…these are a few of my favorite things:

multnomah falls

mo’s clam chowder

this completely sums up my feelings about the ocean

gotta love a place that’s so cold you need to wear a coat but so fun you can’t stop yourself from playing in the water

hypothermia was nigh, but they still didn’t want to come in out of the water–this is the ocean i know and love

also gotta love the way a rogue wave can liven up a family photo

portland saturdays market–i haven’t had an elephant ear since i was a kid attending the eugene saturdays market. i’d make the drive again just to have another one

a serenade in the rose gardens (and yes, there were raindrops, too)

also gotta love how we can go just about anywhere and bump into someone who knows and loves that mr. rowley

one of my favorite childhood memories is of visiting my aunt jean on her farm in idaho

a possible future smokejumper (remind me when i get home to tell you about the smokejumpers)

canoes on the water–every muscle, nerve, bone and joint from my shoulders to my wrists aches right now, but i’d do it all again tomorrow (you know, if it weren’t the Sabbath and all)

a pretty little treejumper

i could have parked myself on that bench for the entire afternoon

(but I didn’t)

–I also loved spending an entire week at a place that is backwoods enough there are warning signs on the trash bins asking you to dump your trash during the daylight hours so you won’t have to worry about bears, but nice enough the front desk will send up freshly laundered towels whenever you need them.

I’ve missed a couple of birthdays–hopefully the words will come to write those. But this one needs to be written. Since I don’t scrapbook, these tiny tributes will be all my kids get from me.

Suze (in the black shirt and blondish curls, top right) and crazy friends at 8th grade promotion–in the next frame they have all fallen down at the hand of the boy on the far right

It’s about six a.m. on the morning of my only daughter’s fourteenth birthday. I’m sitting up on my niece’s bed, the window next to me is open and my ears are tuned both to steady fall of an early morning rain and the steady rise and fall of Suze’s breath (Suze is short for Suzie Q, one of my favorite nicknames for L~).

Around my niece’s room are stacks of books I have known and loved my entire life.

Twain. Tolstoy. Poe.

Even my favorite childhood book–Mandy. By Julie Andrews (yes, the Mary Poppins one) Edwards.

And of course, several volumes of Harry Potter in hardback.

I can’t wait for her return from a weekend activity so we can discuss these books and exchange recommendations.

It could be tempting to lament the fact that–at least at the moment–this is not the type of conversation I could have with my own daughter. (Although she does stand with me when it comes to discussing Twilight–the book. I think she liked the movie somewhat.)

But when I look down at the now mostly calm and still form of Suze–a form that, when awake, is almost constantly bursting with activity and exuding an uncontainable passion for life–I am content. Content to experience and enjoy and appreciate the way kids come the way they are.

And some kids are not afraid to be who they are.

Suze is one of those kids. And I love her for it.

Recently she spent the afternoon running errands with me. The entire time–and she did this with a completely straight face–she was sporting the big boxy three-D glasses she got at the movie Up. She knocked out the lenses a week ago and she loves to wear the frames. Just because they are there and because she can. And she doesn’t care at all what anyone thinks.

I like that.

Several years ago Suze played goalie for a competition soccer league. It was her first time playing soccer–she’d been recruited by the mother of one of the other players on her first softball team. They wanted her because even at the tender age of ten she wasn’t afraid of the ball.

That’s one of the things I love about Suze. She may be afraid of the dark. Of creepy clown slasher movies. And of being left alone at the mall…

But she is not afraid of the ball.

She lives. She loves. (Sometimes she hates–but really she is just angry). She does everything she does with passion and gusto…and a certain joie de vivre. Her spirit is larger than life and–I’ve come to discover over the years–it cannot be contained.

Often at the end of the day I find myself wiped out and completely drained of, well, everything. That’s when almost inevitably Suze will bound into my bedroom to tell me something about her day. Only she doesn’t just tell. She practically acts it out. (There is no library voice for Suze. It’s loud and it’s live and it’s full of energy no matter what the time of day.) She uses words like amazing and funny and oh my gosh and you can actually hear the ALL CAPS in her voice. Suddenly I find myself invigorated and infused with her same energy.

Among the many things Suze does well, she is also the fastest prayer in the west. She can belt out an entire prayer in the time it takes some people to express the salutation. But somehow she still manages to be sincere about it and she always remembers to bless her older brother, Luke, that he will have a good time on his mission. That may seem silly to some. But if you knew Luke and know how serious his serious side is, you would also know that this blessing is exactly what Luke needs.

One of the other things I love about Suze (there are many) is her honesty. While in her earlier years she could call my bluff to involve teachers, witnesses and even the police, etc. to hold on to a lie longer than anyone I have ever seen, she can be starkly honest about other people and about herself. She doesn’t like to play games and even while a child she could see through people’s m.o.s and call it the way she saw it. She doesn’t hesitate to apply that same directness to herself sometimes–in such a way that completely captures my heart. Sometimes her passion puts her at odds with me, resulting in some pretty intense moments. When the fireworks have died down she won’t just apologize because she has to. She will wait until she can say it and mean it.

Suze doesn’t hesitate to tell me to my face that she is trying really hard to be kind and respectful to me, but that sometimes I just make her so mad.

I admire that kind of honesty. With all my heart.

Happy Birthday Suze!

We’re spending it on Cannon Beach. I cannot help but liken the impossibility of being able to hold back the waves to that of holding back the passion and energy of this daughter of mine. And who would want to?

(This is a post from my other blog, ohsimplethings, that simply needed to be reposted here–with a brief postscript–just so I could keep it close to home.)

Par Avion

Well over 20 years ago I found myself serving a mission in Belgium and France. Scrawling the words Par Avion on my letters home.

Now I find myself writing that on my almost-weekly missives to my oldest child. Who finds himself serving a mission just across the pond in the U.K.

I am thankful for a SIL who reminded me–long before my own child left–that despite the wonders of instant and regular e-mail to and fro, missionaries still need something tangible. Something to feel in their hands, hold to their hearts, and tear open with anticipation.

And I remember.

There is the weight and value beyond any treasure in the feel of an envelope addressed by hand specifically to you and carrying with it all the love, support and memories of home and family long ago and far away.

p.s. Yesterday we found ourselves standing beneath Multnomah Falls. After finally pulling myself away from the mesmerizing, ever-changing fallscape and the refreshing wafts of mist on my face I ran into the gift shop to make a simple and inexpensive purchase. A small post card. (Before embarking on our trip I had armed myself with a small slip of paper with Luke’s latest address scrawled on it–7 School Road–and nine combinations of postage for air mail to the U.K. I planned to send him a postcard from every interesting location we visit during our little road trip, just so he will know he is not forgotten.)

He is not forgotten.

note the quantity–it’s something your grandchildren will NEVER see

Western Family was one of the last hold outs.

But then they sold out.

And now they’re almost entirely gone.

The way of the wooley mammoth.

And the dodo.

Extinct.

Obsolete.

Finis.

The thing that makes me the maddest is the quantity went down and the prices went up at the very same time. Did they think no one would notice?

I did.

From now on I’m stickin’ with homemade.

“Aren’t you grateful I’m not a cat?” I asked Zack, who was–along with all my other kids–quite shocked when (neighbor’s) cat-that-thinks-it’s-a-dog suddenly turned on her kittens today.

Guess she’s done being a mom.

I’m grateful I’m not a cat, too.

In any case, we now have four irresistible kittens up for grabs. One black. One yellow tiger-striped (the other was picked up almost instantly from ksl.com). One black-and-white (my favorite–couldn’t you just plant a big fat Eskimo kiss on its tiny spotted nose). And one yellow-and-white.

Come on.

You know you want one.

summer is for sipping silly slurpees from seven eleven

I’ve written about this before. That electricity that charges the air as the school doors are thrown open that final afternoon (well, late morning, to be exact) in late May. It’s been building since the days grew longer than the nights. I started tingling with it on Monday, as I sensed a palpable surge in the surround-sound of playful voices emanating from the numerous backyard parties throughout my neighborhood. There was almost an urgency to the fun that was had. And I couldn’t help but notice how the revelers deliberately lingered until well after dusk.

Freedom.

From schedules. Homework. Routine.

But I am the exception. While my entire family–even my school teacher husband–gets a summer “break” (it’s not really a vacation because there is still work to do and money to earn. And, well, Shane is still the counselor over the ward sprinkler systems), I will still be punching a time card.

Usually this fact does not bother me. I like what I do. I only work part-time. And really, how can I mind being at a place where an account manager will practically gush about how great he thinks I am when I troubleshoot something that’s been giving him grief or a co-worker from another office writes in an e-mail, “I don’t know that we can manage without you that long” after I mention the days off I’ll be taking in June? (Trust me–that does not happen at home.)

But this year is different. It’s not just that there is so much to do at home and that I want to be home doing it.

There is so much to be at home.

And I want to be home being it.

My second child–recently turned 18–graduates from high school today. I sense so keenly the fleetingness of time left with birds in my nest. And knowing my birdees will be home for a brief nine or ten weeks this summer, I find myself feeling like I’d rather be nesting right now…before they all fly away.

It will all be OK. They will spend their summers working, playing or hanging out at the neighborhood pool. We do have a family vacation planned. And at some point (upwards over 90 degrees) I will be grateful for my air-conditioned office.

But for the moment…

And in other news:

Someone once said something to the effect that to become a great woman one should surround herself with great women.

Today I am acknowledging a couple of the great women I know. I met them on “teh Internets,” but now they are some of my favorite people IRL.

And they inspire me.

Here’s a loud “hey girl” and a big pat on the back to b., for having the courage to surrender and ~j for having the guts to walk the walk (as well as swim the swim and bike the ride).

Loves,

Yeah. It was one of those days.

Because I had stayed up way too late (read, early) reading Tender at the Bone, I meant to sleep in until, hopefully, a little after 6 a.m.. But I couldn’t because one of my kids got up at 5:30 to head off to some secret activity at the high school. (You may think I’m a bad mom for not really knowing what was going on, but I am generally of the opinion that things that happen early in the morning are a lot more harmless than things that happen way-too-late at night, so I don’t worry.) Turns out that kid was on the morning news yesterday. Twice. (If you are interested, you will be able to find out why here. Eventually. Whenever they get around to posting the video.)

I rearranged work so I could help chaperone K~’s fourth grade field trip to Camp Floyd. (Because in my other life–before I worked outside the home–I was a classroom volunteer. And I miss it. I knew the other moms and the other kids and even the other teachers. Now I am an outsider, which is OK, I guess, because most of the other moms are 25 and I am old enough to be their mother. )

Did I tell you that Hillary Duff was also a chaperone on that field trip? I wish I would have thought to snap a picture, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure if she was a teacher or a mom (because when they are all 25 you can’t really tell them apart–and sometimes they are both–but even at that age if you think they are the mom when they are the teacher and have never yet given birth then they are a little insulted), but she was the spitting image of Hillary Duff. I kid you not.

I drove home by myself because I had to hurry off to work and afternoon shift. On the way home I wanted to yell at the radio when KSL kept announcing Mark Shurtleff’s press conference announcing his run for a senate seat as “breaking news.”

That was so last tweet.

I went to work late and came home long enough to carefully transport my teenage chickens to the pigeon coop (where they are allowed to spend their afternoons) and break my toe. Again. Because when I am determined and in a hurry I don’t let things like hard wood furniture or railroad-tie planting beds get in my way. Now that I have met my out of pocket medical expenses for the year I am tempted to ask for both a right-foot and a left-foot version of those marvelously fashionable “boots” of which Azúcar speaks. Because I am prone to be no respecter of feet when it comes to broken toes.

Finally I started my jaunts back and forth and all across towns to catch two softball games and one baseball game at opposite ends of valley.

L~ plays for a competition-league team that was thrown together last-minute when Provo City Rec canceled the seventh through ninth-grade girls’ softball league. Go Bulldogs! They are a young team–not very experienced–and well, had they been wearing socks they would have had their socks knocked off by the girls from Springville (who, for some reason, always have amazingly numerous and skilled teams–is there nothing better to do in Springville than play softball?). (But L~ snagged a pop fly and made an impressive through from center field.)

I thought about why enduring this season will be worth it even though it will be hard. Sometimes you have to take your inexperienced self and play with the better teams even though it means your weaknesses will scream at you. Because that’s how you get better. (I tried to liken this to life and I realized this is why it’s good for me to play with the better writers at Segullah even though it means my weaknesses will scream at me. Because it’s how I will get better.)

Then I headed to K~’s baseball game where I watched his team, who never won a game until the last game of regular season last year, cruise to another victory. Go Cubs! (K~ stole his way home after a solid base hit.)

I thought about how sometimes you have to keep playing even when you’re in last place and you never win. Because that’s how you get better. (I realized that I generally don’t get to the getting better part because if I can’t do something remotely well I usually won’t do it. I may be mostly OK with that because frankly, I don’t really have much time to do more things these days.)

And then we went back to L~’s second game in which they got trounced again. (But L~ had a killer play to first.)

The only epiphany I had that time was while I was driving a bunch of girls home after the game and I realized that when you have a teenage daughter sometimes you have to listen to Britney Spears.

There are no deep life lessons in that.

It just is what it is.

And here’s my first entry:

You all know I have a special place in my heart for a finely hung kilt. So when I heard this story this morning I nearly spat out my haggas (which term I am using here in a facetious way because haggas rhymes with “gag us!” and I’m pretty sure my Scottish ancestors would never have touched the stuff)!

You can read more here and here. Or find another great headline here.

In addition to apologizing to the student and the Scots, Principal Jessop should also apologize to me. Not because I have Scottish ancestry, but because he not only offended my sensibilities and my never-ending love for a fine piece of plaid, he kind of embarrassed me…and the entire state of Utah.

Dude (which term I am using here in a facetious way because it expresses my urgency at least slightly better than “Dear Mr. Jessop”): Did you not see either So I Married an Ax Murderer or Braveheart (the edited version)? Either could have clued you in on the nature and perfect acceptability of kilts as menswear and may possibly have warned you that it’s never a good idea to tick off the entire country of Scotland.

Never!

I could be completely depressed:

Despite how the so-and-sos spin it, the economy is still in the toilet and will take years, not mere months to recover. * sigh *

My country is becoming a super-sized version of France. Only without the charm of Provence. A 35-hour work week and 37 days of les vacances. Not to mention a shocking lack of cuisses de grenouille and delectable pâtisseries. (Pardon, mes amis Français. No offense intended. You know where my loyalties lie: I stood by you when everyone and their super-sized dogs were going around calling French Fries “American Fries” even though–who are we kidding?–Les Belges make them much better than either of us. It’s just that this isn’t at all what I signed up for.) * sigh *

And well, there is more, but why bore you with details? They’re all just tiny drops in the bucket. Here are some things I’m lovin’ at the moment:

Mother’s Day phone calls from across the pond. Oh yeah! Luke is doing great and words fail to express how cool it is to hear his voice once in a national holiday. We’re currently on pins and needles here to find out where he’ll end up next, and we do know a transfer from the Isle of Bliss Man is imminent. It’s like Where’s Waldo? Only better. Any guesses?

I may just have a culinary crush on the friendly proprietor of the local Asian Market. Every time I visit her store I come home with recipes and directions scrawled out on scratch paper for “make-it-at-home” Thai food. My friend (who just tasted the leftovers) told me my Masman is as good as that at our Thai place du jour and although at least one of my kids still cringes when she hears the word “curry” I’m pretty sure the rest of the them are grateful they didn’t have to wait until they were 35 to taste their first mouthful.

The medical bills are now paid. That’s Paid. In. Full. HUGE, can I say H-U-G-E relief! Best part? We had benefactors! Of course the benefactors requested anonymity, but I still want to express my deep gratitude and I need to tell it out loud: There are good people in the world. Someday when I grow up I wanna be a benefactor too. (Only I might have to be a benefactor in another country where my actual net worth could be, well, worth something.)

There are only nine–count them–N-I-N-E days of school left. While I am currently the only person in my family who does not get summers off, I do get a break from the two-point-five-hour drill of getting everyone up and out the door each morning. And I must tell you I like it. (That said, by the end of the summer I will be equally thrilled with a return to some semblance of a routine just as the next school year begins. And I will again have someone at four different schools. Crazy, I know.)

It’s Open Window season at my house. Dust be darned (like I bother with dusting anyway?). This means I wake to the happy chirping of baby birds who nested in our swing set outside my bedroom window. I can feel the cool of the cross breeze as it wafts across the living room at the end of a warm afternoon. And I am serenaded by crickets every night as I close my weary eyes. Honestly? No matter how harsh your winter was, it doesn’t get any better than that. It really doesn’t.

What’s rockin’ your world this fine spring day?

Update: I just have to rave about what good neighbors the Peef and her sweet husband are. And here’s a shout-out to La Yen because I loved seeing her face and I also loved that she likes my sour cream lemon pie a whole lot more than she likes probiotics. And then there’s that ~j who knows how to throw a fine fiesta. Olé!

May 12 is Limerick Day. (We celebrate it on this day because it is the birthday of Edward Lear, who, apparently was a huge fan.)

I’m all about celebrating birthdays, so please humor me and the distinguished Mr. Lear (may he rest in peace and with a darn good limerick chiseled onto his tombstone) by leaving me a limerick in the comments section.

There could be prizes involved.

(If you need a little help, see the how-to at WikiHow.)

Happy Limerick Day!