State of Obvious

I've been thinking about breakfast.  Specifically, eggs made with various ingredients from the fridge.  And orange juice that clings to the side of the glass.  And the sound of newspaper opening and closing.  I am thinking of my Grandmother in her bathrobe, smiling, her hair a cotton-candy mess.  I am thinking of choosing which kind of cereal and sitting at the table while the air conditioning whirls and tings in the background.  I am thinking of place-mats and the smell of fresh coffee. Lately I've been wondering why I never took time to ask my grandparents how they met.  What did they think when they first saw each other?  How did they know this was 'it'?  Did they write to each other every day when my Grandpa was off fighting World War II?  Did they struggle the way that I do, did they wonder if they were doing it all wrong, did they give up and start over?  I wish I had asked so many questions, I wish I had more time to ask them.  I have this idealized version o

And everything Nice That's what little Carly's are made of. Most days.

This evening while dinner was in the oven and I stood near the stove, my daughter climbed up on a high stool and sank into the circle of my arms. There is something elemental about a child tucked under your chin the soft cheek against your skin, the hands tucked under your arms or wrapped around your neck, the easy breathing pattern you join into. Even the rowdiest rogue will settle into tranquility, for but a moment, when his head rests against your chest. The primal desire to meld with mother seems to melt away over time. My boy still holds me close, but the moments are fewer and fleet of foot. He still clasps my hand in his, with fingers almost as long as mine wrapped around my palm, but he lets go quickly. The need for security is waning, though in the dark night he still searches to orient his orbit to my location. I remember a time when he fit into that magical space beneath my chin. It wasn't so long ago, and yet feels like ages have passed into shado

My spouse is not my best friend. He and I had this discussion just the other day.  Maybe I'm feeling guilty about it, or like it's not normal, but it seems like other people are best friends with spouses. And I'm just not. Don't get me wrong. It has nothing to do with love.  I love him.  Very much. It has nothing to do with confidences.  I tell him many things, more than I tell anyone else. It has nothing to do with like.  I like him.  I think he is funny, generous, a good father, a loyal friend, a steady ship on a tossed-about sea.  He is a good man. But he is not my best friend.  He is something different.  He falls into another category, one more suitable to the person that shares my troubles, my fears, my triumphs, my children, my home. There are days we function as one entity.  And days we function as two orbiting planets. We argue.  We bicker.  We complain.  We get frustrated and fed up.  Often. But, we also applaud.  We support.  We compliment

While I often wonder, what, exactly is going through the minds of my children I have come to realize it is probably best if I just don't know.  Here they are dressed in "tea party" regalia.

A couple of weeks ago a friend at church called to ask if she could use Carly in a photo shoot for a new website.  Carly participated in this conversation, thanks mainly to the speaker phone her father is fond of, and immediately began excited twirling and posing.   The result of her photo shoot is a few pictures that are part of a really great program called Seminary Street School.   (If you're my facebook friend, you've already been introduced to this great site.  But you really can't get too much of a good thing, right?)  The premise for this new site is simple: scripture based pre-K.  I was really impressed when I saw the actual product that Seminary Street is offering.  The lesson plans offer math, science, writing, cutting practice, craft ideas, scheduling plans, and more.  There are some really ingenious ideas that I haven't seen anywhere else, plus it's just plain fun.  Right now Seminary Street has lesson plans based on Book of Mormon scriptures, but they

Can't sleep. It's one of those nights. Those nights where the hours don't seem to move.  The minutes tick by on tip toes.  The darkness deepens. Unless I close my eyes.  And then it's a light-fest of thoughts, questions, and rapid fire synapses. I could be catching up on housework.  (Would you?) I could be watching soap operas.  (They don't sing, I wonder why it's called an opera?) I could be writing the next best-selling novel.  (It's possible, right?  Write?) I could be tossing in my bed, head on a pillow too hard and under blankets too warm next to a husband that sounds like a truck lives in his nostrils.  But I digress.  (To be fair, he's sick and the truck is louder than normal but it's not his fault.) We've all got worries and woes, mine no bigger than yours, no more pressing, no more solve-able (or less).  My kids don't listen, there is never enough money to go around, school is about to start back up and I'm facing