weekend

missing tooth

dinosaur pancakes   sweats

yard work   fresh soil

pink cheeks   gardening gloves

giggling girls   sore muscles

date night   good friends

homemade granola   tart frozen yogurt

new pants   dress shoes

clean haircut   scriptures

articles of faith   pulpit   ordination

priesthood   grandparents

sunday walk   neighbors

roast & potatoes

euphoria

You're Phat

Fortitude:

strength

of

mind

that

enables

a 

person

to 

bear

pain

or

adversity

with

courage

You

amaze

me

with

your

fortitude

h a p p y b i r t h d a y b r a y d e n

37 going on 90

Bo:  "Do you want to keep this?"  

         holding up a newly emptied butter container

Me:  "For what?" 

Bo:  "I don't know.  To put leftovers in or something."  

Me:  "I don't think we meet the age requirement for saving those yet."

Please understand that I'm not against being frugal, especially in today's market.  Used food containers just invoke strong memories for me, most of which are tied to my grandmother's fridge.  A 12 year old girl looking for Cool Whip and Surprise! it's casserole from the week before.  Sour Cream?  Nope.  Broccoli and raisin salad.

We have tupperware that has promised to exceed it's allotted, oversized cupboard and a drawer full of lids that will be lucky if they ever see their mates again.  I don't think we need to add a whipped butter container to the mix.

Flash forward to this morning:

I sit down to my morning ritual of 1/2 a bowl of non-sugar cereal, 1/4 cup of non-sweetened grapefruit juice, a calcium pill, two fish oil capsules, a multivitamin for women and a B-12 supplement.  I've been having the same thing for breakfast since 2002.  How old am I?  Ninety?!

In my defense, it's a good thing that I'm eating breakfast at all.  I didn't partake of  breakfast consistently for the first 32 years of my life.  Sure, my mom tried to impart this most important of habits, but breakfast just isn't my thing. I hate sweets in the morning which includes all things covered in syrup.  I'm not a big fan of fruit either.  (Gasp)  Now if I could sit down to some celery and cucumbers I'd be all over it . . . but raw veggies haven't caught on to the breakfast buffet for some reason.  Now an omelette is a socially acceptable way to get red peppers, artichoke hearts, feta and mushrooms onto the table at the break of dawn.  Unfortunately I can't make an omelette to save my life.

So I've finally found something I could stomach.  Cheerios and grapefruit juice.  I keep serving it up for myself each morning after I've fed my clan a warm breakfast.  

I'm bugging myself. 

There ought to be an age requirement for getting into an eating rut.  Maybe there is.  Maybe I've met it.  

I'd better tell Bo to hold on to that yogurt container when he's finished.

I've got 19, so why am I concerned with the two?

That's right.  Nineteen nieces and nephews.  Each one magical and beautiful in their own right. I share my home state with 17 of them.  I get to chart their growth, hear their laughter, listen to tales of school, and sports and even their crushes.

I am spoiled indeed.

And then there are the two.

Two of my nieces boarded the plane back to Boston yesterday.  Each time we part ways I wonder if they will remember.  Remember how we giggled together.  How I whispered secrets to them while cuddling them close. Remember how much I love them.

I remind myself that reconnecting can be like seeing "that special friend" again.  You know the kind. The friend you don't have to keep in close contact with to know you love each other.  You move effortlessly back into the relationship the minute you're in each others presence.  It's moving on from where you are without wasting time catching up on the past.  

Maybe somewhere in their little hearts they've made a place.  

Maybe that place will whisper to them that I'm 

"that special friend." 

Mmmm

I got to sleep with this last night.

It was one of the best nights of

no sleep

I've ever had.

shrimp, asparagus, Israeli style couscous with red quinoa . . .

My sister commondered my kitchen last night.  She gave my two oldest an impromptu cookingclass full of useful tips like cleaning raw shrimp, chopping cilantro and cooking couscous.  This is nothing short of a miracle considering she ate food straight from a can all through college . . . and a little beyond.  

Sisters are SOOO overrated . . .

That used to be my frame of mind anyway.  My sister and I have never been in the same time in life.  She's years younger than I am and so I felt cheated when I couldn't call her up to discuss marriage, work or babies.  She moved to Boston shortly after she graduated from college, met the love of her life and got married . . . just after I had given birth to my FOURTH child.  Now there were miles and miles that would keep us from double dates, play dates at the park with our little ones and late night drives just to "talk."  I felt cheated.  "Sisters are overrated," I would tell those that were mourning the fact that they didn't have a sister.  

I'm not sure what changed all of that for me.  Maybe it was holding Becky's newborn up close and snuggling into her neck for the first time.  Maybe it was spending time in Becky's home and seeing the amazing mother and wife she has become.  It could be the discovery of "video chat" that has allowed us those late night talks I was yearning for.  It may be knowing that there is someone on the other side of the country that just "gets me."  She knows my weaknesses, my talents, my past and my present.  She loves me and accepts me just the way I am . . . even knowing all she does.

Becky's coming to town today.  I think I'll share a bit of chocolate with her and talk late into the night about everything, and nothing at all . . .