My big brother very sweetly bought me a card and a little pot of tulips for Mother’s Day. On Sunday the buds were so tightly closed that I couldn’t tell what color they’d be, but they opened up charmingly by my kitchen window within a few days. (Thank you, Adam! This gift is making me very happy.)
I’m ridiculously in awe of spring this year. Or is it every year, I can’t tell. Jeremy is frequently subjected to my exclamations of appreciation for all the GREEN. One tree out front appears much larger and more shade-providing than last year and I can’t get enough of the way sunlight filters through its branches all day long, casting flickering shadows on my living room carpet while I work in the next room. And there’s another tree in the back yard whose green branches fill up my view as I walk into the kitchen. I don’t feel like I live on the plains this spring. With a little imagination I live in the rolling hills of California or Georgia and my acreage—just dreaming here—is covered with trees. Livia is even getting in on the gushing action. We drive through an area called Wilderness Park frequently and I often draw her attention to the way the trees are changing and filling out as the seasons change. The last time we drove this path I was distracted by texting and from the backseat I hear a voice that perfectly echoed my own thoughts. If nothing else I hope I’ve given her an eye that utterly delights in God’s handiwork.
Thank you, God, for warm weather once more and a world that is changing in color all around us. Thank you that I now have something new to photograph. Thank you for not leaving us in the cold deadness of winter. Thank you for spring and the anticipation of summer. Thank you that school is almost out and the pace of our days will change. Thank you for rest. Thank you for this season of renewal. Thank you for your constancy and goodness and love, for every good and perfect gift comes from you.
We were having a serious moment yesterday. One where I took Liv by the hand and apologized for some of my poor behavior. It was like I was having two conversations at once, though. There was the intentional and outward dialogue with Livia and there was another internal voice that was in awe of how beautiful she looked. Her hazel eyes reflected the smallest amount of sunlight streaming into my office and she was just amazing to look at. We wrapped up our talk, with Liv, as always, being more gracious in forgiveness than I deserve, and I pulled out my camera.
The images above are not from that moment, but they illustrate so much of this time in our lives, these fleeting moments of being nine years old and all that entails. I’m starting to understand the term “tween” because we are so so close the the maturity and adventure of the teen years and yet so far away at the same time. We vacillate between the pull of growing up and the desire to stay little and close to mom’s side. For days on end I will be amazed at the growth and quick “yes ma’ams” and the way this or that chore gets done right away, and then I’ll be a little stunned by an outburst reminiscent of what we saw at age three. Are we “in between” right now? Yes, for sure. And no, not so much. Nine has been incredible. This age is fantastic and life is more fun than ever. Ten? Bring it on. I can’t wait to see what another year brings.
Oh my goodness, these Morehead kids! When I come across a shot like this in the archives I can’t help but post it, snotty nose and all. Young Ian, I love you and your sweet heart.
Oh Clara, you are too adorable for words.
Photo snapped Summer 2013.
This winter I declared I wouldn’t live in Nebraska forever.
However, since I’m not in any way prophetic and since I can’t package up my family, friends, and basically the entirety of Lincoln, Nebraska, my declaration is a little weak.
Instead I should declare that, a thousand times over, I adore warm weather. And the color green, I adore that, too. And oceans with vast beaches. Surely I annoy people when I tell them that nicer weather is in my genes, but it’s true. My mom is from Miami and my dad is from Santa Barbara. It’s a wonder any of us survive the winters here.
Today I went hunting for spring and I found it. Thank you, Lord, for spring and for sunshine. It. is. time.
This darling girl has been charming Jeremy, Liv and me since she came into our household last week. She’s the daughter of our friends Sarah and Matt and her squeals of glee have brightened up the walls of Chateau Prairie Box.
There’s something to be said for communal living, for sharing space with one another and connecting over coffee or a bowl of cereal. Dishes become much less of a chore when there’s someone to talk to while I get my hands wet and just knowing someone else is around when Jeremy’s gone makes me feel warm and cozy inside. I’ll miss this sweet family when they go home again. Sarah, Matt and Ambrose, we’ve enjoyed having you here!
My body is moving slowly this morning and my head is congested, but I found two gifts waiting for me when I awoke. One, a cheerful and sweet daughter who obeyed and easily got ready for school. And two, an outdoor landscape transformed by frost. Both gifts are life-giving and one lent itself to the other being enjoyed. While Livia ate her breakfast I wandered the yard in my slippers, grateful for something new to see at the end of winter.
Spring is coming.
It’s a wonder I ever have a complete conversation at women’s events at church anymore with little faces like this looking in my direction. I’ll often try to leave my camera in my bag (women get really weird about being photographed, for the record) and live in the moment. You know, engage in the present and all that. Jack’s enormous brown eyes, though, were too much to resist. This little guy is so cute and so precious that I was powerless against his charm. I expect to soon be laughing at his antics as his mom is one of the funniest people I know.
