Her advice...

...was truly heartfelt.  I knew she had our best interest at heart.


I knew what she meant...I think.  I mean, we've all heard the jokes about the mother-in-law.  Watch any late night comedian and they will tell you about how annoying, frustrating and rude their mother-in-law is and the audience laughs and applauds as if they all know exactly what he's talking about.  My friends and I have commiserated together on more than one occasion about the difficulties of dealing with our moms and our mothers-in-law as they get older (or maybe it's as we get older and, actually, my mother-in-law is a sweetheart).

...but her advice made me stop and think.  What if she was right?  What if having my mom live with us created such tension between me and Matthew that it affected our relationship?


She told me that she had not allowed her mom to move in with her, choosing instead to put her into a nursing facility.  She knew it wouldn't work for her and I think she truly believed it wouldn't work for us either.


...but she didn't know what I knew.


I knew the quality of man I was married to.  Though she knew him well, all his life in fact, she hadn't been close to him for years.  She was basing her opinion on what she thought he was.  I was basing my decision on who I knew he was.


I fell in love with Matthew for many reasons.  And through the years, those reasons had multiplied, rewarding me over and over again for my decision to marry him at a very young, naive time of my life.


As it turned out, having mother with us was actually easier on Matthew than me.  She and I would butt heads frequently...which drawer to put the kitchen towels in, which laundry soap was best, how wide to cut homemade noodles...funny now, when I think about how insignificant those things were...are...yet it was something we had to work through.


...but not Matthew.  He would come into the house at the end of the day like a shining knight on his trusty steed bringing her doughnuts, or the latest funny story he had cut out of the newspaper for her, or telling her a story about his day.  He would always hug me first, but his next stop was her room, just to let her know he was home.


Over time they became good friends.  They shared common interests...the grandkids, food, the weather......me.


The day after she died we walked to church.  At one point Matthew turned around and looked back at our house, her window, and in a melancholy voice said, "It's hard to think she's not going to be there when we get home."


...and so it was.


...and I guess that has been another one of the surprises.  How much he has missed her.  I have learned that he wasn't simply enduring the presence of his mother-in-law, he was enjoying it.  Their games of Rummikub or Uno after the supper dishes were cleared, the oatmeal cookies she made adding extra raisins just for him, discussing the price of wheat and the lack of moisture on the farm...


...he listened to her, really listened, and she knew it.  She ended up not just loving Matthew she really liked him.


There was not a day during her 8 years with us that he didn't perform at least one kind act for her.


...she loved it...


...she loved him...


How lucky am I.

The rain...

...has left me feeling moody...well, not really moody, but introspective.  The quiet of the clouds seems to soften the noise of the city, the grayness dulls the bright, hot sun and then, yesterday, as the clouds parted for a few minutes, a layer of steam rose all around me.  As the mist enveloped me I began to think back on the past few months.

There are still things I am surprised about...even the thought that she died can sneak up behind me and tap me on the shoulder just when I am least expecting it.  However, I think I may be slowly recognizing the finality of the situation.  My consciousness is more aware of her absence than even a week ago...and I wonder, was she surprised at her leaving?




I leave a light on in her room.  It makes it easy to walk in and sit in her chair, even in the middle of the night, when I need to feel her close. 




Yesterday I carried a sleepy-eyed Logan up the stairs and rocked him in her room.  Holding the little boy she loved so much I took in all the things that are her.  I haven't changed it much.  The coffee pot still sits there, waiting for the morning and a fresh Krispy Kreme to be dunked.  Her small pillow she placed under her neck when the headaches became intense...and that brings another memory, a painful thought, she probably had a brain tumor and I did so little to help her through those terrible times.  Her treat's drawer that she kept stocked for all her great-grandchildren and pictures of the ones she loves the most, scattered here and there.  She spent most of her time sitting in that chair, enjoying life in the center of our large family.




The memories, like the rain, sometimes come in huge waves, filling my mind with thoughts that, like the gutter running over its banks, takes me hours to wade my way through.  Sometimes the memories are soft, like the drops that fall causing you to have to look out the window to see.  The gentle rain that you can only notice by looking at the puddles and the rhythm of waves, ever expanding from the power of a small drop.  Some memories are small, but carry a large impact, filling my heart, my mind, my very soul.




Is it possible to miss someone so much it hurts and still be happy?  It is, given the knowledge I have of where she is and who she is with.


...missing her will probably always be difficult, but after the memories come, they are followed by the mist that follows a beautiful spring rain...


...a mist of joy that cocoons me in a safe place of happiness.

It isn't any of my business...

...right?




I shouldn't get involved.  Right?




I mean, just because they are each amazing people doesn't mean I should play the role of Yente in "Fiddler on the Roof".  Right?




...but really, they are amazing...and if you heard what this amazing man said, well...we all know what they should do.  Right?




...and shouldn't we all do our part in supporting our brothers and sisters in following our wonderful church leaders?  Shouldn't we be there to sustain them in their time of need?  They are just two cute people who are educated, have great jobs, have even better testimonies...wouldn't they be perfect for each other?




I mean, it's not like I'm asking them to get married, right?  Just go on a date, have fun, laugh, eat, talk and then talk about how amazingly inspired I was in uniting the two of them.




I would ask you all your opinions about trying to match people up on dates, but first of all, most of you never comment and second of all, if you don't agree with me, I don't want to know.  Well, actually I do want to know, but please be kind about it.




...all I ask of them is to go on one date and have a good time...




...and if they decide to name their first born child after me...well, that's OK too.


Right?

I don't know why...

...I feel comfortable sharing my hidden shame with my blog readers out there. Some of you are complete strangers(at least you are strangers to me, but you actually know way too much about me and my fam, anyway, thanks for taking the time to read), but most of you are people I admire and love. People I admire so much that I would be embarrassed to make these confessions to you in person, yet I feel so at ease in spilling the beans on the internet. I think there must be a sick psychological reason for that, but if you know what it is...don't tell me. I enjoy thinking I am sane and I would prefer to spend my remaining years thinking it's everyone else that is crazy(but not any of you...no...I know you are completely as sane as I am).




...but here I go again, telling you about another one of my secrets, another confession that Martha Stewart would have a hay day with.  




It actually began almost 8 years ago when mother moved in.  She brought some of her things with her, including her china hutch filled with her things and her grandmother's china.  Since she moved in with us, I have removed everything several times a year from her china hutch, dusted and then put everything back.  She and I usually did this chore together...because it is a BIG chore.  I meant to do it at Christmas time, but I was too busy taking care of her to think about tackling such a big job.




...so as spring fever hit, I knew it was time.  I got up Saturday morning with a "Can do" attitude.




...so I jumped right in.




...as in jumped right in after Saturday morning soccer games and Saturday cleaning chores.  I put it off until I had gone shopping, swept the front porch, played on the internet, read the Church News, had lunch, made Sunday dinner and stowed it away in the fridge, told my sweetheart what a great job he did mowing and edging the lawn(I try to make a big deal out of this because the psychologists tell you to encourage good behavior, WAY TO GO HONEY) washed, folded and put away 2 loads of laundry and had my day's helping of chocolate. 




...and then I jumped right in!




Obviously the semi-annual cleaning of the china hutch is something that is easy to procrastinate.

I pulled everything out...well...pulled is probably not the right word.  I, ever so delicately, removed everything before dusting the shelves.  I cleaned out the cobwebs, kitchen remodel dust and stuff that has been placed in the china hutch until I found a better place for it(and for some of it, I filed it away in the garbage can).

...and then the fun started.  Yes, it was fun to touch and clean the things that my mother cherished, and now I cherish.  Her grandmother's pin cushion, the door knob to the original homestead, a dog shaped, glass medicine bottle that sat in my grandmother's window, my maternal grandmother's high school graduation vase and the beautiful China that I remember using at the dinner table as I sat next to my great grandmother eating her pickled beets.

...and now I have begun adding my own cherished treasures.  In the back is the commemorative plate from Dodge City that Erin and her mom purchased for me and the green platter D. got me for favorite things, which is sitting behind the navy blue plate Shay bought me on one of our grand adventures in Maine.  Of course, my collection of marbles is front and center, divided by color, because I love the rainbow effect.

You can see my grandmother's china.  They are the plates that we used for holiday meals in her home.  These are probably my favorite...love the yellow edge circling the shafts of wheat.

I spent about 4 hours removing everything, dusting and wiping and placing everything back.  Each piece reminded me of family, especially the women, their faces woven in my memory and their laughter echoing in my mind.  The navy blue ceramic pitcher would have been filled with the cold sweet water from the windmill and the serving bowls held more than my grandmother's butter laden mashed potatoes.  They are imprinted with the faith of my ancestors who believed a family meal was a joyful time.




As a child, I don't remember every seeing a pan on the kitchen table.  For each meal, even a simple family breakfast, my mother and my grandmothers brought out their platters and serving bowls. Then we did something that a lot of families don't seem to do any more, we passed the bowls around the table(I'm ashamed to admit that I have been known to make Matthew fill his plate from the pans still on the stove, rather than dirty another dish).   And since this was before the dishwasher era, each piece then had to be hand washed and dried with brightly embroidered kitchen towels.  There was no such thing as Tupperware, plastic wrap or paper cups.



...and again I marveled at the honor I feel having stewardship over these objects, which are of little value to the world, but, oh so treasured in my life.




I will pull out one of the sets of china for Father's Day dinner in a few weeks and then carefully place them back having created more memories for my grandchildren and my daughters, who will one day inherit what remains from my life.




...so I ended the weekend feeling p-r-e-t-t-y proud of myself.




Yep, jumped right in and got'r done.






..................






...now all I have to do is clean the curio cabinet(big sigh)...




...so I'll jump right into that job next Saturday...




...or next fall.

Saturday...

...at the soccer field in the shadows of the everlasting SNOWY hills.

Madison is #9.  She's easy to pick out of the line up, she always has the best hair!

Preston and Lukee helping me pass levels on Angry Birds.  What would I do without grandkids?

These were the two fastest soccer players on the field Saturday.  Maybe it has to do with their tongues?

A day in the life...

...of our OH kids...




As I mentioned before, Carlee has mastered the art of riding a two wheeler.  I drew a figure 8 on the drive way with sidewalk chalk and she and Tessa laughed as they tried to stay on the line without crashing into each other.

Due to THIS, I had instructions from Grandpa to buy Tessa a new trike.  As you can see, the pink and purple won out over the red flyer.  I agree Tessa, this one matches your pink Barbie helmet much better.

As usual, I learn a few new words when I spend time with my grandchildren.  This trip I learned about "Squinkies" and "Ninjagos".  Abbie showed me her Squinkies once, but it wasn't until I went shopping at Toys-R-Us that I realized the world of Squinkies covers Troll like hair all the way to Belle's dog(or was that Ariel's dog).  Carlee and Tessa had Squinkies and their little round plastic cases spread all over the house.  When the Beast got lost at the mall I thought we might have a real melt down.




...and then there is the world of "Ninjago".  Porter taught me how to do battle with the little warriors by spinning their bases until their swords bop off the head of their opponent.  I was improving, but I had to leave before I ever won the battle.  




...next time Porter, you better look out!

These pictures downloaded in a random order.  I'm sure it Blogger's fault...it couldn't be my problem.

...and then there was ballet.  Carlee is mastering the art of the arabesque.  I don't know who was more excited, me watching Carlee, or Carlee having me watch her.  She is a gorgeous little girl and it was fun to see her practice for her dance recital.

Tessa showing me how to play Angry Birds...really...she knew more about it than I did.

...of course, I had to do something to help Andy while I was there.  




...and with all the great helpers I had it was fun to take care of the yard work.  Carlee and Porter learned what it means to be on the Sanitation Crew as we donned gloves and began scooping poop.  Next we got busy cutting up the branches blown down in the wind storm.  I'm not sure we did a lot of good, but we sure had fun trying.

It's not a visit if we don't have chocolate everyday.  It doesn't matter what form it comes in...even licking the bowl of brownie batter will give us the fix we need for our chocolate addiction.

Porter was really missing Andy.  He became so desperate for wrestling time that he went after Marin.  He would lay next to her, roll her on top of himself and then roll back on top of her.  Marin was squealing with laughter the whole time.

(No children were injured in taking this picture)

...and finally, all four of them face up and smiling at the same time.

...the brother teasing his sisters at dinner...

...the sister being teased...

...the mom watching the brother tease the sister...

...the sister seeing the brother get in trouble for teasing the sister...

...the other sister adding her own thoughts...

...and finally...




...mom getting the brother back for all the teasing...

Porter's soccer matches have been rained out every weekend.  They finally had a practice game while I was there.  They were all covered with mud by the time it was over, but with the spring fever they've been experiencing, they weren't complaining.

Here's a picture of Carlee enjoying the soccer game.  Huh?  What game?  If there's a puddle, Carlee's in it.

Walking Porter to the bus brought back fun memories of my school years.  Picking him up at the end of his day at the bus stop was even better though.

A French bakery smorgasbord.  We finally just told them we wanted one of everything.

The sun was shining for about 2 hours one afternoon, the rest of the time it rained.  It didn't take long for us to bust out the sunglasses and lay out a picnic in the backyard to soak up some rays.

...riding bikes...

Porter rode to the stop sign and back in under a minute...I guess that means he wins.

...making wishes...

...mixing up a batch of mud pies...

...just hanging out...

...swinging so high...

...then jumping even higher...

...then we went to Porter's first grade music performance...

...where I met Porter's best friend, J.P....

...and for the grand finale...

...Superman ice cream and hot fudge sundae's at Malley's (don't tell anyone, but we went to Malley's.... TWICE).

...and that concludes the OH pictures....

...but the memories will never end.