She's happily in the middle of everything and everyone. (I love this girl.)Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-44892165075407058802016-09-29T00:30:00.000-06:002016-09-29T00:30:07.795-06:00Pet Shop.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Mems is my soft-footed sneaky one. (And she knows it.) This past week I pulled her off the table right before she sent a pile of paper flying. (It was smooth.) Until I turned around to push in the bench she'd used to climb the table, and turned back around to find her on the step stool playing in water at the sink. I hopped her off the stool and wiped up the water. But when I went to put the stool away, I found her in the pantry climbing for the raisin bran. <i>(She loves rooting around for raisins.) </i></div>
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<i>oh my goodness</i></div>
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Some days it's like that all morning...</div>
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But then noon comes, and Mae breezes through our door and everything is good again. Because Mae comes up with the very best games. <span style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday it was Pet Shop. They spent a good half an hour gathering all the items they needed. Laundry baskets. Blankets. Pillows. Tins. Baby pots and pans. And then they sorted their animals into "cages" with the appropriate foods. I could hear them organizing it all from downstairs. </span></div>
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And then they invited me up to see their hard work and pet some of the animals. Pandas. Puppies. A rabbit... The yellow basket held the hedgehog. And the tea set box held the two mice, one squirrel and a chipmunk. Mem's puppy was sleeping in a covered laundry basket and Mae's otter was in a clear bin with plenty of padding. (She loves that otter - sometimes fiercely.)</div>
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If only I could bottle it up! Their imaginations are so magic! And essential! Along with real, <i>honest to goodness</i> play. I love these afternoons - and so grateful my pirates have each other. </div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-65424019486486288022016-09-28T22:21:00.002-06:002016-09-28T22:22:35.580-06:00thunderstorms.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today was... a day. A bit of everything. Happy. Grumpy. Tired. Worried. Silly. Everything. Our afternoon, for no good reason, was like one of those great big, beautiful storms that tank through every now and then. The kind where the wind blows and the thunder booms, and then rain comes down sideways, with hail following close behind to cover whatever rain might have missed. </div>
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Those are <i>real </i>storms. But they clear the air. </div>
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Today, in all of it's <i>everything</i>, cleared the air too.</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-5912459612280236082016-09-27T22:56:00.002-06:002016-09-27T23:00:07.360-06:00we'll never be bored.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrc8MPkTN0YhyphenhyphenE23UYy78HjhG5twSzewkYhAIcKRSDsckI5Le66doj0xmi4RR0j9nvIThXO5Q8igqvtYQF3Q3CUNXzX4N6fwkn5W0sHN6PKGl-ZAayKzubX47MNVLb-mCxKMa77y8iy9g/s1600/swingers10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrc8MPkTN0YhyphenhyphenE23UYy78HjhG5twSzewkYhAIcKRSDsckI5Le66doj0xmi4RR0j9nvIThXO5Q8igqvtYQF3Q3CUNXzX4N6fwkn5W0sHN6PKGl-ZAayKzubX47MNVLb-mCxKMa77y8iy9g/s1600/swingers10.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6I7ObgZcPpIXm_xVJ3B8dkYSKZD5AT80Yb5cjpLTb_gooLZWYpaBg6DEgic7vTwoaLmlzhaj0FoJjLhiGe-3TXuROCLRxbCfYUmHuzUNf73xvDTPY2nnVQplD5EoM2B2lrqhYRvnAlsA/s1600/swingers6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6I7ObgZcPpIXm_xVJ3B8dkYSKZD5AT80Yb5cjpLTb_gooLZWYpaBg6DEgic7vTwoaLmlzhaj0FoJjLhiGe-3TXuROCLRxbCfYUmHuzUNf73xvDTPY2nnVQplD5EoM2B2lrqhYRvnAlsA/s1600/swingers6.jpg" /></a></div>
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When we bought this house at the tail end of 2011, it had a huge, red, two-layer, deck on the back. It was a behemoth - extending from our back door to approximately one foot away from our fence. The top layer was fence-top height, and as much as I tried to convince myself I wasn't... <i>I felt so on display.</i> I'm sure it was just what someone wanted, at some point... but for me it was always awkward. Too hot during the day. Too public during the evening. Too big for everything else. <i>I wanted grass. </i></div>
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...And it took almost five years to get it. With lots of work. And lots of help.</div>
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My girls play fairies. And monkeys. And baby. Erik does back flips. They run, they jump, they roll. It's everything I wanted for the space when I first saw that deck...</div>
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It's little. It's so simple. But it's ours.</div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-21663416503097236312016-09-18T21:42:00.002-06:002016-09-18T21:42:16.791-06:00A backyard of my very own... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This evening four of my pirates were outside playing in our backyard until after dark. I used to dream of this: Green grass. Swings. A place just for us. Laughter coming through my open window. It took so long to make it happen - and we love it so much.<br />
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<i>(My next dream is Italy.)</i></div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-16881713117755005382016-09-18T21:38:00.001-06:002016-09-18T21:38:15.759-06:00The Burb.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gO__FS8PYbd9AdXfl7aNUVXqy5LkqkfvPz6u0Uqwf1V76JqjhVTU40KlgKAf_vQz2TxaTrD_JMxNT4uEGIOP7GEg6CfOjXApC4ENxTwu975W88jspkyrqzFzfpdyGy2RaUezUNymJns/s1600/burbcheck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gO__FS8PYbd9AdXfl7aNUVXqy5LkqkfvPz6u0Uqwf1V76JqjhVTU40KlgKAf_vQz2TxaTrD_JMxNT4uEGIOP7GEg6CfOjXApC4ENxTwu975W88jspkyrqzFzfpdyGy2RaUezUNymJns/s1600/burbcheck.jpg" /></a></div>
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After years, and years, and years of asking for this suburban... Steve's dad finally gave it to him. It's a classic garage baby. (Older than Adam with next to no miles.) I think it was a mixture of circumstance, and Steve's relentless pressuring - but mostly circumstance. Regardless, Steve loves it. And so do the pirates. They beg to ride in it. And then fight for the right to a window seat. We have to judiciously keep track of who had it last and who is up next. (Robs told me just this afternoon, that she plans on riding in it when we take our next vacation.) They love it - and I love that they love it.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-16436403332076783012016-09-07T22:48:00.002-06:002016-09-07T22:48:55.465-06:00Green, green grass.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We have this white, plastic cylinder toy that "moo's" when you turn it upside down. Mems found it the other day, and turned it over several times, one right after another. I walked into the room, and she locked eyes with me. And then she asked, in the most genuine tone possible: </div>
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"WHY IS A COW IN THERE?"</div>
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And we have grass in our backyard. It's been five years in the making. <i>And I'm elated.</i></div>
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(This one below might be my most favorite picture of all time.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrsVF4Pkg2l9WSFVJw1F563fd_3HFe_uy1K6O4egYCzBl5HziVNml4Zbk3kbO04IxgXtelKkl4TzBdU22m0aTcr6QL3EJ3ERbOYJyGr3cw01xAkcU6p05WmOuEk-_ifC5WM0HUmwvpCs/s1600/Godmadegirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrsVF4Pkg2l9WSFVJw1F563fd_3HFe_uy1K6O4egYCzBl5HziVNml4Zbk3kbO04IxgXtelKkl4TzBdU22m0aTcr6QL3EJ3ERbOYJyGr3cw01xAkcU6p05WmOuEk-_ifC5WM0HUmwvpCs/s1600/Godmadegirls.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-51224215054815963152016-08-15T00:00:00.000-06:002016-10-05T08:20:04.105-06:00Erik's Baptism: (wayy back in August)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Erik's Baptism Day was everything we wanted it to be! It was on a hot, sunny beautiful day - and he was surrounded by family. (On the day he was blessed, just a couple weeks after he was born, it was just Steve, myself and Robs. Which was sweet in a different way, but I remember making a silent promise to myself that things would be different when he was baptised. And they were!) Family is a big deal!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNM1KrXzejL_CZIkxAlWEnSRB3DkOAeIqkrTwNBMuun6JS_Qv2Yrl1EfrDC4Y0sxSbAXJYTVvRum4ASxMBgCdJUgNricpm3RqXBqUIL9uC1zZb9JSaWRm9mcY3wh6nZrKgHNObXYAFVN8/s1600/eriksbaptism9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNM1KrXzejL_CZIkxAlWEnSRB3DkOAeIqkrTwNBMuun6JS_Qv2Yrl1EfrDC4Y0sxSbAXJYTVvRum4ASxMBgCdJUgNricpm3RqXBqUIL9uC1zZb9JSaWRm9mcY3wh6nZrKgHNObXYAFVN8/s1600/eriksbaptism9.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHUxVgKppO5pn1Au15fDQSz6L-DTuRGEsvbm3vxUdgHFWERBrXGYhde6XEOyVXuu0xdlyqhqeGoR_uIgPMCkrWiiCzUGlXB7N5Ye3GVrvP6n846KKBYVFc32TMbJ-Bo0QUQ-vMpoXV5Wl/s1600/eriksbaptism7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHUxVgKppO5pn1Au15fDQSz6L-DTuRGEsvbm3vxUdgHFWERBrXGYhde6XEOyVXuu0xdlyqhqeGoR_uIgPMCkrWiiCzUGlXB7N5Ye3GVrvP6n846KKBYVFc32TMbJ-Bo0QUQ-vMpoXV5Wl/s1600/eriksbaptism7.jpg" /></a></div>
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This child of mine is amazing. He's kind. He's funny. He loves dressing sharp. And when he makes decisions, he doesn't doubt them. I love that about him. Going into this day, you could tell he knew what he was doing, and had decided he was going to do it. If he <i>was</i> even the slightest bit nervous, he didn't show it!</div>
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It's funny how long we think about things... and then they happen so fast. <i>Just like that, </i>he was a baptized member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. <i>(He chose that bow-tie all on his very own.) </i>I've watched him start to realize what it means to be a member of this church. One day, out of the blue, he asked me how to pay tithing and when the next Fast Sunday was so he could fast with us. I've also seen him listen to the feelings he gets as he makes decisions. He talks to me about it - and I love it. (<i>Conversations like that are some of the perks of this job.</i>) I love this boy of mine!</div>
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<i>(This picture is one of my favorites. There's so much happening! Reesie slept through it all.)</i></div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-81468913049495298312016-08-10T09:00:00.000-06:002016-08-10T19:50:30.519-06:00the long story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGyPeI5lS09t5jHGo_Ed02XoXTfk_4cCNSrTDMiN7F1-TcbvG_k-YHzkcZeikQgAnAI2zEceqz75-laZYSWuf9V3TLXpDOLfqb8jXGDpFsu5D76K3bNYo0WHXnyhvHr5CmDV19VEWX3Y/s1600/books3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGyPeI5lS09t5jHGo_Ed02XoXTfk_4cCNSrTDMiN7F1-TcbvG_k-YHzkcZeikQgAnAI2zEceqz75-laZYSWuf9V3TLXpDOLfqb8jXGDpFsu5D76K3bNYo0WHXnyhvHr5CmDV19VEWX3Y/s1600/books3.jpg" /></a></div>
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A couple weeks ago Steve and I took the kids to the library. It was rainy, (it always seems to be) and we had all five.</div>
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We've always loved the library, everywhere we've lived, even before we had kids. And we've always gone every couple of weeks - but ever since our Mems learned to crawl, the time between library trips has gotten farther and farther in between. And what used to take only one parent, now definitely takes two.</div>
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This particular trip was no exception. <i>I took Reese. Steve took Mems. </i>The other three made their selections. <i>Steve took Reese. I took Mems.</i> We got the kids ready to check out. <i>I took Reese. Steve took Mems.</i> We moved everyone to the front desk - and then at the vey last minute, Steve grabbed a book that caught his eye. Something about shoes. <i>I kept Reese. Steve kept Mems.</i> The pirates took the books and the rest was history. Or so I thought.</div>
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A week went by and Steve, mentioned he was reading a good book. The shoe book. It was a memoir of Phil Knight, the founder of Nike. </div>
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And then a couple days after that, he told me it was worth reading - but I was going to have to wait until he finished it. </div>
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A third week went by, and I went to return our books, but Steve kept the shoe book and finished it two days later. </div>
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The next day I started it over lunch. (I'm only about halfway through, but it has me feeling inspired. All sorts of inspired.)</div>
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Rewind to about a year ago. <i>(Or maybe two...)</i></div>
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I started a project with my sisters. It took months of research. And months of work. And months of tweaking the idea and changing the details to give our idea the look we saw when we closed our eyes and thought about it. </div>
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But I hit a speed bump. Or a couple of them. And the project we'd poured months of work into - took residence in my basement closet. Our project was a book. A real book. Printed in black and white, with dry erase pages, and filled with imagination. The speed bump was me hesitating to do anything with it - because it wasn't as <i>perfect</i> as I could imagine it <i>could</i> be. </div>
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So it sat there. Nice and neat. Packaged and pretty. For several months. Until Steve handed me Phil Knight's book, and I started reading it - and realized Phil Knight, founder of Nike, started out selling encyclopedias. He didn't start out with Nike. </div>
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It was a genuine, bonafide "aha" moment. </div>
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<i>I have to start somewhere. </i>And where I am right now, is a happy and good place to start. The book is so fun. It lives in our church bag, and the pirates and I use it regularly. (I admit to using it during the third hour of church. Where my pirates are nowhere close, and the only thing that needs keeping busy is my brrrrain.)</div>
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We titled the book "THIS IS NOT A STORY" because it's not... it's a zillion of them. It's one story in one setting. But then it's erased, and the very next time you start it - the story is different. (I've used the book to tell stories, over and over again, whilst drawing in the illustrations. And the pirates love it.) I love it. </div>
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It's a happy and good place to start. </div>
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<i>So there's the long story. </i></div>
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(On instagram we're @poppystreetpress <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/poppystreetpress">and here's the link to the book!</a>)</div>
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<i>Happy Wednesday!</i></div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-87491872514771416522016-08-09T22:31:00.001-06:002016-08-10T00:02:12.169-06:00Reesie and Robyn. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_J-Q4I48QlHL98IQjqRi2laO1e2dg3gSN-SrgzRln1qHJ4gMwYfCst4UoWJV9kwuKEFDcIQcY1n6KaSTmDBnwr3JDetmtirRKk_cppA1t8AyONsvpGoOnA17xPXSzomXs85Si61Y8-G0/s1600/bookends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_J-Q4I48QlHL98IQjqRi2laO1e2dg3gSN-SrgzRln1qHJ4gMwYfCst4UoWJV9kwuKEFDcIQcY1n6KaSTmDBnwr3JDetmtirRKk_cppA1t8AyONsvpGoOnA17xPXSzomXs85Si61Y8-G0/s1600/bookends.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>I'm in love with this combination</i>, and they are too...</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-69678635114564534852016-08-03T20:06:00.000-06:002016-08-09T20:07:38.239-06:00robots.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lGpYL6jRdmEZVbgHNrmQd1CensKFuVX3nqAW9LC_LNKkvtLb0B7zApCxVZs4W3lyg8I0NzGTL_uHxN4QmgUYDWqLQ0vW8UPJd_j-vEZKsedwr-BJZXGLuIciwSvhfsCJewsNWKN5VdM/s1600/robot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lGpYL6jRdmEZVbgHNrmQd1CensKFuVX3nqAW9LC_LNKkvtLb0B7zApCxVZs4W3lyg8I0NzGTL_uHxN4QmgUYDWqLQ0vW8UPJd_j-vEZKsedwr-BJZXGLuIciwSvhfsCJewsNWKN5VdM/s1600/robot.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik76VH2VYgrluPt8telQqAwpeGgCHaP6neoE3lLxRNsZWf49pCv5Tj61L_FYPw3DF1fN5T2Wq_smKUJ8_5MiHG0kZgcUkJPkipfjreO4F38ouPU28IL7xLjbCz6hNYudYJNuD5TLYgNms/s1600/robot2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik76VH2VYgrluPt8telQqAwpeGgCHaP6neoE3lLxRNsZWf49pCv5Tj61L_FYPw3DF1fN5T2Wq_smKUJ8_5MiHG0kZgcUkJPkipfjreO4F38ouPU28IL7xLjbCz6hNYudYJNuD5TLYgNms/s1600/robot2.jpg" /></a></div>
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In kindergarten, Erik's teacher had a prize box for her students. The process was a simple "luck-of-the-your-name-was-drawn-at-the-end-of-class," but Erik loved it. One day he came home with this robot. He pulled it out of his backpack and put it on our table. And then with the flick of a switch on the back it started walking. Mae and I were astounded - and he was thrilled. </div>
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He loved it. Robs loved it. Mae loved it. Now Mems loves it.</div>
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And I find it everywhere.</div>
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(One time Robs told me that she found it in the fridge.)</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-79941362215306403872016-07-28T13:55:00.002-06:002016-07-28T13:55:40.533-06:00It's hot outside. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJa1JdAfsbW3yXSRNObyGChERodNmwIBfmur1eQzkHrwGeE7J8272zAl_d_O5v9Z2CArbNmqOQHMN-G2vck2PUR7OYO1s2Zfn2nM4S0eyt3GWOX_ID4w25RJQOZjcN62VRHKLSxrJP5-0/s1600/inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJa1JdAfsbW3yXSRNObyGChERodNmwIBfmur1eQzkHrwGeE7J8272zAl_d_O5v9Z2CArbNmqOQHMN-G2vck2PUR7OYO1s2Zfn2nM4S0eyt3GWOX_ID4w25RJQOZjcN62VRHKLSxrJP5-0/s1600/inside.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqi3gQllMwZKQBbeximJtbl8NHjHUDg0dR30C8svUNk10NGCyv0OcWeiKQ0Pu1NVW0775hrW8QwgTKvgu7CvemKRCWnwkH0HVt4mfItDRPUkgCFpT3Qa2V4Lfe1YSxJa6WH3EHUteOafc/s1600/inside2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqi3gQllMwZKQBbeximJtbl8NHjHUDg0dR30C8svUNk10NGCyv0OcWeiKQ0Pu1NVW0775hrW8QwgTKvgu7CvemKRCWnwkH0HVt4mfItDRPUkgCFpT3Qa2V4Lfe1YSxJa6WH3EHUteOafc/s1600/inside2.jpg" /></a></div>
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We've been inside the past couple of days. It's due to a mixture of a couple different things, but mostly because it's hot outside. The high for yesterday was 102 degrees. <i>(So! Hot!)</i> And I know we can't really complain. Half of the United States gets that hot <i>with</i> humidity. But no one has really wanted to play outside. </div>
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So the pirates have spent most of their days in one room of our house. They've been going back and forth between building creations with legos, or building houses and cities with Playmobil. </div>
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And it's fun to watch them play. Together. With hardly any arguments, except for when Mems comes around. (This morning when she walked past Squish squealed and said <i>"Moooom! Mems ruins everything!"</i>) I've been trying to help them understand it's because she's two. In fact, almost everything that makes them squeal these days is because Mems is two. </div>
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I've told them two is glorious. <i>(Because it really is...) </i></div>
<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5666070423206071253.post-16097039488140553812016-07-24T15:06:00.000-06:002016-08-05T21:21:34.770-06:00Uncle Mike's House: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWCNuOtdwETPT2zJnBpMMIBH-_gvCPkFRt3Dy1qJlZEljuM4CudbDUMDPVrn7N9VUyLazy6IzePCNvWrX7bJrU00p681bS6b8b5swv_Bd_QUTGUkH_wWK5yM5RihkfrVX0TE50Xs2ejk/s1600/countryscene7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWCNuOtdwETPT2zJnBpMMIBH-_gvCPkFRt3Dy1qJlZEljuM4CudbDUMDPVrn7N9VUyLazy6IzePCNvWrX7bJrU00p681bS6b8b5swv_Bd_QUTGUkH_wWK5yM5RihkfrVX0TE50Xs2ejk/s1600/countryscene7.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N-W_DKWNCKhGWY2KqpDIA0r43jAKJBCubjaFYv0nnhjfmAPiLDe8Ok2sMhSLIGrRv1A_1biCHsgBYoPyRtENNlyVze-Ft5A10cGwIbGOa0a60XfwaKwBmAX_Rydy1okMHjBM3RjK9UA/s1600/countryscene9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N-W_DKWNCKhGWY2KqpDIA0r43jAKJBCubjaFYv0nnhjfmAPiLDe8Ok2sMhSLIGrRv1A_1biCHsgBYoPyRtENNlyVze-Ft5A10cGwIbGOa0a60XfwaKwBmAX_Rydy1okMHjBM3RjK9UA/s1600/countryscene9.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10901905049375120100noreply@blogger.com0