I Think I Can

While shoveling snow a couple of Saturdays ago, I told Heavenly Father, "I can do Saturday snow.  Saturday snow is fine.  Every week, even.  Bring it on.  But let's not do weekdays." 

Last Monday wasn't a Saturday, but it was a holiday (close enough!  I was grateful!).  I wasn't planning to go anywhere so the snow didn't bother me.    I was feeling stay-at-home-ish and had been sad since after church the day before.  Because Wes's parents left after a wonderful visit?  Because I'd just taught a RS lesson and couldn't decide how I felt about it?  Because instead of sitting shoulder to shoulder with Wes on the couch to watch a Sunday afternoon movie, it was just me and the kids?  Probably.  

So I figured we'd just chalk Monday up to snow and smeared mascara (why do I wear make-up?!) and call it good.

But after several hours, I was sick of sad.  Sadness is an occasional indulgence, and it is often helpful to have a good cry.  But when the gloom overstays it's welcome, I have to fight it. 
Slowly.
With small defenses, like a sink full of hot soapy water and Paul Simon playing on the ipod. 

And prayers.

Those things work (I'm so grateful!  Not all kinds of sadness can be cured - or at least kept at bay - so simply, I know).  When the dishes were done and Graceland was repeating and I'd regained a feeling of stability, I rounded up my stray children and showed them pictures of last year's MLK day, knowing exactly what they'd ask for and feeling that I was finally ready to comply.   

It was a beautiful day. 

Full of thumbs ups and high-fives and "woo-hoo!"s.

But my favorite (besides the sight of Lucy rolling down those snowy hills),

was the small sound of Spencer's voice as we hiked the sledding hill again, and again, and again,

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." 

 

(It sounded kind of familiar.)

Saturday Snow

Most of our winter so far has looked like this (Mmmmmm):

But there has been a little of this:

And a lot of this:

 And of course:

Not too much, mind you! 

Just enough that we've liked it.  

After the angels, there was only one thing left to do.   

Lu started her sculpting just as I took Spencer in the house to dry off/warm up.  The last thing I heard before shutting the door was her down-to-business voice, "I'm going to need two blueberries, some grapes, and a carrot!"   

She mostly made do with rocks.  But I did manage to find a carrot. 

A snowman just isn't a snowman without a carrot.

Don't you think?

Happy President's Day!

Our two-person parade:

    

 

 

(Been loving this almost-spring.)

It's A Magical World

 

I stayed up until 2 AM last night writing an anniversary post. 

It was therapeutic. 

Maybe I'll post it someday. 
But not today. 

Today we woke up to snow.  Inches and inches of fresh, beautiful, white, bright snow.  We couldn't get out of the parking lot to Kindergarten so we declared Christmas break official and came inside to cozy up. 

   

As I shook the snow off my boots, I shook my head with a wry smile. 
"I'll have to write a new post,"  I told no one in particular. 

Wintertime eleven years ago found Wes and me sitting together on the stairs that led down to my basement college apartment.  We talked and smiled.  I mostly looked at Wes's shoes, afraid a more direct gaze might reveal something I wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

After a little small talk, Wes told me he was distributing some prized possessions to a few dear friends as a kind of missionary insurance - you know, so that he'd have a reason to be in touch with people after his two year trip to Norway.  He passed me a book. 

Wes's young self prized few things more than his collection of Calvin and Hobbes comic books.  He gave various copies to various friends.  I couldn't convince myself that his giving a copy to me meant anything in particular.  But over the two years that followed, I thought often of the comic Wes flipped to and had me read that afternoon in F. Smith Hall.

 

I thought of that comic the bright winter morning were married. 

And I thought of it this morning. 

Happy Anniversary, Wes