Lunch can get boring so we gave it a little splash of color last week. I let Lincoln go through the pantry and fridge and find all things orange. This is what he came up with. Fun, no?
He was pretty proud of his creation and I was pretty proud that he actually ate it.
Win. Win.
I think I'll let him "design" lunch more often!
You probably didn't know that it was International Harry Potter Day a few days ago, right? That's okay. Me either. Until I saw an Instagram post from my sister-in-law, Rhonna. I casually mentioned to Dallin while we were waiting for the bus on Wednesday that it was Harry Potter day. His eyes lit up. Of course they did! This boy LOVES Harry Potter. He can always be found carrying a book, sneaking in a little reading time wherever he goes. He's already halfway through the series for the second time. Surely he can't be my boy. But I love his passion for it.
He asked me if we were going to do anything to celebrate. Ummmm, maybe. I hesitated. But as the day went on that maybe became a no. That night before he went to bed, he begged that we could do a little something the next day. I kissed him good night and assured him I'd do something.
After perusing some lovely ideas here, I went to my stash to see what I could figure out at 9:00pm. I didn't have any of the right stuff but with some creativity, I improvised. I dug up some old Halloween candy eyeballs, printed out a menu and slapped some potion labels on mason jars.
When he came downstairs the next morning, his eyes were as big as Christmas. Ah, mission accomplished.
The broomsticks were super easy to make. I grabbed some jute, gathered it together, and glued it to a wooden dowel following Heather's tutorial.
A little side note, this photo at breakfast was not staged at all. What did I tell you? He carries a Harry Potter book with him everywhere! The menu included PolyJuice Potion: smoothies, Golden Snitch cakes: mini pancakes, and Jelly slugs: scrambled eggs.
They really wanted a continuation of the festivities after school, so when they got home I had some wizarding hats ready. I coated the sugar cones in melted chocolate chips, dipped the bottom in cookies & cream sprinkles and placed them on top of donuts. Nothing healthy about this after-school snack, but oh well!
For drinks, I put different colors of food coloring in the bottom of cups and then poured in Sprite. They loved finding out what color they got.
I'd say from their faces, the day was a hit! Ella is already planning for next year. Good thing I've got 363 days until then.
You know Tom, Dick, and Harry Jr. are taking pictures with their phones…and I have been too. It's so much quicker to catch life with a camera that fits in my back pocket.
Here's what it's been looking like around our place. The only thing missing here is the chaos. I think there is a lot more of that than all of this. But I'm sure glad I get a little bit of both.
She brings imagination. She brings independence. She brings determination. She brings laughter. She brings surprise. She brings softness. She brings stories. She brings whimsy. She brings happiness.
She brings light.
I'm so grateful all of those things and more have come into my life because she is in it.
I'm still kind of pinching myself that this actually happened. It's one of those things on my bucket list that I figured would probably kick the bucket instead of ending up in it. What a dream it turned out to be.
After a lot cajoling, I finally convinced Jeff that this would be a good idea. I knew it had to be a good idea. I mean, when could Paris not ever be a good idea? At least that's what I kept telling him. He bought it. Oh, good man that he is.
It was definitely tricky trying to make it all happen in one day. Our day began at 3:00 am with a cab ride into London to catch a train from there to the heart of Paris. We arrived bleary eyed but with a spring in our step. Just the two of us. On an adventure of a lifetime.
With not too much time before our train left that evening, we hit all the biggies…the Eiffel tower being the real biggie, of course. A trip to the top with butterflies in my stomach was the highlight.
I can see why it's a city for artists, for lovers, for designers, for adventurers and for Sabrina movie quoters. You know I love me some Sabrina.
Even she said it herself, Paris is always a good idea. Yes. Yes, it is.
Last week I did something dumb. It went like this.
It had been a long day, an even longer week, and I was exhausted on all counts. By about 5pm, I was starting to lose my noodle and I wasn't sure what to do about it. I had just picked up Dallin from scouts and decided that in order to give myself a little energy to make it through the rest of the lackluster night, I would pump up some music and blast my brain silly.
And that's just what I did. I found the teeniest teeny bopper song I could, cranked it full on, and started thumping down the street. Call Me Maybe was sounding 'round the neighborhood. By the time I got into the driveway, the kids were jamming with me so I pulled into the garage, rolled down the windows, and let them hang out the sun roof. I figured I'd spare the neighbors a little noise by shutting the garage door behind me. It was our private little dance party with me as dj …"letting your hair down" at its finest.
Next thing I knew, we were moving. After a quick jolt, I turned around to see what had happened. Somehow the gear shift slipped out of park, we rolled back and slammed right into the garage door. Everyone screamed and suddenly the dance party was over. Boy, did I feel silly. Slightly embarassed. A bit ridiculous. All of that. But very glad that nothing too scary happened.
It was quiet as we all sheepishly walked inside the house. Then a smile spread across my face as I laughed and thought to myself, Hey Mr. Garage Door Repairman, Call Me Maybe?
My trip down Portobello Road wasn't quite as eventful as the Bedknobs and Broomsticks sort but still, the place was hopping. I ventured out into the city alone on a Saturday morning not sure of what I'd find. I'd only heard of Portobello Road in songs and movies but it sounded like a good adventure in the little time that I had. I pulled out my trusty Tube map and headed in that direction. After stopping to wander around a springy Notting Hill, I followed the hoards of people walking towards the famous street.
It didn't disappoint in the least. Even though the crowds and tourists were in full force, I loved the bustle of it. Antiques, street sellers, musicians, food…and a beautiful sunny day made it perfect. I hadn't planned on spending as much time there as I did but I kind of got carried away in it all.
Especially the music. My favorite new find was an amazing voice, Robbie Boyd. First thing I did after getting home was google him to see how to hear more. Hoping to see more of him in the future.
And the food? I couldn't pass up a drippy, gooey, delicious crepe. I met an old guy on the street who was laughing while watching me stuff my mouth with one hand and take pictures with the other. What can I say though…food and a camera will make me just about as happy as it gets. Only thing that would have made it better would have been to have Jeff with me. He was working while I was out playing. Now I feel guilty. Shoot. Well, I guess we'll just have to go back again so he can come next time. 🙂
Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your words of encouragement and kindness. I appreciate you more than you know. It's good to be in the company of friends.
Well, let's get back to the good stuff, shall we? And this is good stuff…this is London.
A little over a week ago, I was here. Crazy, I know.
This is how it happened: Traveling husband that only sees his wife when she's asleep decides that if they are ever really going to talk to each other he needs to take her along. I kid. I kid. Ok, sort of. Having Jeff gone so much lately hasn't been easy. It stinks. A lot. But I guess if he packs me in his suitcase every now and again, I can't complain.
Especially if it's here. Truly one of my favorite places. For so many reasons. It awakens something inside of me. It awakens a feeling of creativity, learning, adventure, ancestry, and maybe a little missionary too.
I loved it all. The iconic sights. The tube. The trees blossoming on Notting Hill. The eye candy at Liberty of London. The castle in the countryside. The European style. Oh how I love that style. And the sounds on Portobello Road? Amazing.
All of it made me feel alive. And counting the days until I can feel that rush again. I think I'm addicted. 🙂
It’s been too long. Way too long.
So long that I’ve gotten a little rusty. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve let this part of my world sit in the corner and collect dust for a little while. But for good reason. Life has a way of pulling us in many different directions and often we find ourselves in the middle of it all not really moving anywhere.
That was me about six months ago.
Jeff had just taken on a new position at work that shook our world up a bit. He would be traveling. A lot. I was already knee deep in the holiday photography season and with this new change I felt like I was drowning immediately. I had no idea how I was going to keep everything afloat. And the reality was, I couldn’t. The next few months were a blur of long days, sleepless nights, and unwelcomed anxiety. Every once in a while I’d open up my blog and glance at these beautiful moments I never wanted to forget while wishing, ironically, that I could really just forget everything.
January came and the good news was I made it through the busy season. The bad news was my anxiety was at an all time high. I thought that once things had slowed down I’d be able to breathe. But the chance to breathe never really came. I recall being at a baptism one Saturday morning when everything just fell apart…I fell apart. Jeff was gone again. I was there alone trying to manage my children who weren’t exactly angels that day. After what felt like a three-ring circus stuck inside a washing machine, I ended up packing them up early and heading out the door when a friend stopped to offer help with the children. I began to sob. I was so grateful for her sincere offer but at that moment, I realized it was me that needed the most help.
I was just too afraid to ask.
I was afraid of feeling embarassed. Or having people know that I couldn’t hack it. Or wondering what others would think of me. I didn’t want to be the “one” who had a nervous breakdown. In my mind, those kinds of things you could never socially recover from. So I hid from it all until that day. And that’s when I made a crucial decision. I didn’t care. I didn’t care who knew I was struggling. I didn’t care what others might say or think. I made the choice to simply not care. Probably one of the best choices I’ve ever made.
Once I reached that pivotal point, I had to decide what was going to work for me. The next week I started meeting with a counselor. Difficult to do? Uh, extremely. I was hesitant to go but so glad I did. She is wonderful. I left with a couple homework assignments. One of them being to pick up a book on anxiety and read more about it. I ended up at Barnes & Noble and grabbed about six books to thumb through. A little much I admit but I was feeling that if one was good, six would be even better right? Once again, feeling a little embarassed, I repeated to myself “It’s okay. It’s all right. I don’t care.” Sheepishly, I set my books down at the check out, hoping I could make this as quick as possible. Wouldn’t you know it, the 17-year-old at the counter decides he’s going to be overly helpful by offering me some of his seasoned wisdom while ringing me up.
“Exercise helps with both depression and anxiety, you know.” He stated matter of factly.
Really? Why didn’t I think of that? I thought sarcastically. I could have slapped the insensitivity right out of his pubescent face.
“Yes. You’re right.” I quickly mumbled as I picked up my books and skirted out the door. I had just failed my first test at not caring. I got into my car and sat there quietly for a few minutes. I didn’t need six books. I probably didn’t really even need one. I needed the Lord. He knew that. I knew that. He was just waiting on me like He always has been. Come to think of it, Mr. 17-year-old-know-it-all was right too.
So I tucked away my pride, got down on my knees, dusted off my running shoes and went to work.
It’s been three months since that time and you know what? I feel good. Really. Really. Good. Jeff is still traveling. Life is still crazy. My children have not become angels. (Sometimes though). But I feel like I have a new set of tools for understanding myself, my weaknesses, my strengths, and my ability to cope with life’s challenges. I feel strong. I feel the Lord teaching me and showing me how much he loves me and the family he has blessed me with. He wants me to succeed. He wants all of us to succeed.
I share this openly here with a lot of mixed feelings. Being an open book is not something that is easy for me. But I’ve felt very strongly that I need to be a voice. I need to be a voice for those that struggle like I do. Or with something different entirely. I’m convinced that we as women each face something that challenges our self-worth or ability to see ourselves as God does. Might be depression, body image or eating disorders, infertility, loneliness, marital or family struggles, or just plain feeling like we don’t measure up to unrealistic expectations. We all feel something. It’s okay to be you and it’s okay to need help. I’m gonna say that again. Â
It’s okay to be you and it’s okay to need help!
Don’t be afraid to ask. Really. Please. Don’t be afraid of making changes that will only put you on a better path. And if you are like me, don’t be afraid of what 17, 30, or even 80-year-olds think. It doesn’t matter.
Thank you to those who have reached out to me lately. I love you. Know that if you are coming here, I consider you a friend. And by me being a little bit more of me I hope you feel it’s okay to be you.
p.s. I haven’t been in complete hiding. Instagram has filled this void while I’ve been gone. If you want to catch up, you can find me here
While fevorishly trying to finish gifts and projects before Christmas is on my doorstep, I came across this Christmas memory from last year. It was our first trip on the Polar Express. Because of a snow storm (in Arizona!) we almost missed it. Luckily we were the last ones onto the train with 0 minutes to spare.
Wonder. Excitement. Amazement. It was all there and more. These are moments I never want to forget.
