2,010

...the number of times I expect to restore the cushions and pillows to my couch this year.

Retrospection

I'm still alive.  A little bit slow and not so punctual, but still alive.  So here we have a look at the good of 2009 (because I only want to live the bad once, you know).
Ahem.                                                             

2009

Gerret had carrot cake for his first birthday in January.  Yes, Gerret rhymes with carrot.  Now I've got that out of my system.  This year, I think he'll get chocolate.

It's been pretty amazing to watch him grow up over the course of 2009.  He has become quite the walking, talking, running, jumping, counting, surprising-me-every-moment little man.

Also in January, PTB celebrated a birthday and proved himself an old man with his inability to blow all his candles out at once.  He may never live that down.

Aside from spending the majority of February struggling to remain sane whilst confined to the indoors, we do have at least one other memory: a harrowing drive to Syracuse and some delicious entertainment.

We (well, I) dropped our camera in March.  It took photos that looked green and gooey for a few hours before we ran off and made the impulsive, yet highly satisfying purchase of our new camera.


April forgot the showers this year and skipped straight to 90 degree weather, the warmest we ended up seeing all year.

And this was in April:

May was all about recuperating from our post-winter insanity by spending every second possible outside.


I turned 25 in June.  Yikes!


PTB threw me a surprise birthday "extravaganza", a smattering of where I've been, what I've done, and who has cared.  It was so full of good memories and a sweet like only PTB can do.  
We also spent a 24 hour period up north, away from our children, which was exactly the kind of relief I didn't know I needed as badly as I did.  Included in my birthday festivities was The Bike Mobile.  Thus followed a summer of freedom and adventure.

One last mention for June:  We celebrated 50 years of my grandparents' marriage with family and friends.  There's nothing in life better to celebrate than family and love.


Suddenly it was July.  We enjoyed Pageant, Independence Day, a visit from Jordan and Diana, and then suddenly it was time to hop on an airplane.

Thanks to that airplane (and a few more) we found ourselves in Spokane for the beginning of August, marked 5 years of marriage and ended the month with the 3rd birthday of our first-born son.

With September came two puppy friends.

This was October (for about two memorable days):
Halloween this year saw at least one cowboy and one panda bear.

The most important event in November was his haircut:


And then there was December.  Thank goodness because I am truly falling asleep.

Around the Burg

The Burg took the back seat, or the non-existent seat, the past two months --and not for a lack of good weather. The bike mobile is dangerously in need of some repairs and I made the executive decision to hold those repairs until my funds recover from Christmas and the pre and post birthday activities (Mom, PTB, Pook, and Livy all sandwiched around the holidays... that's a lot of birthday cake).  So we've been spending a lot of (read: way too much) time trapped at home.  We only ventured out into Trumansburg once since Halloween and (because the blog also ranked low on the priority list) I never got around to recording the venture.  So here you go: Around the (almost forgotten) Burg.

The date:  November 29, 2009  The temperature:  55 degrees 

The place:  The Gorge at Taughannock

Let me just say now that a November trip up the gorge sans snowshoes is not typically recommended.  A waterfall with free-flowing water following the 1st of said month is almost unheard of.  Winter was trying to be humble this year, or maybe just feeling burnt out from its October 16th debut.  Instead of complaining or worrying about the possibility of a brown Christmas, we took advantage.  We packed up our kids, a sister, some fleece, and our stroller and headed to the base of the trail where we found a parking lot bursting with the cars of hikers who had the same bright idea:

Taughannock Falls.  

I know I've mentioned this place at least a few times before and you might as well expect to hear about it again in the future, because it is one of my favorite places.  On Earth.  I know that's a bold statement and I'm really not that well traveled, but I love it anyway.  Standing at the base of Taughannock is truly an extraordinary experience.  The kind that one of my petty descriptions would never do justice.  So I won't describe it.  I'll just give the facts followed by an invitation to come try it yourself and call that sufficient.

The flat trail is only 3/4 of a mile.  It's not physically demanding.  It could even be enjoyed on a bike or in a wheelchair.  I'm telling you, this is a place for everyone! The trail is marked with unobtrusive benches for the weary and signs supplying more information than I could ever offer on my blog.

It runs the length of a post-glacial valley which was carved over a long period of time by a meandering stream.  The stream is still present.  In the summer months, visitors can hike the length of the valley in water shoes.  The stream offers plenty of its own entertainments: slippery rock, crayfish, snakes, minnows, small waterfalls, skipping stones, other stones, a slight current, beauty.

Near the trail's beginning is a lower (nameless??) waterfall, good for jumping off of or taking pictures in front of.  The pool at the bottom is frequently used for fishing and smelting.

  (this is the only evidence I have of it, taken June 2009)

The trail is, as I mentioned before, in its own special little valley, surrounded on both sides by 400 foot cliffs.   Trees reach their roots across the vertical face of these rocky cliffs and miraculously grow thick, tall trunks while tenaciously hanging on to whatever they can.  This stoic plant life provides habitation for some pretty amazing birds -owls, falcons, hawks, etc.

And then you meet Taughannock.  One of the tallest single-drop waterfalls east of the Rocky Mountains,  it stands 215 feet tall (33 feet taller than Niagra).  It is beautiful and powerful.  The experience of standing at its base is almost magical.  You can stand right there and feel its wind and mist and listen to its roar and be absolutely enchanted.  Well, I am, at least.  Come try it.  You may never want to leave.

Sweet and Sour

(the sauce he used to glue the fortune to his forehead)

Here is my sweet little boy, Gerret.  I'd like to tell you that he isn't typically this dirty, but that wouldn't be the truth.  His affinity for the unclean is just one of the many characteristics he inherited from his odd-ball mother (or so his father claims).

I love Gerret.  He makes me smile and laugh throughout each day.  He makes my heart jump into my throat at least once a day as he performs near-impossible stunts.  I kindly thank his split personality --Mr. Hyde with that one very wild bone and Dr. Pookyll who is pure, cuddly goodness.  With Gerret, I'm never quite sure what to expect, only that it will either make me smile or scare me to death.

And now for the sour.

Gerret is maturing far past any semblance of a baby.  Today, for the last time, I mention his age exclusively as a number of months: 23.  And now I will stop counting, because next month he will turn two years old.  Can you believe it?  Does that taste sour to you, too?  I'm finding that both the happiest and saddest moments come from watching my boys grow up.

Cake O' Flames

I remember listening intently to Ronelle's description of her mother's 50th birthday cake as it burned gloriously with 50 lighted candles.  I believe she applied the term "forrest fire".  I clung to that story, recognizing that such opportunities for intimate light shows do not present themselves often, and nearly fantasized about my own mother's 50th birthday cake.  Today was the day I've waited half my life for and I made sure we had 50 candles and a suitable cake on hand.  I detected some reluctance, but assured my honored guest that it would be fantastic, or at least memorable.  She complied and the show ensued with only minor hitches --like the fact that we didn't count the candles until we had already placed 41 or the conundrum of getting all fifty lit in a safe and efficient manner.  Everything worked out and we had our show --flames dancing atop candles so close the small flickers melted into one large glow, moving frantically across a (sweating) vanilla dance floor.  It was fantastic (or at least memorable), but the evening was really for my mother, who is more fantastic than any 50-candled light show.

On a more serious note, I feel inclined to say something about this person who has had a significant hand in shaping me.  My mom is an extraordinary woman.  In so many ways, I hope to become like my mom.  I admire her integrity, the way she works so hard, the way she cares for people, her resilience, her creativity, her compassion, the way she stands for truth, her love of family and of the Gospel.  I'm grateful for all that she is to me and grateful for the past 25 years of knowing her and watching her.

Mom, Nolan, Elise

birthday banner and a little goober saying "cheese"

a three-man job


the cake, pre-candles

                              the decorated-ish kitchen                           the flowers

decorations

Visitors from Arizona

My brother and his wife flew in this weekend for my grandpa's funeral.  Though a sad occasion for a reunion, it was so nice to see them.  We have so much fun when they visit.  My boys adore them.  I'm always left dreaming about Arizona, wondering if I could survive without bone-chilling winters.

When Weighty Things Happen

There are a handful of days in a person's life that have a lasting effect on all of the rest.  These days wake up many, many slumbering memories and cause a deep kind of reflection and remorse and rejoicing as the mind handles each one.  These days beg you to consider the meaning of life and the significance of death.  They beg you to reconsider what is most important and what is less.  Emotions, questions, assurances, hopes, images and stories from the past -these all flow in and out, around and through, day after day after day.  Eventually you feel completely drenched and weighted down, yet they just keep coming.

I had one of those days this week.

Whether a few seconds, or a few decades, this life is short.  I'm grateful to feel so sure that there is more.  There has been more and there will be more.  This understanding makes all the difference.

Brothers Extraordinaire

Nolan and Gerret, November 2009

They make for a pretty phenomenal pair of brothers.  Yes, they have their moments of grabbing and tattling, crying and complaining about the other, but their days are mostly full of sharing and hugging, sitting side by side and audibly adoring one another.

One Small Example:

I am sitting on the bench at our kitchen table, eating lunch with my two sons.  I am seated on the end with Nolan squished between Gerret and me.  As we are finishing up, Nolan turns to me and says, "Momma, will you get another baby?"  He asks that quite often.

"Yeah, maybe someday."

"From the hospital?"

I assure him that if we get another baby, it would come from the hospital (not K-mart or Wegmans).

With this assurance, Nolan turns to look at his brother and asks, "This baby came from the hospital?"

"Yep, he did."

Nolan continues to study his brother who is nonchalantly eating his lunch.  Then Nolan reaches out his hand and pats the top of Gerret's head.  With a tone laden with fondness and adoration says, "I really love him."

Moments like this melt my heart.

Turkey Trotter's Lament

If you run the Turkey Trot cold-turkey, you may feel a little bit proud of yourself before, during, and immediately after.  You may utter some ridiculous assertion like, "I probably could have run it twice."  You may sit down for your turkey dinner feeling an overabundance of gratitude for your body and its obedience to your every command.  You may believe that Turbo Jam is actually a good substitute for proper training.  You may even consider running 5 miles for Thanksgiving 2010 dressed up, once again, like a cold-turkey.

But just wait until the next day.

If you run in the Turkey Trot and you do it without any preparation, don't be alarmed if you wake up the next day (Black Friday in every sense of the word) and cannot move a muscle in either leg without excruciating pain.  Do not be surprised if the act of descending stairs brings tears to your eyes.  Do not be surprised if you are asking your small children to run "errands" for you -fetch a pillow, turn up the volume, select 3 books (but please not the dog book or any about emergency vehicles).  Don't wonder what's wrong with you when you can't sit down without an involuntary yelp or get back up without grabbing the nearest desk, table, chair, or dresser.

You probably deserve these things as consequence for yesterday's pride.

Home School at its Finest

Butterflies, hearts, and stars

Light blue frosting

Edible glitter and colorful candy embellishments

Oh, the sugary goodness! 

Thank you Swine Flu.

Watching Stars When I Should Be Sleeping

We stayed up all night and into the early hours of this morning, PTB and I.  Today was the Leonid Meteor Shower and we were determined not to miss it.  We hunkered down in sleeping bags in the pitch-black yard and looked to the heavens.  The dark, starlit sky was enough, on its own, to take my breath away, but then there was the show --full of the kind of splendor and magnificence that only nature and nature's God can manifest.  I wish I could have (or would have) tried to digitally capture these streaks of light darting across an absolutely gorgeous and indescribably complex backdrop.  It was an image that my mind will pull up and contemplate throughout the rest of my life.  I really cannot put into words the feelings of my heart or the ideas that sink deep into my mind when I lay so still and quiet under a dark night sky --especially this morning.  Wow.  

"The contemplation of celestial things will make a man both speak and think more sublimely and magnificently when he descends to human affairs." -Cicero

A Boy and a Button

This is my son.

We named him Gerret.  That's a story for another day.

We call him Pooka.  That's also an entirely separate story.

Today's story is not of names, but of objects.

This is a button.  It is a representation of the one Gerret found in the depths of our red armchair yesterday.  The actual button was blue, with four holes, the approximate size of a penny.

On Saturday PTB was in Ithaca at work, I was moving furniture (including the armchair), and Nolan was on my bed imagining it was a fire station --intermittently setting off to fight fires in various locations throughout our apartment. Gerret was wandering.  He wanders a lot.

As he explored Saturday, The Pook stuck his hand underneath the cushion of said armchair and came out with a handful of buttons.  He claimed one smallish blue one as his own and allowed it to accompany him on his wanderings.  I noticed, but wasn't too concerned, as he was just carrying it around in the palm of his hand.  He does still use his mouth as a mode of exploration, but is good about aborting when asked.  So, I let him keep the button and went on doing my thing.

A while later, I took a break from moving furniture and joined Nolan at the fire station.  When Pooka also retired to my bed, I noticed him juggling the blue button with his tongue.

"Spit it out".

He looked at me, smirked at me, then buried his face in a pillow.  "No. Spit it out," I ordered as I pried him from the pillow and placed my open hand beside his chin. To my dismay, the button was no longer in his mouth.  I looked under the pillow.  I looked under some blankets.  Then I tore the bed apart looking for that blue button.  It was nowhere to be found.  "Where is it?" I asked.  He pointed to his mouth.

When PTB arrived home later that afternoon, I told him that his son had swallowed a button.  PTB's immediate response was, "Did you send him to his room?"  You see, in our house our boys take a time out on their beds when they are disobedient, however in this case of disobedience, I determined that the natural consequence for swallowing a button was punishment enough.  My punishment for being an unconcerned mother: a treasure hunt for the next few days.

Copper

  The giving and receiving of affection between human and beast is pretty unique, in my opinion.  There is a special comfort in taking care of an animal physically and being emotionally cared for in return.  The connection is so rewarding.  I've always loved animals.  All kinds.  If I hadn't already decided that a mothering agenda was most important to me,  I would have been a plausible applicant for vetrinary school. 

On the other hand, my appreciation for horses has never been enough to make me desire one.  Their commanding presence and enormous size have always been a little bit frightening to me.  My only memory of riding a horse is comical, at best.  My family took a vacation to the Rocky Mountains when I was 12 or 13.  There, we ended up on horseback on a ranch in Wyoming.  What was a wonderfully memorable experience for my family ended up being a frustrating and slightly scary experience for me.  I was assigned to a horse named Joe who showed no respect for his rider.  While the line of riders in front of me traveled in tidy procession, Joe was trying to turn around or veer off the beaten path.

So when my young sisters expressed interest in horses and my mom announced that they'd be owning one, I was anything but thrilled.  I helped build fence out of the kindness of my heart and kept negative thoughts to myself.  And then his home was ready and Copper became the newest family member.  The first day, I designated myself photographer as an excuse to keep some distance.  The following day I ended up outside by myself and decided to give Copper a chance and go say "hello".  Hello turned into a touch, then a response, and suddenly there was a connection --the human to beast kind that I never expected or hoped to have with a horse.

effecting change

Because the intention of effecting change is that it will be long-term...  Because it takes more than one try to actually effect a change....  Because I'm human (and you are probably too) and tend to throw in the towel when I'm not successful by the second or third try...  Because change has everything to do with the establishment or destruction of habits...

Real change requires having goals.  The kind that you're so serious about that you actually write them down, look them over again and again, and work on them.

Real change is evaluation at the end of the day and recommitment the next morning.  It has something to do with being hopeful in the midst of failure.  It has everything to do with gratitude for the greatest sacrifice, which makes it possible to leave our incomplete, unhappy, filthy, ignorant, or otherwise tainted selves behind and work toward better things.  As mentioned before, this kind of change brings happiness.  Happiness --pure and independent of outside sources.


I'm too self-conscious (the next pitfall to overcome, I guess) to disclose my short-term goals, but I will tell you that change is coming s-l-o-w-l-y.  Ever so slowly.  So slowly that I'm sure nobody has noticed  but me.

However self-conscious, I will share a few minor results:
1.  I can walk like a normal person again!  I wear my favorite pair of shoes everyday just to remind myself how much I love walking.  Now on to bigger and better things.  Like running.

2. Nature's treasures turned artwork by Nolan.

3.  I'm enamored.  It is everything I hoped it would be and even more sweat than I expected.

grateful praise

The majesty of the earth just blows my mind, especially when places like this exist down the street and all around me. Sometimes I watch out the window as we drive from place to place and the beauty is so surreal to me, I feel like I'm in a painting or a movie. The wonderful thing about living away from a city is being surrounded by the fantasy of God's creations. They truly testify of something much bigger than man or his handiwork.

"All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth and all things that are upon the face of it..." Alma 30:44

Something Beautiful

From all sides, adoption is a beautiful thing, deeply rooted in love, family, selflessness, and desire to bless lives. Perhaps I haven't experienced love and hope given in this way, but I have seen lives changed forever because of adoption, and my heart has definitely been moved and changed because of their stories and stories like this:
and this (Go watch it. It's short and wonderful).

November is Adoption Awareness Month and though I don't claim to know too much about adoption, I do know that it is so, so good for everyone involved. I also know someone who does know plenty about adoption and shares her understanding freely and in such a sweet way. Go here to read her.

Around the Burg

This addition:

The elementary school in your town probably has one, too, but in the burg it's a little different. At events like this, in small villages like this, you're likely to know half the crowd. And you'll recognize the other half. It's a real community sort of a feel.

There's something especially welcoming about a bundled-up community, gathering in crisp autumn air, with plenty of exuberant children (in fact, all of the children for miles). With some creativity, some laughter and joking, and a ghoulish utterance or two, such an event can liven even the darkest of spirits.

Here's to you, an invitation to come next year. Bring a thermos of warm cider. Wear your own costume. It's sure to be a real Halloween treat.

Do you remember that time when we changed the world?

I guess for most you'd've hardly noticed it. What with life moving by at thousands of miles an hour. What with cities crowded to capacity with people hustling and bustling their lives away. What with bombs and guns everywhere struggling to decide who is right and who is otherwise. What with our being infintisimally small in size to a reality, a universe, much larger in size. You'd've hardly noticed two honest young hearts knitting themselves together in a pledge to weather every triumph and hardship together. You'd've hardly noticed in a world of romantic divorce two honest hearts who pledged and had sealed an eternity together. Really you'd've hardly noticed that when everyone sees a world getting darker, bleaker, and more unfair there was a pair who said to the contrary.

I noticed though.

When there was only lust and hate we added love. When there was chaos and laziness we added order and a dynamic. When there was only the rest of the world we added us. And the world stands forever bettered by a love founded in Christ. A hope founded in the gospel. And a trust founded in one another. I love you--and one day the world will take note.

A Great Toe and a Great Doc

The medical reference for your largest toe is actually "great". They like to call it the Great Toe. (And here I've been cursing it for a good portion of my life.) Had I known this toe was supposed to be great and not just big, I may have held it to higher expectations. Maybe I would have seen a doctor a lot sooner than I did. Unfortunately, I didn't learn the correct terminology until Tuesday when I met Dr. Lindsey of the Surgical Associates of Ithaca.

Perhaps our acquaintance was meant to be. He was the perfect mix of friendly and direct, contained in the form of a large, older man with round, rosy cheeks. Any phobia of sharp instruments or misgivings about the procedure subsided upon first encounter. He told me the Association passed all foot problems off to him. He became a professional in fixing feet when he performed emergency procedures in damp Vietnamese fields. I was grateful that anesthesia and a dry, clean facility were available in my case.

And so he fixed my foot. At least I think he did. I made it through today without relying on coma-inducing Percocet, though I'm still waiting for the pain to relinquish and I'm still washing and dressing the wound. When the gauze is gone and my toe stops throbbing, I may start replacing "big" for "great" in my own terminology. I sure hope it's going to be great.

I Was Blind but Now I See

My eyes were barely functioning, Friday.

This happens sometimes.

I usually blame it on the age of my contacts. I tend to wear them until they tear. But this time, when I started my day feeling a bit blind, I knew I couldn't blame the contacts. They're brand new.

I mentioned my predicament to Mom. She seemed unconcerned --thought maybe it was cyclic or having to do with differences in water retention or something that would fix itself. So I went merrily on my sightless way.

Friday night we had a family dinner to bid farewell to my grandparents who were making their semi-annual migration over the weekend. I had been preparing a piano arrangement of my grandpa's favorite song for the occasion, but I had yet to memorize it (I really wasn't planning to ever memorize it). When I sat down to practice Friday morning, I realized my lack of sight would be detrimental to the performance because I needed to read the notes. I could not tell the lines from the spaces on the sheet music. We enjoyed dinner with my grandparents without any entertainment from the lady. Oh well. I'll see them again in 6 months.

Saturday was a new day. I was hoping it would also be a new day for my eyes, but the world was still mysteriously blurry. We visited the Science Center and Wegmans, then attended the evening session of Stake Conference. I drove my boys and June Howard home afterward so that Patrick could stay for more. All of this I did feeling oh so handicapped and headached and frustrated. But I tried not to let on. At home, the boys made it to bed long past their bedtime (feeling handicapped makes me move slow too). As soon as they were tucked in, I rushed to the bathroom determined to experiment with my eyes until I found a solution. And just as I reached in to take the right contact out, an idea exploded like a firework in my head: This is the left one.

No, I thought, this is the right one.

Just try it, the response exploded just like the first.

So I carefully made the switch, still feeling doubtful. I'm not that careless, I reasoned. Who switches their contacts? The result said it all. It turns out I am that careless and I did switch my contacts. It probably wasn't the first time either. I've trashed many many contacts thinking they weren't working because they were too old. Turns out, they probably had ended up in the wrong eyes. Now I know.