Flowers make me happy. I know several gals who’d rather receive a potted plant or a foot massage or have the trash taken out rather than get flowers from their spouses. I am not that girl. I think this is why I love spring so much. I love the bursts of color coming from my yard right now and slowly Livia is learning to adore them, too. This morning she kept yelling for me to come outside to see something. When I turned the corner I admired her discovery: the first little rose blooming on our David City rosebush. (We have a small rosebush from Jeremy’s grandparents’ home in David City, Nebraska. It’s extra special to me.)

Most plants in our yard come from unglamorous origins. The peony pictured above came from Sam’s Club many years ago. Most bulbs died, but two survived and continue to make me happy year after year. Other blooms have come from garden store shopping trips over the past ten springs. There’s the clematis from Earl May, the pincushion flower from a neighborhood greenhouse, the gorgeous blue Columbines that Jeremy picked out from a location I can’t recall. The gardens are a constant work-in-progress. Some plants naturally die out after a few years; others are victims of rabbits or over-eager weed spraying. Some are divided and transplanted in better locations where they thrive with more or less sunshine.

I cringe to think of moving and leaving our beloved yard behind. I want to dig up each plant and take it with us. But Jeremy has a more positive take on the move. He reminds me that we can start again—and, I daresay, we’ll be smarter about it this time around. We’ll use the last ten years of knowledge to start something new. Like an artist with a blank canvas, we’ll see endless possibilities in a new space. And hopefully the new Prairie Box homeowners, whoever they are, will enjoy the peonies when they come up, fresh and lovely, next spring.

**Update on moving. No, we haven’t sold the house. No, it’s not on the market yet. We’ve got a few more renovations to make before listing it. But if you or someone you know would like a lovely 1915 home with three bedrooms, let me know!

She questioned the orange goo that had formed on the edge of the popsicle. I told her it was no big deal. She finished it off, no problem, and continued to pull leaves from the nearby bush.

Bring it on, summer. My sticky, popsicle-lovin’ girl and I are ready for you!

My brothers and dad haven’t seen my elbow up close, so I thought I’d post a few shots. Clearly, this is not for the squeamish.

The pic on the left shows the stitches and surgical marks made on my right elbow. The swelling had gone down quite a bit by the time I took this photo. Really, everything looks pretty good! The pic on the right shows the pressure sleeve I’m supposed to wear and the mysterious-yet-ridiculously painful bruising I have on my wrist and hand. I’ve punted the sleeve in recent days because wearing it over that dang bruise hurts big time.

The surgery itself was successful. I have RA and my elbows have taken quite a hit in terms of joint damage. To increase motion and decrease pain in my right elbow, we opted for surgery to clean out the joint. We prayed quite a bit that the procedure would restore movement there, and praise God, it did. I’m glad to have the surgery behind me. Now comes exercises and therapy to get in top shape again.

While I love the captured moment of fun between Joie and me (we always have fun), the close-up of my face every time I open my browser is freaking me out. So I’m moving on.

This, my friends, is the gorgeous Angora rabbit who lives at Toad Hall. She belongs to Anita, who, in turn, assists Denis & Margie Haack with the work of Ransom Fellowship. I got to visit Toad Hall during one of my Rochester trips and it was so great to hang out with the Haacks a bit. I’ve long admired their ministry and writings. Margie’s Notes from Toad Hall inspired the beginnings of the Prairie Box. So thanks for that, Margie!

Honeysuckle is pretty darn sweet. I suppose I have something of an affection for soft white furry critters.

I went up to Mayo last week for surgery on my right elbow. I am currently pleasantly relaxed in front of Netflix, my dog curled up at my feet, a Diet Mountain Dew on the table before me. Blogging while drugged isn’t very wise, but I’m doing it nonetheless. Getting around without full use of one’s arm takes a certain getting used to. I’m so grateful for Jeremy’s selflessness in caring for me—and Livia’s big seven year old attitude goes a long way in making do for the time being. Mercy meals from church friends are keeping us afloat, while my mom’s nursing expertise eases my mind and cares for the details that come up during recovery.

While I get back to normal, I think y’all should leave me links to interesting, thoughtful, funny, etc articles to read online. Either that or bring me something good to read for realz. Thanks!

Tomorrow is Livia’s golden birthday—seven on May 7th! We baked, frosted and decorated funfetti cupcakes to deliver to her kindergarten classroom today. Based on the hovering, exclaiming crowd of children surrounding Liv this morning, I’d say the cupcakes will be a success. Oh my goodness, the cuteness I encounter every morning in the kindergarten wing kills me. Those kids are adorable.

Yesterday, amidst a small group discussion about finding contentment in Christ—no matter where you are in life—the topic of blog competition/comparison was brought up. It’s so easy to look at people’s websites and imagine each one tells the entirety of that blogger’s life. You begin to wonder why your life doesn’t seem as wonderful as theirs. Just so you’re never tempted to think that of me, I’ve got evidence of the mess of cupcake-making with my child.

Here’s the end result: a charming cupcake.

Let’s dig a little deeper and imagine what went into making that cupcake. It’s the end of the day and the birthday girl is dead-set on baking with mommy. Mommy wants a drink and a recliner. Alas, the duo whips up a boxed mix, cools the little cakes, then tints a batch of frosting. The tint, notorious for staining *everything* it touches, does that just. Opened by six-year-old fingers, it stains the countertop, her fingers and face, and her clothes. Mommy tries to be cool, takes a few deep breaths and hands her daughter the sprinkles. A few quick swipes of frosting and it’s sprinkle time. Incidentally, sprinkles are the pinnacle of awesomeness to a six-year-old and she proceeds to POUR the little beads all over the counter. Whoops, she says, didn’t know it was open! Replay the last few sentences 24 times and you have a good picture of the final moments of our night.

There might have been more sprinkles on the counter and floor than on the cupcakes.

Jeremy still feels them under his toes this morning.

Finally, the scene of the crime. My kitchen looks just like this right now, 14 hours later. Minus the cupcakes, which are being admired in an elementary school near you.

Livia likes to bring me something she calls “love gifts.” She’ll scour the yard—or any place we’re going on a walk—to find something beautiful to bring me. What can I say? The kid speaks my love language!

We have very few tulips in the yard, so I was a bit surprised when Livia walked through the door with a tulip in hand. I didn’t want her picking them as I was hoping they’d brighten up our rainy spring garden. But as it turns out, that one tulip did more for my spirit indoors. It was so lovely. And, as the sun came out, it opened wide each day, receiving all the rays with open petals.

Liv has the right idea, in so many ways. Showing love freely, enjoying beauty when she sees it, bringing joyful bits of the outdoors inside to cherish. I’m glad for her six-year-old eyes.