Goats, Math, and a Little Catch-Up Writing

We are on the living room couch — Mike and I. He’s lying on his side looking at the laptop, and I’m sitting in the small triangle of couch created by his bent legs — my own legs folded over his — reading. It’s nearly 9:00 p.m., and all the kids are in bed except for Penny who is showering, and Jesse, Daisy and Goldie who are at the kitchen table doing homework. (Daisy’s homework is not her own, rather, she is helping Jesse with his math which, for reasons that aren’t at all clear to me, he’s finding hilarious beyond belief. [“It’s math, Mom,” Daisy says when I question all the laughter. “It’s just funny.”])

“Wow,” Mike suddenly says in a low tone of surprise. “That is a GOOD deal!”

I look over at his computer screen.

It’s goats. A mom and two babies. $100.

“Seriously,” Mike says, “That is an amazing deal. I’ve got to call my dad.”

“I don’t think he’s in the market for a goat,” I tell him.

He knows. It doesn’t matter. In a few minutes they are on the phone and I hear, “And you know what mom says ‘if it’s a good deal, even if you don’t need it, you better get it!’” (That is absolutely not what his mom says.)

And now, while Mike is discussing goats with his dad, Jesse is exclaiming, “I’m crying! Look! I’m laughing so hard I’m actually crying!” (as he plugs along with Daisy through his math page); and Goldie and I are speculating that if the goats are such a great deal there must be a catch (bad goats probably) (Mike says, “Not the baby goats, they can’t be bad, . . . yet); and I am thinking how nice it is to be jotting down this moment and wishing that more days allowed for a few minutes of doing something I simply want to do (like write).

As it is, I begin each day thinking, hopefully, I might manage to upload and edit a few of the months' worth of photos collected on my camera card; or I might fit in a bit of writing; or I might sit down and try to play just one song on the piano; and I then arrive at bed, much later than one who wakes at 6:20 a.m. should, having found every moment of the day filled with . . . not those things. 

But! Here I am tonight. My "notes" section pulled up on my phone. Writing. (Even if it isn't any of the 100 things I've wanted to write in the past month. And even if it involves tapping with my middle finger [I know, I know, I've never managed thumbs or even index fingers). And trying to remind myself that even though those moments are sparse right now -- and will be for likely years to come -- they do come. And, in the meantime, it isn't only the busy demands that make it hard to find that time, it is also . . . all those happy things that I can't find time to upload from my camera card. And so, for now, I will settle for sharing the glimpses of a few of those happenings that I've taken with or pulled over to my phone (even if I can hardly bear thinking of all the pictures I have not pulled over!)

This little sprite. She is half a year old! (That means it was also an entire half year ago that Abe opened his mission call!) And all of that means . . . time goes quickly. 

She's just grown her first two teeth. And has learned to sleep unswaddled (oh she looks dear sleeping with her little hands curled up by her face!). And is beginning to sit on her own (though she wobbles and eventually falls to the side). And, even still, the circumstances of her coming to our family sometimes overwhelm me. Not only the parts I know -- that I was extended an offer by God himself to accept this child if I chose to, and that, barring that moment of heaven parting and speaking to a blithely clueless me (who was a million miles away from expecting such a thing) I should never ever have thought to bring her here. But also the parts I don't know in words at all. Just . . . this swelling feeling that big, beautiful things were made whole and right by her coming here; that God is so so kind and that He helps us to be a part of things so grand we can hardly yet comprehend them at all; and that things hoped for -- long before we came to earth -- He is tirelessly and faithfully arranging, nudging and kindly allowing us to follow through on. 

And there is this. Labor Day weekend. A last summer trip to Bear Lake. It was our first without Abe. He told the kids they could break his spectacular Lego robots once he left. But they still haven't had the heart to. A million more pictures are sitting on my camera of this weekend. But here are a few. The beach. Feeding the fish. A small hike (where Anders and Summer in particular convinced themselves Bigfoot was real). And a quick stop on the way home at Ricks Spring.

A visit to the temple. Brigham City is five minutes further away, but I end up there on occasion because the drive is so much more pleasant.

A walk at Oak Lawn Park. (One of my favorite, tiny spots for us to wander). Only a year ago Abe was completing an Eagle Project clearing out all the dead underbrush and branches along this very trail.

 

A visit to Powder Mountain. I had high hopes for this little adventure -- even packing a picnic and a pan of decorated gingerbread cookies made by Daisy. And the kids did have fun enough climbing about. But . . . also . . . it was cold, and there was crying, and there was also a rather miserable disaster in the pants of one of the smaller children. . . . Hahah. Ohhhhh life. But, we did see a fox on the way home. That was something!

And that is all for now. As usual, I will end thinking cheerily to myself, "Maybe I will write again tomorrow!" And maybe I will. Or maybe I will think "tomorrow" for thirty more days. But! More will come tomorrow. Whenever that tomorrow comes.