9:30 p.m. on a Weds. Night

It's 9:30 p.m. and the house is quiet. Well, not like ... quiet quiet. I hear Summer squealing to Penny about something. And Jesse and Anders seem to be engaged in a lively discussion (I just heard, amidst much that I could not make out, the clear words "battling Spider Man"). 

But, they are all in bed! (Saving Goldie who is at work and who, as far as I can tell, between homework and her schedule, is never actually in bed.) Still, as I was saying, the house is sort of quiet! And I'm done with the necessary demands of the day (I even, somehow, got my Sunday School lesson all good to go this afternoon [which has never once happened this early]), and my typing here, at this not-too-incredibly-late hour, with nobody bothering me ... is quite the miracle. 

(Which is lovely. But also a bit sad because ... do you remember my first ten or twelve years of parenting? When every kid in bed by 8:00 was the norm? That was a lovely time. Perhaps ten or twelve years of parenting would have been a good time to have signed off on the job. "Thanks for the exposure to parenting, kids. It was great fun! I'll see ya' around." [Heehee. Hoho. Just kidding. ... Sort of.])

A moment ago we were digging through Halloween boxes -- trying to assemble costumes for their school party tomorrow. (I'm always a smidgen disappointed that I have rarely managed to take advantage of the opportunity for elaborate costume planning. It seems it might have added an element of extra excitement to our mortal Octobers. But, [shrug], who knows. Maybe digging through boxes in a frenzy is its own excitement. After all, Summer, who had already found her costume weeks ago in her grandma's basement, [and who had been put to bed long before costume boxes were dragged out] heard the boys rummaging about, seemed to sense what was afoot, and came upstairs pleading to stay awake a little longer for the annual unearthing of old costumes].)

And just now, Jesse wandered out of his room to tell me it was too hot to sleep in there and then, after a few suggestions from me (close the heater vents, open the window for a minute), said, "I like when you are up here. It makes me feel more safe." (Our computer desk is in the loft just outside of his bedroom.) Oh I do like being their security. I take back all that earlier business about how I should have left off parenting ten years ago. Ha!

In other news:

More of Starling climbing on the counter.

And it's not just the counter anymore. 75% of the day she is in my arms (or clinging to my legs in screaming furry that she isn't in my arms) (oh that girl loves me!); but the 25% of the time she isn't in my arms? She's dragging stools around and using them to climb to every dangerous or trouble-making spot imaginable. (And whenever I hear piano keys clanking I have to run remove her from standing on the top of our piano.) Most of the time now our stools are placed on top of our counters (for her safety and our sanity). And I miss a kitchen ... without barstools standing on all the counters.

But oh she is a delight. We will hear her in her bed saying little numbers to herself, "1, 2, 3, 7, 9" or singing garbled bits of the alphabet song. And for any new word she learns or surprise piecing together of words ("fire, hot", "moon in the sky", "night-night guys") she has a hundred siblings clapping, cheering, exclaiming how cute she is, and touting her as the smartest baby ever. It's not a bad way to experience toddlerhood.

Speaking of toddlers (and speaking of ... speaking), Hans, at age three, has a lovely and full vocabulary. And he loves to use it to tell us very lengthy stories. Unfortunately the longer his stories get, the more tiresome he begins to find enunciation and word separation -- which often leads to us misunderstanding, responding incorrectly, inspiring his wrath, and the whole story needing begun again. It's quite the cycle.

On the other end of the spectrum (age wise), Daisy was home last weekend. We hadn't seen her since conference which, I suppose, isn't so very long, but it feels so happy when she is here! We are already eagerly exclaiming how wonderful it will be having her for more than two-measly nights over Thanksgiving. And then grumping that she will have to drive back to Prove to work on Friday. But then happily comforting ourselves with, "But then you can just drive right back home again! And we will still have two nights!"

And Abe. I have my little Five Year Journal that allows me to see what we were doing last year (or two, or three years ago, etc) on the same day. Last year at this time, I'd be writing things about Abe on his mission and I'd think, "And on this day last year he was here! Carving pumpkins with us." or "Last year at this exact moment he was taking his AP Calculus test. And now he's gone!" It seemed impossible and completely crazy that a year's time could change everything so much. BUT! Surprisingly, this year, I find myself just as shocked to have circled to a point where "last year at this time" he was also on a mission! It seems so strange that something so big and so life-changing ... is no longer this new, wholly unfamiliar thing we are living (with years of it ahead), rather, he's ... kind of ... becoming one of the seasoned, old missionaries! He's only got eight months left. My mind can't make sense of any of it.

A bit from a recent letter (that reminded me of Elder Uchtdorf's Oct. 2019 Conference talk):

"Home is kind of like the Shire. Right now I'm off on a grand adventure, which, like any adventure, has plenty of fun and excitement, but also the hard work of the body, sacrifice of the heart, and effort of the soul that make it real. We're already far beyond the Misty Mountains and the rolling green hills of The Shire, and there is no sense spending every second wishing oneself somewhere you're not. That takes the fire out of the adventure. And I suppose there is no greater adventure than the literal battle of good versus evil, the long road to becoming like God, and the giant task of bringing light to another human soul. Easier adventures aren't so memorable nor so rewarding. ... Someday all too soon the adventure will be over and I will be called home. But for now ... here's to adventure."

And, to end, some pictures of an evening spent in the canyon not long ago. (I think this was where Starling learned both, "fire, hot" and "moon in the sky".)