Wistful, Shaved Ice, and Good People Here

Lately I've noticed myself feeling a bit wistful as I witness things like ... two young sisters, squashed and squabbling in a cart at IKEA, their weary parents trying to keep them quiet while they order food; or a red-headed toddler on his mother's hip spilling a bottle of orange juice all over the floor at the ATV dealership. 

Wistful.

Wistful! 

Me! 

Five of my ten children are still elementary-aged or younger for crying out loud! It isn't as if I'm lacking opportunity to experience ... children misbehaving in public (if that's a thing to be missed at all--which I don't think it is).

But sometimes children are just so darned dear!

The other day, after several hours of sorting through clothes and other miscellany in the boys' room, I took a break and drove all the kids to Northern Ice. I had each kid, in turn, come up to the window of the little shaved-ice shack to announce the flavor they wanted. When I called Summer up, she produced a notebook, cleared her throat, and with great determination and a little nervous speed asked for the three flavors she wanted. And then added a very polite and succinct "please".

I don't quite know what was so sweet about it (just like I don't quite know what makes me feel misty-eyed over a toddler pulling on their parent's shirt and crying over a Little Mermaid doll at the store). Maybe it was something about her planning, or her confidence in those three flavors being the ideal combination, or the way she gripped her little notebook tightly in both hands.

Whatever it was, I find myself becoming a bit more willing to say yes to getting out all the play-doh, filling the kid pool, or letting my kids climb into my bed early on a Saturday morning (to kick and thrash about and repeatedly ask questions that make more sleep nearly impossible).

Abe came home late late last Saturday night. He'd had a full and busy weekend of driving and activities and too much thinking. He seemed exhausted. But he plunked himself down on the couch and told me and the older girls about his weekend and then let his sisters coax him into staying up even later, despite his tiredness, to watch a show with them. 

"Oh," he sighed, before they all went to the basement for their show, "I like coming home and knowing there are good people here!" 

Of course the girls then began to laughingly suggest just who among us might not truly fall under that "good people" umbrella, but it made me so happy: him feeling relief and comfort in returning to his family; and it reminded me of President Oaks talking, in a recent Young Adult devotional, about our pioneer ancestors who forsook all of their material possessions for the sake of faith and family. He then admonished us not to reverse that and choose worldly things over faith and families.

I'm appreciating more and more this opportunity I've been given to create family!

And, since I referenced Oaks' comments about our pioneer ancestors, this seems like as good a place as any to attach these photos from our visit to the graves of some of my ancestors over Memorial Day weekend.