Ryan and Dan...

Our daycare provider Jane, and her husband Dan, have become like family to us. Jane has been right there, front and center, for over four years, facing our struggles with us and celebrating our joys. And when Dan comes home from work the kids run to meet him, just as they do when they see their Grandpa Nelson.

Jane sent me these pictures that another daycare parent took of Ryan and Dan playing in the leaves, and I just had to share them. These two are such good buds.

Ryan looks so teeny, tiny in that big pile of leaves.

Our little Bubby Bear. 

This picture almost put tears in my eyes.
I can hear their laughter as they have all kinds of fun together.

This land is our land...

Jake and I are now the proud owners of one full acre of dirt and rocks and trees...
and some day we're going to put a house on it.

Yesterday we bought a lot in a small subdivision (just 4 lots) that is only a few miles from where we currently live. We won't build for a few years, but we are excited to finally start the process of owning our "dream home."

This land is our land.

Jake is standing about where our living room will be.

Our view to the northwest.
A-ma-zing.

The first day...

Rachel starts pre-school today.
She was super excited, and was dressed and ready to go in record time this morning.
I really wanted to watch her get on the bus, but we decided that it would be best if I wasn't there.

So, instead, I checked the clock every minute, wondering where she was and what she was doing.

I hugged her good-bye, and when she saw tears in my eyes she said, "Don't worry mommy, I'll be back soon, and then I'll tell you all about my day."

This chalk board was made from a piece of slate that was
used in the one-room school house my dad went to
as a child.

Rachel on her first day of pre-school.
The camera lens kept fogging over from the high humidity.

I can't believe this day is already here...

And she's off...
She'll go to daycare and get on the bus with the big kids.

The big sister and her little brother with their daddy.

Rachel starts pre-school today, and I start graduate school.

The Fall 2014 semester also starts today.
My classes start tomorrow.

Grandpa...

Yesterday I had the privilege and honor of speaking at my grandpa's funeral.

Grandpa was blessed with a long, happy life, and as his life drew to an end he was then blessed with the opportunity to say good-bye to his children before he peacefully passed away.

When making plans for his funeral, grandpa had asked that the two oldest grandchildren share some of their thoughts at the service. Given that I'm not either of those (I'm more like the 12th oldest), it was a bittersweet moment for me to read through the family's special memories as I stood next to the second oldest grandchild. The oldest grandchild, Steve, passed away six years ago. And we all still miss him terribly.

My cousin began our remarks by sharing some of his special memories of grandpa. Next, I had the following comments before reading through several family stories. I wasn't sure how to end so I googled, "what to say at a funeral" and found the concluding poem.

In 2009 our family collected stories and special memories that we had of grandpa, and then read them aloud to him on his 90^th birthday.  As we reminisced about the past, patterns began to emerge in our recollections of him.

Grandpa was a hard worker, a provider, and a helping hand.

He had a servant’s heart and was humble and kind and giving.

Grandpa found joy in life and faced death not with fear, but with peace.

Even only as one man, he had a profound impact on the lives of countless loved ones, and his legacy lives on in his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

To all of the family members who contributed the following stories, thank you.

When I’m Gone

By Mrs. Lyman Hancock

When I come to the end of my journey

And I travel my last weary mile,

Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned

And remember only the smile.

Forget unkind words I have spoken;

Remember some good I have done,

Forget that I ever had a heartache

And remember I’ve had loads of fun.

Forget that I have stumbled and blundered

And sometimes fell by the way,

Remember I have fought

Some hard battles and won,

Ere the close of the day,

Then forget to grieve for my going,

I would not have you sad for a day,

But in summer just gather some flowers

And remember the place where I lay

And come in the evening

When the sun paints the sky to the west,

Stand for a few moments beside me

And remember only my best.

Grandpa
-photo taken by my cousin Rhonda-

Who are you...

I've noticed that I've been thinking a lot lately about who I am. Not that I don't know I'm a mom, a co-worker, a wife, etc. But, I mean, who am I? What makes up my being? How am I defined? If asked, can I accurately describe myself?

As the caterpillar once inquired... "Whoooooo Rrrrrr Uuuuu?"
Side question- what's with Alice in Wonderland? Why did society ever approve the use of hookah-smoking caterpillars, drunken party-goers, glutenous walruses, and raging lunatics in children's movies?

Who am I?

Well, first there's the easy stuff. I'm a mom, a wife, a co-worker, a daughter, a sister, a Christian and soon, a student. At one time I had blond hair, I'm legally blind in one eye, and I've had more surgeries than I can count. But, does that really define me? I'm not sure...

A few weeks ago I tried to complete a simple questionnaire that asked about my hobbies. I sat, staring at the question, wondering what to write down. Hobbies? What are those? Do you mean like dressing, feeding, and carting children around; collapsing on the couch as soon as the kids are in bed; and trying to manage a household while still maintaining full-time working (outside of the home) mom status?

Or, do you mean something more like taking long walks, reading books, blogging, organizing photos, and playing piano? I know that at some point in my life I would have listed those as hobbies, but when does something go from being a hobby that I no longer have time for to being only a memory of something I used to like to do...when I had the time, energy and money?

Do my goals and aspirations define me? I hope to build a house some day (we even have the blue prints already); I plan to complete my Master's degree before Ryan finishes first grade; and I am excited about where my career path might lead me. Does that provide framework for defining who I am?

What about my interests? I'm interested in leadership opportunities, career development, and education. On the other hand, I also enjoy time with friends (never enough of that... I miss my friends!), growing beautiful flowers, and developing and nurturing my children. So, can I say that's who I am?

I am passionate about things like supporting the success of students of all ages and backgrounds, creating an environment that encourages meaningful worship at church, and providing knowledge and advice, both personal and professional, whenever possible. Even though I'm still struggling to fully define my passions, can I use them to define me?

I'm self-conscience about my weight. I fear that I'm always saying the wrong thing or making myself out to be a fool. I can't keep my house clean, weeds pulled, or my laundry done, and I hardly ever cook (my husband often makes our meals). My children, most likely, aren't being disciplined the way someone else thinks they should be, and I don't read to them as often as I should. I worry about our finances, wonder why we can't "keep up with the Jones" and feel anxious when we can't afford nicer things or contribute more money when asked. Sometimes I get upset over ridiculous things, I cry at just about everything, I feel like life is a competition and I'm not always winning, and I gossip. Can I leave these things off the list or must I also include them in what makes me, me?

I'm affiliated with one political party, but almost always vote for the other one. I'm not sure where I stand on several social issues. I have strong opinions about some things, but I very rarely disclose them. Because I'm "on the fence" can I use this information to describe me, or must I wait until I know how it all fits together?

I like fresh fruits and vegetables, but never eat enough of them. I prefer salty to sweet. I hate cheese, love meat, and enjoy an iced coffee every morning for breakfast. Does what I put into my body define my being?

I want to change the world, but do it quietly and loud. I want to start things, but once I'm started I wonder why I ever started and how I will ever finish. My body no longer belongs to me. It is often, instead, a vessel used to meet the needs of my children (Who cares if I feel like I might break a hip bending over to pick up a toy while holding my son? He wants the toy and I don't have time to put him down, so....).

I used to have hobbies. I can list some of my interests and goals and aspirations. I am passionate...sometimes. I have faults and defaults. My ideas and feelings occasionally waiver. I do not always recognize the person that I see in the mirror.

But, I suppose, that is who I am.

Soccer (finally)...

A few months ago I signed Rachel up for Tiny Tot soccer, and officially became a soccer mom.

Here's the proof

The season is just six weeks long and each game is only 45 minutes, which is just about perfect. Her games should have stared in April, but the fields were still covered in snow. And then it rained. And rained again. And again.

I was in Kansas City for a conference when Rachel played her first soccer game. I absolutely hated missing it, and was super excited to finally watch her play last night.

First they warm up and each are given a ball to kick around in circles.

We got there early, and she started playing right away.

And then the game starts, and all of the kids run in a herd towards the ball. Not even markings on the field can stop them from their madness. What's that you say? Our field ends after the white line? No worries...the grass keeps going and so shall we.

The coaches each run along side the field and
throw a ball back in every time one gets kicked out.
So, like, about every minute or two.

I have to give a whole load of credit to the coaches. Coaching a soccer game played by 3 and 4 year-olds is not a whole lot different than herding cats around with a yarn ball.

I can only imagine what this conversation is about.
I would bet that it has nothing to do with soccer and
more to do with some random flower that she spotted in the distance.

Rachel has tons of fun playing soccer, especially when no one else is around to keep her from the ball. We're still working on what it means to "go after the ball and stop waiting for someone to pass it to her." I'm not sure how to explain that at this point in her life she will have to actually go get the ball, but someday, if she sticks with this sport, she will play on a team where passing the ball is essential. That's too much information for now, I suppose.

Finally! The one tall, really good, teammate isn't around
and she gets a stab at kicking the ball.

But, it turns out that 45-minute games are much too long. With about 15 minutes left she pretty much gave up. We found her out in the ditch looking for flowers, directed her back to the field, and begged her to stay with her teammates.

And...we're done.

At first we tried to confine Ryan to his stroller but eventually we let him run around with his own soccer ball. It appears that our days of Tiny Tot soccer have only begun.

Speaking of Ryan...

My special little guy all snuggled up with daddy and Jill Giraffe.

All smiles with the toy box.

In pictures...

I have tons of pictures of my kids. I'm not in any of them, but I have at least a thousand of them on my camera. About twice a year I finally get around to actually removing the photos, and then I do something completely crazy with them. I order hard copies of them. And put them into photo albums.

So bizarre, right?

Some of my most favorite childhood memories involve my family huddled around large photo albums on cold winter nights, laughing at my parents' choice of clothing and pointing out particularly special items that had been forgotten. I remember laughing so hard I cried. And I remember crying. And feeling happy.

That is why I order photos, arrange them (as best I can) in chronological order, and store them in albums. Real, actual albums. Not "e-albums" or whatever kids are calling them these days. Because, some day, I intend to make memories with those photos.

That being said, I'm totally going to cheat and put these pictures on my blog. Because who has time to print and arrange photos?

P.S. I really cheated. These aren't even from my camera.
Mom, thanks for the photos.

My little blond surfer/hippie child.
I was waiting for his curls to grow back but they never did
so I had to cut his hair.

Rachel building a cup tower during her very first
elementary school Fun Night. 

No school Fun Night would be complete without a spaceship and planet tattoo
for the physics teacher's daughter

Beethoven? Not so much.
Adorable? Um, yes!

He looks so little in grandpa's big tractor

Our little lamb meets grandpa's lambs

Trying so hard to see the sheep

Two little "farm kids in training" enjoying a beautiful spring day
on grandpa's tractor.