59. Beauty Through Death

Eight days ago my grandfather died. Because of this, I have spent the last six days in Utah with my family. I have visited friends, reawakened memories, and developed relationships. 

This week has been full of wonderful and beautiful experiences:

I introduced my children to snow. As the flakes fell, I scooped a small handful and showed a delighted Janie how the individual specks melted as they touched my skin. We stuck our tongues out to catch the monster flakes. We threw snowballs and built a snowman. We drove up onto the mountainside and looked out across the wide, dusted valley below. 

I visited my college campus. I returned to old classrooms and study nooks. We bought Thomas an Alma Mater t-shirt. We showed the kids where we met, where we worked, where we went on dates. Jay and I checked out our old apartments, our old church building, and our favorite places to eat, and even went shopping at our old supermarket. 

I had wonderful temple experiences. I was able to assist my grandmother in the eternal sealing of her deceased grandparents, and participated in or witnessed the sealing ordinances of over forty other couples in two different temples. For the first time, I was able to see first-hand the changes that were made when the Provo Tabernacle became the Provo City Center Temple. This gave my heart joy, because I had loved the building in its tabernacle form. I had cried when I watched it burn and for days after as I could smell the ruin from our home only a few blocks away. I had rejoiced when they announced its resurrection and to finally see the finished product was astounding. Along with entering two temples, I visited the grounds of two others and saw from a distance seven others. How glorious it is to have so many beautiful places of worship in such close proximity!

I witnessed a military funeral. My grandfather spent years in the U.S. Army. My uncle serves in the Navy and my father and older brother are in the Air Force. Because of his service, Grandpa was honored with a full military burial. I watched as the flag-covered casket was removed from the hearse, carried by my father, two uncles, my great-uncle, both of my brothers, my cousin, and a family friend who served with my grandfather. Shots were fired. TAPS was played. My brother and uncle folded grandpa's flag and I stood right behind my grandmother as my father presented her with it and thanked her in behalf of the President of the United States of America. It was the only moment this week during which I cried.

I became friends with more family. Distance, emotions, health and age have long kept my family apart. Grandpa's death reunited us in a way that hasn't happened in almost two decades. Every one of my father's siblings were there. The last time they were all together was when the last of them was married. I met a cousin I had not seen since he was two; he is now seventeen. I met two other cousins I had last seen five years ago when they were two and three years old. I met my father's step-sister for the first time, an aunt I hadn't even known I had until I was married. I met my grandmother's three great-grandchildren that don't come from my father's line. I organized the photographing of all eight great-grandchildren and some wonderful pictures were taken.

I spent time with Jay's family. He has two siblings living in Utah and we got the opportunity to meet up with both of them! Since Berto was only two weeks old when Jay's youngest sister got married, I was unable to attend, so this was my first meeting with my new brother-in-law. I also met Jay's younger brother's girlfriend. It was so nice to be able to visit with them and catch up. 

There were so many more sweet memories made this week that I could go on and on about but my plane is about to land, finalizing the end of this remarkable trip. I could never have imagined something so generally sad (a funeral) being the catalyst of so many things so wonderful.

58. 8 Little Cousins

8 little cousins sitting in a row.

7 wearing shoes and one showing toes.

6 days together, having lots of fun.

5 little boys, run, run, run.

4 sets of siblings, three, two, one, two.

3 little girls, hear the youngest coo.

2 rows of littles, sitting side-by-side.

1 great-grandma, beaming wide with pride.

57. Faith

Forever believing

Atonement applying

Indefinite hoping

Triumphantly living

Heavenly feeling

56. Burial

Together the family came

Together we gathered round

Together we watched as they put

Our grandfather in the ground

55.House of Learning

Earlier today I got to revisit the campus where I got my degree. I visited an old boss and my old place of employment, where I met my husband. I walked the paths I took hundreds of times over the course of my schooling. I went to the museum that I frequented with my brother. I stopped by the portrait of my great-grandfather. I remembered dozens and dozens of night games. 

But today I walked those paths with my children. I pointed out significant places for my courtship and marriage to my eager daughter. I took s photograph of my son with his namesake. I explained the purpose of peacock feathers and hippo tusks. I taught my Texan children how to catch snowflakes on their tongues and showed them how it melts on your fingers. 

A large part of who I am was developed, created, or discovered on that campus. I hope that our time there today may in some small way take hold in their little hearts and form them into beautiful people 

54. Traveling with kid

Traveling with kids is the pits 

They really don't like to sits.

They whine and complain.

They're really a pain.

It's a good thing their hand in mine fits.

53. The Hairdresser

Bows and bands

Bangs or braids

How will you do my hair today?

Clips and ribbons,

Pink or red 

How will you decorate my head?

52. Electrocution

I don't know what it feels like to be electrocuted. I imagine it must be rather unpleasant. And I'm sure there are varying levels of unpleasantness associated with different types of electrocution. 

For instance, when my nine month old daughter stuck a laptop charger cable into her mouth, she cried, but then stuck it back in her mouth another two times before I realized what was going on. That being said, she never really stuck non-food things in her mouth after that. So there must have been enough discomfort to dissuade her. 

And when my thirty year old brother forgot to unplug the dryer before 'fixing' it, his skin was charred, but he was able to continue his work with only a little discomfort. 

But then there are the extreme cases: the ones that change your lives forever -- the ones where you are so shot through with electrical current that you cannot possibly continue in your present circumstances. 

That was what happened to my little sister. 

Teeny was probably around ten or so, probably younger: I don't remember exactly when it was. She was at school -- an institution that followed all the safety guidelines a public education facility is regulated by. She was just sitting at her desk, minding her own business when out of nowhere BHAM!!!! Blinding, searing pain, like a thousand poison-tipped daggers racing through her veins! Harrowing, miserable agony, worse than being thrown off a cliff into a forest of  wild thorn bushes! Excruciating torment, greater than being beaten by flaming faggots of thistles! It hurt.

Teeny couldn't possibly continue with her school work. The school nurse was informed of her discomfort and promptly called our mother who rushed to the aid of her injured lamb.

It was truly a grievous injury to overcome. No one had suffered as much as she had. 

By the time the rest of us returned from school, Teeny was fine. There was not a trace of her ailment remaining. That is, until she was questioned about it. Then all her afflictions returned in full force.

To this day, Teeny maintains that her leg got electrocuted. 

Nobody buys it.

51. Motorbike

Motorbike motorbike

I love to ride

Ride my motorbike all day

Ride it fast, ride it slow

It doesn't matter where

Motorbike let's go go go.

While daddy rides a big red bike

All I have is one from Little Tyke

Motorbike motorbike 

I love to ride

Ride my motorbike today.

50. The Centurion

I was born a Roman. My father is a Roman. My mother is a Roman. My family has served for the glory of Rome since it's dawn.

And yet I am here in Jerusalem, banished from my homeland, from my heritage, from my Gods, from my sister; sent to "quell the rebellion."

There is no rebellion here. Not like they described. These people are good. They are quiet. They are compassionate. Sure, they worship a single God with a fanaticism that is sometimes eerie, but they do no harm by it. At times, I am even jealous of their simplicity. How safe it must feel to only have worry about offending only one god instead of our many; to know to whom to turn for aid; to only have one temple, one power, one being.

But that is blasphemy.

This country is beautiful! I have grown to love these trees, this air, this fruit. The people thrive and live with joy.  But I was wrong about the peace within this city; about the one God. It seems there is a division among the Jews. Some say there is only one God, but others say He has a Son, and the Son walks among them. This man -- I have seen him, and he is just a man -- he is not what I would expect from a god. He is certainly no Apollo. He has not the strength of Ares, the speed of Hermes, the ferocity of Poseidon. He is a loon. A passing fad that will be forgotten in a matter of months.

This Jesus, the one they call the Son of God, is beyond description! He has powers only Olympus could wield. How can a man give sight to the blind? How can he open the ears of the deaf? Straighten the legs of a cripple? Cleanse the flesh of a leper? He is man, and yet, he is not. My sister writes that I will anger Zeus if I continue to listen to the teachings of this prophet, but how can I not? Surely Zeus has bestowed his powers on this man, for Hades has not taken him to his domain. Whether he be the son of the Hebrew god I cannot say, but I will not deny what I have seen.

Argos is dying. The apothecary has come and says there is no hope. We have only to wait for his soul to move to his final rest in Hades. He is too young, too good. He will traipse the fields of Elys....that noise...the murmur...it is the Hebrew disciples! Jesus! I have seen him work his miracles. Whether he be Apollo's servant of the son of the Hebrew god I know not, but he can heal this boy!

Fly, Taretius, and beg this healer to mend our little Argos.

48. Jericho (7)

Sebastian lifted his head and scanned his audience. He waited until the room stilled and he had made eye contact with each individual before he spoke.

"The Overlord has grown again. Somehow he has managed a way to force his mind into another."

"That's not possible, even for an

Elite," a voice argued.

"You mean he has coerced someone to open their mind?"

"No," Sebastian said mournfully. "It's not coercion. It's not trickery. There is no will for the subject. The Overlord can penetrate his subject without being invited. It is sudden and without warning. This is a new kind of power we have never seen before. This is something the Elite have feared; something we safeguarded against in our growth experiments. Nevertheless, the Overlord has done it."

"How do you know this?" Orson asked.

Sebastian took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew this could this could be his death sentence. They had every right to seek his end for the betrayal he had allowed. "Because," he paused, shutting his eyes to avoid their coming fury, "he read me."

Silence pervaded the room. No one spoke. No one breathed.

48.Beware The Frozen Heart

I love Disney movies. I love their warmth, their music, their villains. All of it. But I don't love Frozen. Now, you could say "well that's just because you saw it 300 times in the months just after Thomas was born." But I had issues with it before then. 

You see, I LOVE Disney villains. Seriously, they are fascinating. Ursula, Jafar, Scar, Mother Gothel, Cruella de Vil, Maleficent, Gaston, Minister Frollo, McLeach...the badder, the better. Even the goofy/non-sinister baddies (Yzma, Hades, Prince John) are marvelously crafted. These characters have depth, cunning, personality! They have incredible songs! You love to hate these villains because they are so evil! They're complex and scary. And you want the hero to defeat them. They are what drives the plot of these stories. Ariel wouldn't have become human without Ursula. Rapunzel would have been a boring old princess without Mother Gothel. Cinderella's rise wouldn't be as sweet without her evil stepmother.

And then there's Frozen. You're given this handsome prince who is kind and attentive and doesn't like bullies and puts his life at risk to save his sweetheart and likes sandwiches for goodness sakes! There's absolutely no indication that he isn't what he says. And then suddenly BHAM! We're supposed to believe that he's evil? What was wrong with the Duke of Weaseltown as a villain? I mean, sure, he probably couldn't belt out Poor Unfortunate Souls, but he was a satisfactory baddie. We knew he wasn't to be trusted. So why the sudden change? As if the writers decided three-fourths of the way through that they didn't actually like what they had but they'd already done so much work that they couldn't rewrite the whole thing? 

Hans' betrayal just doesn't make sense to me. 

First, there's no indication that he ever had any interaction with Elsa before meeting Anna. So how could he know "no one was getting anywhere with her"? How would he know Anna was desperate for love? They had been locked away in their palace for over a decade. Even the people in their own village didn't know what they looked like. There's no way he could have that information.

Second, that smile he gives her when she runs off to the coronation and leaves him bobbing in the water: totally genuine. If he was plotting her demise, it would have been something else.

Third, and probably the most glaring detail to me, why would he have saved Elsa from the Duke's henchmen if he was planning on killing her later? He had the perfect opportunity right there. Elsa had frozen the kingdom. She attacked the soldiers. The Duke's men could have claimed they killed her trying to save themselves, which would have been true. And if the "saving the kingdom" argument didn't work, he could have pinned the murder on the Duke's men. He could have "attempted to save her" and failed with a perfect alibi. Anna would have married him, he'd become king. But instead he chooses to save her life, only to have to come up with another mysterious death later? I don't buy it.

So how does one make sense of these discrepancies?

Kristoff.

The other guy, you ask? Yes, indeed. See, after Hams saves Elsa, the screen goes black. It's the only time in the whole movie that the screen goes black. My theory is this: that black screen indicates a shift in reality. What happens before is real; everything after is Kristoff's imagination as he's racing off to take her back to Hans. 

He has fallen in love with her. He doesn't want her to marry Hans. So he dreams of an alternate future in which Hans reveals he is bad and Anna realizes she's actually in love with Hans. This ending really only makes sense if it's in Kristoff's mind. Why else would Elsa be okay with Anna being in love with Kristoff after only two days when she was so opposed to her being in love with Hans after one day? Why else would Anna be so immediately ready to love Kristoff after having her trust so horribly broken? Why else would Hans reveal his plan in minute detail and then not ensure that she died? Why else would sunken ships rise out of the ice? Why else would Sven fall into the freezing ocean and somehow regain his footing on a random ice floe and then somehow magically get to land when the ice melts? Why else are the Duke and Hans not imprisoned and sentenced to death for attempting to murder the royal family? 

For some reason this line of reasoning makes me dislike Frozen less. Perhaps it's because I can enjoy "Love Is An Open Door" again. Perhaps it's because I prefer redheads over blonds. But whatever it is, this is my theory and I'm sticking to it.

47. Lady Monthly Blood

Hey sister, flow sister, soul sister, go sister

Hey sister, flow sister, soul sister, go sister

She met Monthly Blood back in old puberty
Leakin' her stuff on the sheet
She said "hello,
Hey girl, you wanna see how I flow?" mmm, mmm

Itchy crampy pads and tampons
Itchy itchy hands and feet
Mocha-choca-late give me some!
Mean ole' lady Monthly Blood

46. For My Grandfather

My grandfather is dying. Writing that out...it's strange. And I think what makes it so strange is that it doesn't hurt like I expected it would. I am sad.  But mostly I'm sad for others. I'm sad for my dad. He was raised by my grandfather. He knew him and loved him and was formed by him. I'm sad for my grandma. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a spouse. She has lived to serve him, to please him, to be his companion. She has a hard time coming. I am sad for my aunts and uncles who will lose their father. 

But I am happy for my grandfather.

For most of my life, Grandpa has been wheelchair-bound. He had a stroke that paralyzed him, destroyed his ability to speak and eat properly, and cut him off from the life he had known. Though he has regained some physical and oral abilities, his body has not been able to perform as it once did. His mind has been whole, but trapped in a broken vessel. How lonely and frustrating that must be for him, shut away from those he loves because his body will not behave properly. 

I don't have very many memories of him from before his stroke, but the ones I do have speak of a man who loved to use his hands. The first memory is of walking through a home that he was renovating. I don't know if it was his own home or one he was renting out. I have a vague idea that he owned a duplex at one point, but I couldn't say if it was the same one. I remember looking at the bare studs. I remember the light being poor. He was talking to my dad, probably explaining what his vision of the room was. I was bored, so I walked around, weaving in and out of the beams. As I swung through a pair of studs, I stopped, one hand on each, and looked up at my Grandfather. He was standing right next to me, his hand right hand on the stud on which my right hand rested, and he was staring at the wood. He was happy. He was admiring the work he had done and was excited about the beautiful room he could see taking shape.

The second isn't so much a memory of him, but of his subtle presence in my life. He wasn't around much when I was a kid. He would send money at Christmas and he would come by and give us videos on occasion. But his presence was always in our home. You see, Grandpa was a painter. And though we moved around a lot as I was growing up, his painting was always there. A landscape with yellow-green fields and grey mountains. There were blue skies and a grey-brown barn. The painting was framed in a rough wooden frame which I imagined as a child may have come from the barn itself. To me the painting was calming. It was peaceful. It meant comfort, home softness. And so those feelings came to represent Grandpa to me. 

A man who loved to build. A man who loved to paint. That's what I remember. And he lost both those when he became paralyzed. Maybe those two things only made up a small part of him; I don't know. But I imagine a man who loved creating things would find it frustrating and sad to be stuck in a chair all day unable to do more than lift a spoon or nod his head. And so I am happy for him. Soon his spirit will be unfettered from the limitations of his broken body. He will be able to stand, to walk, to run to our Lord. He will have movement again. He will be able to say exactly what he thinks. He will be able to create the masterpieces that he has envisioned in his nearly two decades of physical imprisonment. He will be free. 

And I do believe he will be happy to finally be able to take care of Grandma again. He will watch over her, comfort her, protect her. He will be by her side, and though she may not see him any longer, she may feel his presence on occasion. She may feel his warm hand on hers as she sits down to dinner. She may hear him whisper her name as she lies down in bed. She won't be alone.

My grandfather is dying...but it will be okay.

45. Roses are Red

Roses are red

Violets are blue

This is the part where I'm supposed to sum up in two short lines how I feel about my husband. It could be done, I suppose, but it would hardly be adequate. Jay is so much more than eight syllables. He is my companion, my friend, my lover, my protector, my laughter, my joy, my partner, my provider, my sounding board, my therapist, my teammate, my cheerleader, my helpmeet, my sweetheart. How could I wrap all of that up into one short couplet and feel satisfied? How could I ever write or do enough to show him what he means to me or how much I love him? I couldn't. 

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Aren't enough words

For I Love You

44. Uninvited

Once upon a time I was a single girl living in the crazy dating world that is Provo, Utah. I was, at the time, between boyfriends, not particularly interested in anyone, and open to whatever options presented myself.

One day I was asked on a date by a guy (we'll call him Bruce) who lived in my complex. We'd had conversation, and I didn't really find him enthralling but I had nothing against him. However, the date he asked me to go on was to a concert that sparked my interest, so I accepted. I wasn't exactly eager to spend the evening with him, but the activity would be enjoyable and he had mentioned it was with a group, so I had hopes of it not being terribly uncomfortable. 

Alas, my anticipation was short-lived, as about three hours later he called me up and uninvited me. Talk about awkward. He explained to me rather matter-of-factly that a girl he had asked earlier had gotten back to him and said yes, so he was going to take her instead. I laughed it off and that was that. 

I wasn't heartbroken. Any points Bruce may have earned on that date were definitely now in the negative column, but I hadn't had very high hopes to begin with. I found the whole situation rather amusing. Rude as his move was, I wasn't hurt, probably because I knew my own reasons for accepting were rather selfish. 

I went on with my day as normal and when I returned home from work I shared the amusing account with my roommate (whom we will call Liz), who also knew Bruce and his social-awkwardness. As my tale progressed, Liz got quiet. When I finished, she double checked that I wasn't secretly guarding a wounded heart over the slight of my secret beloved. I wasn't. Then she laughed and gave her own admission.

Turns out, Liz was the other girl. And Bruce's version of events wasn't exactly accurate. It seems after asking me to accompany him to the concert, Bruce ran into Liz on campus and asked HER to go with him. And since, two months previous, Liz had asked for a raincheck on a different date, she felt obliged to say yes. He took that as "getting back to him" and promptly called me to cancel. 

How he didn't think Liz and I would figure this out is beyond me. We slept in the same room, for goodness sakes! But apparently men's brains just work differently than women's and he had no expectation that we would talk with each other about our dating lives. 

Liz did ask if I wanted her to cancel on him, but I found the situation way too hilarious to be even remotely jealous. Needless to say, I never went on a date with Bruce, and I was perfectly okay with that.

43.Nimrod, the Mighty Hunter

When the earth was newly formed and the land fresh and teeming with life, when monsters large and voracious ruled the land, and man was still a young species, there lay a small village in the midst of a wide valley. The valley was lush and green, flowering foliage fluttering in the flowering wind that whipped from the surrounding wooded peaks.

Within the woods a monster prowled, stalking the night, watching and waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. The village men kept from the shadows of the wood for fear of the dark terror that roamed within the wood. Each night as darkness fell, the men would light the great torches that ringed their small village, a weak effort to fend off their vicious enemy. Many nights the flame protected; some nights, when the gusted too strong or rain beat the flames to death, villagers would quake in their homes, fearing the carnage morning would reveal.

Generations lived in fear of the woods, but the fertile ground of the valley kept the villagers rooted. Crops grew, babies were born, rain and sunshine fell, the elderly passed, marriages were made, the monster raided. 

As time passed, the monster grew daring. More and more villagers disappeared. The creature darted closer to the protective ring of fire. Crops were destroyed. The village men tried to fight the dark, but all failed. 

His father lost, a boy, Nimrod by name, came forward. Why wait for the monster to come to the village, he asked the village elders. He was scorned. How could a young boy question the ways of his ancestors? It was not done. No one could defeat the monster, they said. So, alone, he set out to avenge his father, protect his mother, and save his valley village. 

Armed with only a spear, a dagger, and the scant clothing on his back, Nimrod set out to make prey of the great predator. By the light of day he entered the close wood. Silence surrounded him, heavy and deep. Around him he felt the cool of the trees, the emptiness of the shadows. Above, light filtered briefly, cut off by the swaying of the trees' branches. Ahead, only darkness. And so, Nimrod climbed. 

Higher and higher into the trees he climbed. With spear tied to his back and dagger in his belt he lightly he leapt from branch to branch, traveling deeper into the wood, yet keeping always in the sun's rays. The sun crawled across the skies as Nimrod crawled through the canopy, always keeping his eyes and ears open for signs of the mighty beast. 

Nimrod flew through tangles of emerald, high above the murky and mysterious forest floor. Finally, he spotted his target. A shadow darker than any before lay in the thick of the wood. Blacker than coal, blacker than night, blacker than the deepest cave, the creature slumbered, its ebony head resting atop its sharpened talons.

Keeping to his canopy perch, Nimrod unstrapped his spear and tested the light around him. With his dagger he sliced and trimmed. With his twine he tied back branches, creating a tunnel of empty air between the canopy and the sleeping beast. When all was ready, Nimrod retreated back to the safety of the broad treetops and shifted the final branch. Sunlight flooded the shaft, beaming down on the midnight monster. With a roar of hatred, the creature awoke, blinded by the intruding brilliance. Thrashing and wild, the creature was deaf to his human predator. Too late he noticed the long spear soaring toward him. The darkness was defeated. 

Nimrod removed his weapon from the monster's still frame. With no way to transport the creature's massive form, he took as proof of his victory a talon, a tooth, and a tail. 

When the village women saw Nimrod exit the forest, a great uproar was made. All the remaining village men ran to greet the small boy who had survived the terror of the woods. Even with his tokens, they could not believe a boy so young had defeated the creature that had taken so many lives. But night came and the beast was absent. A week passed, and still the creature did not come. As time passed with no sign of the monster, Nimrod's story was repeated. Over and over the story was told. Years passed, and the story became history. History became legacy. Legacy became the Legend of Nimrod, the Mighty Hunter.

42. Musings on a Two-Year-Old

On my coffee table there are currently seven photo albums. Five are pink: two are blue. Each depicts a year in the life of one of my children. I recently finished putting together Janie's latest book, so we pulled out the rest to see how she and Thomas have grown. 

While looking through Thomas's book from his first to second birthday, I noticed several interesting things. First, Thomas kept pointing to himself and exclaiming "Baby Berto!" I'd tell him that it was actually Baby Thomas and that Baby Berto was still in heaven when those pictures were taken. He's acknowledge me, correct himself, turn the page, and promptly point at himself again and yell "Baby Berto!" 

I found it interesting that even though in the pictures he is between six and twelve months older than Berto is now, he still thinks that just about anyone significantly younger than him must be Berto. Unless the baby is wearing a dress. Then she is simply "baby." 

Second, for the latter half of the book, he tended to correctly identify himself. "Well, he just figured out they were all him" you may say. However, he was flipping randomly through the pages, going back and forth and back and forth and back. And it seemed the more recent the picture. The better able he was to identify himself. So either he recognizes some feature in himself that developed around the 18 month mark or he remembers moments from a year ago.

Third takes a bit of background. Thomas had a late start with his speech. He could communicate on a very basic level only until about four months ago. Before then, we were lucky to understand a single word from him. Meanwhile he had friends his age who spoke well, some even in full sentences. They never seemed to mind his lack of speech, but it worried me enough that we got him set up with a speech therapist. He's been seeing her for six months and has blossomed incredibly. 

Around the same time he started his speech therapy, a few months before he really started talking, his best friend, James moved away. And by "best friend" I mean the kid he spent the most time with. They were born five weeks apart and saw each other on average at least once a week until the day James moved. They always played well together and Thomas was always excited to see James. But because he spoke so little, the closest he had ever come to saying "James" was some similar to "Day." Since they moved, about six months ago, they've seen each other on FaceTime a handful of times but haven't been able to play at all. So I was totally surprised when Thomas saw a picture of James and yelled "Dames! It's Dames!" Thank you speech therapy and baby friendships! Apparently two year olds have better memories than I give them credit for. It was sweet to see that even though he hadn't been able to say his name when they were together, he loved his friend enough and finally cares about communicating enough, that he was able to (almost) say his name right.

Fourth, Thomas may be shy in public, but he's pretty comfortable with himself at home. Pointing at a picture of himself in just a diaper he said "Thomas! Me pretty!" And have his picture a kiss. 

41.Little Baby Giggles

Little baby giggles

Ringing clear and light

Pierce through cloudy troubles,

Fill the darkened night.

Little baby giggles

Laughter sweet and coy

Fill my heart with sunshine,

Singing sweet, true joy.

40. Jericho (6)

Sebastian sat at the head of the low table, gazing around at his peers. All eyes were on him, some curious, some confused, some anxious, some angry. Only Aurora's eyes bespoke any comfort. Her small, warm smile encouraged him, bracing him against the accusations he felt sure would soon be assailing him. He had betrayed his comrades. It was his fault so many of them sat here with him on this hard stone of this cave on this outcast planet instead of in the comfort of their own homes. How could they forgive him when he told them how the Overlord discovered them? That he was responsible for their Fall?

Maya should be putting her daughters to bed. Orson should be shelving the day's returns in the state library. Potiphar should be tallying his earnings or planning the next capitol raid. Merlin...well, he didn't know what Merlin did when he wasn't working for the rebellion, but Sebastian had never seen him without a smile until now. 

39. Birthday

Bouncy balls of rubber

Air that makes them round

Lying on the carpet 

Littering the ground

One more year of aging

One more year to know

Next year there's another

Oh how fast they grow

38. Five Years

At this moment five years ago I was in a hospital bed waiting to become a parent for the first time. I dreamed of the joy her arrival would bring. I dreamed of the herd of children she would lead around my home. I dreamed of her first smile, first step, first tooth, first day of school. I dreamed of the mother I would become, of the father my husband would be to her. I dreamed of nursing her, of burping her, of watching her sleep peacefully, of cuddling her, of seeing her grow. 

Most of those dreams have come true. Some came in the wrong order, or took longer to come to fruition. Some were less glamorous than I had expected. Some are yet to happen. Some have changed and some will never be. 

My little girl is turning five tomorrow. That's half a decade of parenting fails and parenting wins. Half a decade of cuts and scrapes and bruises. Half a decade of hugs and kisses. Half a decade of tears and laughter. Half a decade of frustration and elation. For every bad there is a good. For every down, we've had an up. 

Five years may not seem very long, but to me it is endless. Five years is just the beginning. And it's going to be so much more than I dreamed.

37. Silence

Life is the way

Truth

False

Nothing can be corrupted that is whole

If ever you have a time, your soul is in the air

Life

Fortitude

Silence

36. Jared: Day 100

Today is day 100. It is a calm day; one of the smoothest we have yet experienced. Everyone is on deck. We have been besieged by storms for thirteen days, unable to emerge or open in the hatch. We have seen no sunlight. Our children were growing restless. I lost count of how many quarrels there were in the last three days alone. And suddenly, remarkably, the skies have cleared. It is as if our God wished to celebrate this day for us. 

We are alone. There is nothing but stillness surrounding our little fleet. No birds fill the sky. Not a single wisp of cloud. The water remains motionless as far as the eye can see. Today is for us. God reminds us of His power, His Strength, and His guidance. We depend on him entirely for our safekeeping. He will guide our fleet to our new home, just as He guided the building of these remarkable vessels, just like He guided our families to our seaside hideaway, just as He guided us to those who travel in our family. We will find our new home some day. Until then, we will praise and worship from these sea-bound vessels.

35. My Boys

I am not a photographer. I don't claim to have the knowledge or talent that others have behind the lens. But I do like taking pictures. I especially like taking pictures of my family doing cute family things. A lot of the pictures I take are blurry or off-centered. A lot are goofy. Most are of my kids doing silly things. But occasionally, I manage to capture an image that makes my heart swell with love. 

I took one of those today. This picture features the three most important boys in my life: my husband and my two sons. This is the part where I get mushy and explain why this picture gives me so much joy.

First, I adore these three guys. Jay is a wonderful, kind, thoughtful, caring, patient, hardworking husband. He is a great father and our kids think the world of him. Thomas is the sweetest two year old you can imagine (most of the time). He loves to be helpful in any way he can. He admires his big sister and daddy and wants to be just like them. He tries so hard to be a good big brother and is always ready to give his baby brother a hug and a kiss. Berto is adorable. He loves getting attention from his siblings. He wants nothing more than to be a part of whatever is going on with the family.

This picture captures all of their personalities so well. My boys are posing in the bathroom because Jay was hard at work cleaning them today. Sinks, counters, floors, toilets, tubs, showers - the whole shebang! Because Berto was so unhappy about being left out, Jay strapped him into a carrier and cleaned two bathrooms (minus the work that needed noxious chemicals) with a six-month-old attached to him. Thomas had been helping me clean the living room, and when he saw his daddy carrying the baby, he immediately decided he needed to carry a baby too. Lucky for him, we have two carriers. So I helped him get strapped in to our second one and he ran and got his favorite stuffed animal. His bison has been his companion since before he could walk. In my picture, Thomas stands with his hands securing his bison in the carrier, while he looks down excitedly at his best friend's face. He is so happy that he gets to help his bison, help his daddy, and follow his daddy's example. 

You may also notice that all three of my guys are dressed in very similar clothing. This is Thomas's doing. He takes his responsibilities of Big Brothering very seriously. Among those responsibilities is making sure that he and Berto match every morning. If Berto is dressed first, Thomas picks out clothing that coordinates. If Thomas is dressed first, he insists that Berto matches him. Most often they are wearing the same color. Sometimes they feature similar interests (fire trucks, airplanes, bears). His favorite pair are the grey shirts with blue dinosaurs. I don't buy my boys matching outfits. This is something Thomas started doing of his own accord. Occasionally he will ask for help finding a good pair, but most often the work is all his own. He will dig through his drawers to find the best option possible, sometimes rejecting three or four outfits before settling on his final choice. This morning Jay helped the boys get dressed while I was doing the dishes. When they came to find me, Thomas had picked out a pair of outfits for him and Berto that matched almost perfectly with Jay's clothing. I don't think I've ever seen him so excited about a match. 

These three to me are the epitome of father-son-brotherhood. They are everything I could ask for. I love that I was able to capture an image that so perfectly describes them and who they are to me.

34. Snorer

Snoring baby

Rumble rattle

Let your dream-self

Win the battle 

33. What's Taters, Precious?

Potatoes are yummy, my children thought.

They wanted to taste those brown thing that I bought.

They watched as I peeled and they watched as I shredded.

They watched and they waited to see where they were headed.

I'd needed ten taters, but I had boiled twelve,

So I gave them the extras and saw their teeth delve

Right into the soft, not-quite-white starchy flesh.

Potatoes are tasty, better boiled than fresh,

But to my small children, these plain little spuds

Were just a bit boring and bland. They were duds.

Between my two children maybe five bites were taken.

They thought they'd enjoy it but were much mistaken.

My brace little girl tried to make her way through it.

Politely she asked if she could not have to chew.

My son made a face and said "I'm all done."

Then put his spud down and went to have fun.

My dinner prep finished, I put all away.

Not every day can be All-Veggies-Day.

32. Four Eyes

Apparently I am a completely different person without my glasses.

At least, that what Berto seems to think. You see, he's six months old. He's still new to this whole "physical bodies" thing. I look the same most every day. I'm one of those boring moms who has about three hairstyles and four outfits that I rotate through. And, let's face it, a good portion of his waking hours is spent staring at bosom. 

But when he does look at eyes, they are always framed. That is, until today. Partway through his pre-dinner meltdown, he managed to hook his fingers around my glasses and flail at just the right angle that they flew across the room. It took him a couple of seconds to notice, but once he did, he froze. You know that scene in Aristocats when all the alley cats are attacking Edgar and he's whipping is arms and legs around, flinging the cats all around the barn, and Roquefort yells for them to be quiet? That's how he froze. One arm was thrown back over his head, one was reaching out to the side, his mouth was twisting in fury, but his eyes were wide open and staring at me like I was the crazy one. And he held that pose for about five seconds. 

Ever so slowly, his arms and face relaxed, but those eyes just kept staring. Eventually he reached up to my face (I swear the kid didn't blink for a good minute) and started feeling around, verifying that I was me. He kept totally silent as he stuck his tiny fists into my eyes, my hair, my mouth. I could see his little cogs working so hard, trying to figure out what was going on. It was after about three minutes of exploring that he finally, tentatively, grabbed my face and pulled my chin into his mouth. He  sucked once (yeah, he's weird), sucked twice (and yet, he doesn't like pacifiers?) and pulled back and gave me a huge smile. He laughed and babbled and whacked my face, finally certain that I was his beloved nourisher. 

Moral of the story: if you ever find yourself unsure of a person's true identity, suck their chin.