The Christmas Letter

The infamous “Christmas Letter” is something that has always eluded me. I don’t come from a family that sent out Christmas cards or letters with any degree of regularity. But, we did receive them on a consistent basis.

As a kid, it seemed that most of the letters to come to our home were from people I vaguely knew and that my parents only tangentially cared about keeping up with. My family was on their list for all of eternity given that we had lived down the street from them 16 years earlier, but otherwise, we had no interaction with these people. Hence, their annual letters created a unique vantage point from which to create an mental image of their family.

We received letters from some of the most nauseatingly perfect people on the planet. They must have been – you should have seen the pictures. Their kids were geniuses, excelling at everything they ever attempted, from sports to arts to academics to music. Their fathers had the Midas touch: the wealthy business man, still available for his kids’ activities and single-handedly running the local branch of the church in which he served. The mothers vacationed to exotic locations, participated in civic organizations, canned and read, home-schooled and fed many children and still found time to write and distribute to far-flung friends these annual lists of their accomplishments in rhyme.

In 2000, Jeffrey wrote a Christmas letter for my family. It spoke in glowing terms of all we had done that year: my parents’ trip to a private castle in France, my sister, Erin, bringing home an African Native from her trip to Kenya -- who was living in a tent in our backyard -- and Jeffrey and I traveling to Florida to single-handedly resolve the issues posed by hanging chads. It was a beauty. It had all the elements of a terrific Christmas letter, and my mom sent it out on time. Only, it wasn’t completely true.

As Jeffrey and I have settled in to fully-functioning adult life, with kids and a mortgage, a steady job and a mini-van, I have wondered how to navigate the Christmas letter situation for myself.

Do I just send a card, a nice picture of Santa, a tree, a manger, or some other holiday implement on the front and write “Love, The Merchants” on the inside?

Do I tackle a Christmas picture to include? Do I just do the kids? What about the whole family?

I have traditionally left the adults out, but then, I wonder when I get those cards – what do the parents look like? Are they really still around? They are the people I really know anyway, and while I now have proof of their fertility, I wonder about them. So maybe I need the whole family. Then, again, I would rather include a picture of my adorable children and leave up to the imagination how well Jeffrey and I are aging.

And, that does not even begin to contemplate the famous letter insert.

Do I need to include a letter? Should it rhyme? Should it have a theme? Should it be just a list or actual text? How long is too long? How much do people really want to know? Maybe, I should try out the old satire route again.

Aaaa! So many decisions.

And now, in the digital age, there is a whole other conundrum. What about the e-letter or e-card? Does it count the same if you send a digital picture and email greeting?

It is definitely cheaper, but is it cheap?

And, then, what happens to empty card holders and the inability to flaunt all the cards your family has received this year from all the friends that you have.

With all these questions bouncing around in my head, with traditions and etiquette, propriety and a desire to put my best foot forward all weighing down my mind, I assembled a Christmas card for this year. It is simple. It has a picture of the whole family (since I have one I like this year). It says “Merry Christmas Love, The Merchants” and it refers people here, to our blog, if they are curious for more information.

The perfect balance? A tacky choice? The lazy approach to just getting it done? I don’t know. But, if you are finding yourself here for the first time, or the hundredth, as a result of receiving our Christmas card, then here is my rationale.

I figure this way you can get as much or as little information about our family as you want. Where two years ago we sent out a card sharing our new contact information and the news that we had moved across the country and last year we sent out birth announcements with our Christmas card introducing our little Elisabeth Jane, this year we have just held steady.

We still live in Virginia, outside of Washington, DC. We still have three little girls, as you can tell from the picture. Jeffrey still works as an attorney doing appeals for the US Department of Agriculture. The kids go to school, dance, play soccer, ice skate, eat everything they touch (at least the one year old), love to visit family in Utah, and keep us on our toes. Life is plugging along. That’s it. Not very Christmas card worthy, huh? But, if you want to know more about how it really works, about what we think and feel and say and do every day at the Merchants, then you can find it here.

If you want to send a note to us, you can do that here. If you hardly remember us and don’t want to receive any more of the Christmas cards, you can leave that information here too. If you want to keep up more regularly on all that is happening with us, or just read the random items I choose to write, then you can do that here too (usually about once a week).

In sum, this is the means I have created to keep friends and family apprised of all we are doing. And, so, I am trying it out as the venue for the Christmas letter. The ideal blend of tangible paper sent by the postal service to your home and digital access to more information than you ever really wanted.

In the meantime, every day, I go to my mailbox and receive another Christmas card, or two, or three. I open it with excitement. It is a friend, a cousin, a former co-worker, a sibling. It really doesn’t matter; I read it with anticipation. I hang the card or picture in the entry-way of my home. My hall fills with guests, with warm, smiling faces. I am visited by friends and family, old acquaintances and new.

Unlike my childhood recollections, these cards don’t seem to come from near-strangers, or people I barely recall, they come from loved ones, who often I never hear from the rest of the year. And, as their messages of family, of hope and faith, as their tales of accomplishment or adventures from the year, as the details of their lives cram the walls near my door, my home seems to fill with just a little more love, with the comfort and joy of friendship. And, I feel less alone, less forgotten and far away from dear ones as I celebrate Christmas here in Virginia.

I can only hope my card and message helps you to feel that in your homes too.

Sincerely wishing you all the merriest of holiday seasons, the joy of family and friends, and the brightest of hopes for a new year,

The Merchants.


PS- We love real visitors just as much as the paper ones we get at Christmas.

Thanks living

I learned yesterday that my dear friend Giny passed away on Thanksgiving Day.

How vulnerable is the human condition. While I believe in the immortality of the human spirit, I still stand aghast at the stark end that death represents. Afterlife aside, the truth is that today, she is gone. And today, I am so very sad. I mourn the loss of someone I loved -- someone who enriched my life.

I met Giny over six years ago when her family moved into the house two doors down from ours on Browning Avenue. I walked over with Mia in her stroller on a late summer evening and presented a paper bag filled with peaches from our tree. Giny smiled and laughed remarking how, "Peaches are so much better than cookies at this house," while Peter and Cristina, then four and two, peeked around her legs.

Giny was older than me, her dark, curly hair was graying, and sometimes she would joke that she should dye it, but she never did. She had grown up in Guatemala, coming to the US in her youth, and had helped her parents and siblings adjust. She served as a missionary, went to college, worked, and later in life than I think she would have expected, married and had two children. Her husband, Andrei is quiet, but one of the kindest men I have known, and she would have agreed. He did not share her faith, but he supported her fully in her religious observance. While expecting and welcoming the birth of their second child, a daughter, Giny and Andrei were devastated with the discovery of their son's autism. But, two more devoted parents may not exist in this world. Peter's progress, the hope of his development and even recovery, consumed much of their lives.

Giny's life demonstrated conviction and dedication to the things that mattered the most to her, even when it would have been easy to retreat. She was devoted to her religious beliefs; she studied and she governed her life based on a firm testimony in Jesus Christ. She found comfort and purpose in prayer, even for the things that seemed beyond reason or explanation.

She was a mother I longed to emulate in so many ways. Giny knew how to clear her life and make time for her children. She played with them; she explored with them; she talked to them and listened to them; she taught them. Feeling that her son consumed a lot of family resources, she kept her daughter home for school to develop a one-on-one relationship with her. On days when I would be stressed about cleaning and tasks, Giny would be taking her kids on a great outing. I still want to be more like her.

Giny was unencumbered by so many of the things of this world. She was one of the least materialistic people I have known. She put time, thought, and energy into what mattered most.

Giny was a ready friend, to everyone, but especially to me. I knew that all I needed to do was walk out my door and I would find a friend. And, my children knew it too. Her door, her gate, and her heart were always wide open to our family. Mia would invite herself regularly into the backyard to dig in the sand or swing on the swings. She and Maggie were always generously welcomed at Giny's home.

I treasure the times we spent watching the kids play, talking and laughing into the evening.

The thing about Giny was she was always totally honest. It is hard to find friends willing to just tell you what they think, but she did. She didn't hide or pretend to be something she wasn't, and so neither did I. We could talk about our struggles with children, our hopes and disappointments, and even our fears. We could build up our faith and share our thoughts.

Of any attribute, I think I loved Giny's laugh the most. It just came to her so easily. She knew how to delight in simple things and found joy in them. Her laughter was contagious. Even now, the thought of it, brings a smile.

Giny watched my girls when I had to work, helped me pick peaches, and made me soup when I was sick. The Sunday before we left Salt Lake for Virginia, Giny gave the prayer in church. With tears she asked that our family would be watched over and blessed and thanked the Lord for the times we had shared.

I have longed for many things that we left behind in Salt Lake. I have missed my walkable neighborhood and the sense of community. I have fondly remembered snowy days and tree-lined streets, the proximity to the city and the mountains. I have wished I could send Mia and Maggie to dance classes and art programs at the University and longed to be close to family. But, of all I left behind, I wonder if I have missed Giny the most.

I have missed having someone to watch my kids, who I never doubted really loved them. I have wished so often to walk out my door and see her up the street, or for Cristina to come over to play and to sit on the front porch and talk to my sweet friend, as our two daughters, with imaginations as big as the universe, run and laugh.

Giny and her family visited with us for a week here in Virginia, and we have gone back to see them in Utah too. Each time it was as though no time had passed, no awkwardness over getting reacquainted. I would find myself imagining for a few moments that we had never left, that we still lived just up the street and visited like this every day.

Then, this summer when I contacted her to see about visiting, I discovered she had cancer. She was too sick to see us during her one weekend back in Utah from her treatments. Andrei was hopeful; the kids were happy, and as I left I tried to convince myself she was going to be fine. I thought and prayed, and I think even somewhat denied Giny's illness. It is easy to do that from so far away. I felt guilty I wasn't closer that I could not help her, care for the kids, do something to act on all I felt, but in the end I just went on with my life.

When I heard that her treatments were not working, I tried to still hope that she would survive. I kept trying to think what I could do to help, how I could offer something to Giny and her family. But, it is hard to know what to do, what to say to a friend who is dying. Finally, I penned a short card and put it in the mail. Somehow, deep inside, I knew it would be the last thing I sent.

I am not certain I said all I felt, that I told Giny how much she really has meant to me, that I mourned enough, as I'm sure she must have in the end, for her husband and children. I don't know that I offered comfort, because I was struggling a bit to find the comfort and purpose myself.

I wonder about the last few months, if she had insights or fears or regrets. We never talked after she got sick, never had a conversation about why it was happening or how it felt. I wish we had. I would have liked to know how she saw it, what she experienced knowing that she would be leaving soon. But, I never will.

Her death causes me to feel for a short moment just how much all of mortality is a balancing act atop a great precipice, a condition so temporary and so fleeting that it can be gone in just an instant. I am struck by the fact that I cannot go back, cannot ever again relive those moments that we shared, or any others in my life.

As I try to take in Giny's death, allow myself the space to grieve the loss of true friend, I am in awe of how mortal we all are. It seems that time should stop, that the world should let up, that daily demands should pause long enough to mark this event to set it apart as the day the world loss a great soul. But, it doesn't. Life goes on, time keeps marching, keeps passing. I can't hold it, no matter how hard I try to clutch it this moment will pass just as soon as I have thought to realize that it is here.

Such is the human condition. In life I will keep losing the times and the people and the moments that I treasure. All I have is the present. This moment to determine what will make up the past I will carry with me whereever the future takes me.

I have wept for my own loss, but even more as I have thought of Andrei and Peter, and especially Cristina. I think of Giny's daughter, Mia's best friend, just eight years old approaching her life without her mother, and I grieve.

But, then I think of this little girl, who is so tall now with dark, curly hair and bright eyes. I think of Cristina's love of colors and nature, her strong will and compassionate spirit. I remember all the times Giny spent with her and the days that did not pass without paying attention to Cristina, and I know that her mother is already within her, in the only thing that can ever remain, the knowledge and the memories collected in life.

So Giny will go on living in Cristina and our past together will go on living in me, and I will forever be thankful for a dear friend who taught me so much about thankful living. About seeing the good in life and valuing the moment, about putting first the things that really matter, about telling the truth and being eager to laugh, about playing with children and turning problems over to God.

I wipe my tears; I say a prayer for the soul of a dear friend and for the family she left behind, and I look out on my life with a more thankful perspective. I am thankful for this day, for this moment, for all of mortality that I get to live and share, whatever it may contain, because each moment, each day will soon be lost. May I always make it a moment of thanks.

Poor Jeffrey

So, having written posts to memorialize my children's birthdays, it just doesn't seem like I should leave out my husband. I mean, he did have a birthday too.

But, while I can write about seven ways Mia is maturing or the one central thing I know about Elsie Jane, coming up with over thirty items of any sort seems a bit tough. Not that there are not over thirty things I love about Jeffrey, it's just... well, it seems a bit contrived for him.

So, what do I do?

I could write a sappy post about how much I love him, how he is the love of my life. How after ten years of marriage I am would never want to be with anyone else. I could say how much I respect his example of devotion to me and to the Lord, how he always encourages me and listens to me.

I could talk about what a great father he is. The sacrifices he makes to provide for his family AND actually spend time with them too. I could talk about the way he plays ponies with the girls or dances with them, how no one's arrival at home ever compares to their dad's. But, maybe it is a little too much.

Maybe, I should write about how he is great with people, a natural born leader, and a fabulous speaker. Maybe I should list accomplishments like winning prestigious national and university-wide scholarships, graduating top in his law school class or landing coveted jobs? But, that just seems pretentious.

I could talk about his good heart. The free legal work and advice he gives, the way he cares about his community, or how he decides to cut back on gifts for himself every year so he can do something special for me or give anonymously to those who need it more.

Then, I could list virtues he possesses, like honesty, integrity, trustworthiness, punctuality. Talk about how he goes the extra mile and never does anything half way. But, that would just make him sound like a boy scout.

Perhaps I should just think about the things Jeffrey likes like coke, Longfellow, rocks, Monk, golf, politics, and bonsai trees. But, that is too impersonal.

I guess, in the end, I just don't know what to say. I have run out of ideas and steam. That is just how it goes when you have the third and last birthday in the family in a six day stretch; by the time I get to Jeffrey it is a little hard to think about being excited over another party with cake.

So, since I have run out of words too and don't have enough to hit that thirty-plus mark, I guess I will just say, "Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. I love you."

Nothing but Joy

When I was pregnant with Elise Jane I felt strongly that her arrival and contribution to our family would be a metaphor, a means through which God would manifest his loving care for me and my family.

When all the complications of her birth worked into a perfectly timed, seamless delivery with the help I needed in town and no negative health effects for me or Elsie Jane, I thought I had gotten the message: Turn your life over to God, he will provide for you and care for you far better than all that you would have planned.

Then, during the summer, I found myself praying, pleading for reassurance that a situation would resolve itself in the best way for me and my family. While I was praying, Elsie Jane began to cry. As I held my sweet little baby, her head nuzzling softly into my neck, this thought came clearly to my mind: "Elsie Jane is the metaphor," followed by the question: "Emily, what has Elsie Jane brought into your life?"

The answer presented itself almost the instant the question was formed. It required no thought or contemplation: "Nothing but joy."

As a mother of two children I fully expected to be smitten with my third. I knew I would adore her and be grateful for her presence in our family.

But, I am a realist. I also expected that life would be harder for having her there. That three kids would, of course, be a greater challenge than two.

As time has passed and I have reflected on this simple statement, I am in awe of it's truthfulness. Elsie Jane has brought me nothing but joy.

I cannot say that my life is harder for having her in any way. She is the most pleasant, contented, happy child I have ever encountered. I did not know that such easy-going babies existed. She has not been a burden, but she has been a delight.

Her smiles melt my heart. And, those dimples. Oh my! I love her blue eyes and her beautiful lips.

She can entertain herself, loves anything her sisters do with her, and is patient with her parents. She naps and sleeps. She eats most anything.

In the last two weeks she has taken to almost exclusively walking to get places, and she is fast! She loves to climb and try to keep up with Mia and Maggie. If they go somewhere, she always follows.

She is friendly and adaptable. She is starting to make friends (at least one who joined us for her birthday party).

In everything that she is, Elsie Jane has enriched our family. I can't pick her up or hold her close or look at her from across the room without marveling at how her presence has created such happiness.

As she turns one year old, I am grateful for Elsie Jane, who has in all ways lived up to the meaning of her name, "God's gift of abundance."

With my three girls, I am learning everyday how much abundance must truly await me in life. If Elsie Jane is the metaphor than I can trust that all that God intends for me is an overflowing of love and joy.

Seven Ways You Know Mia is Seven

1- The teeth. I recently helped at field day at Mia's school. Working with the K-2 students I established the following rule: baby teeth = kindergarten, missing teeth = 1st grade, Too big of teeth = 2nd. See picture above. As Mia would say, "I rest my case."

2- The constant narration of every street sign, business sign and other legible surface as I drive in the car. This includes the helpful habit of advising me of the speed limit and then monitoring my speedometer at all times. She can read.

3- Notes and cards. When Mia wants something at night she has taken to dropping missives down to the lower foyer. They say things like, "Mom I need hlp. Plese cum now!" She also leaves me little notes on my bed that say "I 'heart' you" and sends cards to her friends and grandmas.

4- Increased coordination. It is amazing how a few years lead to a general improvement in controlling one's limbs. Mia has taken off on her new bike, is totally steady on the roller blades she just got for her birthday, and began her soccer season by scoring three goals in the first game. Wow! She has also recently mastered whistling, snapping her fingers, and can almost do a pirouette. Cart- wheels are next on her list.

5- An unselfish perspective. In child psychology we talked about the age when empathy really begins to emerge; it is ten. But, for Mia, it seems to have always been quite innate. We visited Santa in the mall a week ago (I know it's not December, but there wasn't a line, and he was there.) Mia and Maggie informed him that they want a doll house for Christmas, but that they know they have to share it. Then, Santa asked, "Are you sure there isn't just one thing you want for yourselves?" (Thanks a lot Santa! I have been working on the shared doll house plan for a while now!) Maggie shook her head, then he turned to Mia who said, "You know Santa, there are a lot of poor children in the world and kids who don't have all the toys that I do. Why don't you take something extra to them instead?"

6- Boundless Creativity. To Mia's delight almost every gift for her birthday was a craft set. She is constantly creating something: a broom from a stick and paper, invitations to a birthday party for her stuffed animal, necklaces, a zoo on the floor of her bedroom, clothes for her horse. She has learned to do basic sewing stitches, weave on her new loom, use paints responsibly, bead, and the list just goes on. Boundless and inexhaustible creativity.

7- She can't wait to be baptized. We must talk every day about her upcoming baptism when she is eight. On Sunday, on the way to a fireside that she attentively listened to and then recounted perfectly to her dad when we got home (with observations about how she could work to make more good choices in her life), Mia reminded me that we had a goal to finish the Book of Mormon together before her baptism. Oh yeah, we need to get going on that! Mia loves the gospel. She shares it with her friends; she understands the principles; she recognizes the influence of the spirit. And, Mia wants to do the right things for the right reasons. As a mother I could not ask for anything more.

It is so fun to see all the growth and changes that seven brings! Happy Birthday, Mia Joy!

Let Them Eat Cake.. and More Cake... and More Cake... and More Cake

So, events at our house over the past few weeks have run something like this:

1- Survive the swine flu. Although Jeffrey and Maggie still have coughs, I think we have bested H1N1. And, only by the grace of God, I managed to avoid it all together so that someone in our home could function to take care of all the rest.

2- Clean house, wash laundry.

3- Have Grandma arrive.

4- Prepare games, stuff goodie bags, clean house, bake cake.

5- Have a party for Mia and friends.

6- Wrap gifts, clean house, buy cake.

7- Have another party for Mia.

8- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a carrot cake.

9- Have a party for Elsie Jane.

10- Wrap gifts, clean house, bake a chocolate mousse cake.

11- Have a party for Jeffrey.

Here it is in another form:

The Art of Cooking

I have a love hate relationship with cooking. In fact, I think that it is my love of it that causes me to so often hate it.

I love thinking through all the aspects of a meal in which each element balances the others. I love making and eating good food. But, most of all, I think the thing I love about cooking is the creative process.

I love combining flavors together into something perfectly complimentary. I love how raw ingredients turn into a dish, the sum of which is so much more than the individual parts.

For me, a recipe is a starting place. Where some see cooking from recipes as predictable and precise, laws that when followed will always deliver a certain result, I see recipes as suggestions. They are a place from which to begin, but rarely, if ever, do I fully follow them. I am always making substitutions, trying new variations, thinking of different combinations.

When I sew, I prefer to avoid patterns and set designs so that I can play around and imagine the creative possibilities. I feel the same with recipes. I like to explore them, be inspired by them, learn from them, but then do things on my own.

Perhaps it is just my independent streak, a deep-seated resistance to authority. Perhaps it is pride or arrogance, an inaccurate view of my own abilities. Perhaps in this area I am no more mature than my three year-old, psychologically stamping my foot and insisting on doing things "MY WAY!"

Whatever the explanation, the truth is that when I feel stifled, when the creative process is lost and cooking is just a rote task, I hate it. I really, really hate it.

And hating it is where I have been spending a lot of time lately.

The problem is that cooking cannot be a creative process, a soulful exploration of flavor and texture for three meals a day seven days a week. I just don't have the time or energy for that. All I would do is grocery shop and cook. Which sometimes it feels like is all I do, even when I am producing mediocre and uninspiring food.

In addition to the time constraints, there are other practical considerations. Such as the fact that every time I prepare a meal, at least one member of my family sits down at the table, looks at her plate, and commences dinner conversation with, "Ewwww! This is gross." Since this little person is on the "Eat what I fix and the rest of the family is having or else eat PB&J" meal plan, I then usually stand up, leave my food, and fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

There is also the matter of losing the joy of cooking under extreme pressure. Like trying to make the bus on time, or get myself or Jeffrey out the door for a meeting, or just survive the unavoidable chaos of the 4:30-5:30 hour.

Preparing a beautiful meal while you call out spelling words over one shoulder, try to avoid stepping on goldfish crackers, toys, and all the towels and pot holders that have just been thrown on the floor, listen to and watch the troll dance happening in the family room, discourage over-snacking right before the meal, answer the incessant phone calls of the evening, and try to lovingly respond to constant whining just is not all that creatively stimulating.

And then, when the meal has been eaten, the dishes strewn throughout the kitchen, the mess on the floor abandoned, the children bathed, read to, and in bed, and all alone at 8:30 pm I face the mess that deciding to cook a nice meal created, I wonder, "What am I doing to myself?"

It is in this state, when my depressed and discouraged artist within feels like abandoning all efforts and letting my family survive on Chick-fil-A, that I try to remind myself of all the other reasons I cook. I try to frame cooking in the same light as I frame housework: it is about nurturing. It is about health and frugality, about time together and a well-run household. It is a way I care for and show love to my little family. It is not really any different than laundry or mopping the floors.

As I embrace this perspective I remind myself it is okay to eat tuna sandwiches or just spaghetti for dinner. I reduce my expectations for personal fulfillment in preparing food and allow my kids to eat macaroni and cheese out of a box sometimes. I plug away with diligence in the virtue of just putting food on the table, another task in the long list of tasks that comprise each of my days. I try to simplify the process.

It is a practical, but unenriching approach.

I was overcome by such resignation two weeks ago when I decide to turn a butternut squash into soup. I have played around with squash soup before, but never been fully, completely satisfied with the results. But, this night it happened.

I produced a pot of soup that managed to taste of all the splendor of fall. It was smoky orange and savory, yet sweet at the same time. It was a glorious crisp day when the sun shone through orange and yellow leaves warming my head and yet a cool breeze tickled my nose, pureed in a bowl. It tasted like fall smells and smelled like fall looks.

And, once again, I fell in love with cooking. As I ate, I thought of other dishes I could create, a salad to compliment this soup, a perfect wassail to simmer in a pot, the wild rice and mushroom soup I have been longing to attempt. The soup entered my mouth and nourished my soul.




Want the "recipe" click on the link to Emily's Kitchen. I also have a couple of other recipes that I have discovered, or rediscovered, this fall. Just, bear in mind, nothing is too exact with me. These recipes are just estimations of what I did. Just let go and experiment yourself.

Halloween Costumes

So, with Mia sick and her party canceled I did not do a quality photo shoot as I had intended for Halloween. Instead, we snapped a few pictures on the front porch before doing our four house trick or treating route. The lighting isn't the best, but it is enough to document the day and share the final costumes.

Mia had rested all day and had enough Tylenol in her to reduce her fever and begged to be allowed to trick-or-treat. I just did not have the heart to say, "no." She went to the four houses, hung back away from people, and then came home and collapsed on the couch. Unfortunately, she is worse today. But, for a few minutes she was happy on Halloween, and so I tried to find those pictures rather than the ones where she just looks sick and miserable.

I have entitled this year's Halloween Theme: Happily Ever After, Ten Year's Later.

I am still sad we were not in Utah for my family's annual Halloween Party. This year, instead of just eternal glory and bragging rights, I hear that pumpkin carving and costume awards given by my dad included cash. I am trying to make the case for an online entry. Our submission is below. Enjoy!

Ready, Set, No Go

Costumes are sewn. Treats have been purchased. Games have been prepared. The pinata has been stuffed with prizes. Decorations have been procured. Food has been cooked. Guests have RSVP'd. The house has been cleaned.

We are all ready to have a great Halloween party in celebration of Mia's birthday.

Except one thing.

Mia has the flu.

Poor Mia. She started to cry at the doctor this morning.

So, for now, our Halloween plans have been postponed for a week.

We really just seem to have bad luck with Mia's birthday.

Mia's first "friend party" was a "Pony Party," but despite gorgeous weather the preceding days, it SNOWED the afternoon of Mia's birthday and the owner of the pony that was supposed to show up and give rides refused to come.

Her next birthday was a couple of months after we moved and the lack of family or close friends to share the event loomed large over the whole celebration. I could tell Mia felt the contrast.

Then, last year Mia did not get any party. I didn't make her a special dinner or cake either. She got visits from her grandmas, plenty of gifts, and special moments, but nothing remotely organized since I was on bedrest until the day before and we knew Elsie Jane would be born at any moment.

This year, I thought I had everything in place for a successful birthday bash. I had planned and prepared. I had sent invitations weeks in advance.

But, even the constant use of hand sanitizer that Jeffrey has forced upon our home lately could not prevent this setback.

Maybe Maggie will still go trick-or-treating.

Otherwise, I figure the kids will enjoy a Halloween-themed party in November just as much as tonight. And, in the meantime, I have packed all the party implements away in the garage and am enjoying an unexpectedly calm Halloween.

Channeling My Mother's Muse

Growing up in my family the fall meant one thing: boutique season.

My aunt started probably the largest, most successful, and (I am not being partial here) the classiest craft boutique to take Utah by storm in the 1980's. Cherry Hill Barn Boutique.

"Cherry Hill" was held in an old, white barn off Geneva Road in Provo, Utah. It was a pastoral location, surrounded by fields of former farmland, the streets lined with yellow and orange leaves during the middle of October.

It was held the weekend of the annual deer hunt in Utah; a convenient time for women to shop for crafts while their husbands were off, I suppose.

To me, as a child, Cherry Hill meant lounging around the barn, cold mornings setting up booths, swinging under a large, auburn maple, and lots of fresh bread, popcorn balls, and pink frosted cookies. Somehow the sites and smells of Cherry Hill have fused with my love of all things fall. It was a magical place in my youth.

It also meant weeks of sewing and preparation as my mom prepared her wares for sale. There were fabric chickens in little baskets (trust me in the 80's they were all the craze),witches with faces made out of nylon stockings riding brooms, various painted goods, and of course, appliqued sweatshirts.

Ultimately, the sweatshirts were my mom's niche. She sold hundreds each year. Many prepared in advance, but also personal orders taken at the boutique and then sewn until the wee hours of the morning well into December.

As I grew older, I became her assistant, and even a co-designer of the sweatshirts. Drawing patterns, shopping for fabrics, cutting out appliques while watching movies, ironing them on. Our home was a small factory, complete with child labor.

But, at some point, the charms were lost. I swore I would never sew myself. Definitely, never mass produce any item for pay in my life. Whenever I make something and Jeffrey remarks that I could make good money making more and selling them, I shoot him "the look." The "Not-on-your-life-how-could-you-even-propose-such-a-hell-for-me" look.

But, somehow, once a year, the crazy, creative juices take over. I say it won't happen, but Halloween dawns, my kids start dreaming about all the fanciful ways they can dress up, and I find myself hunkered down in the basement, amidst an assortment of scraps of fabric, thread clippings, tons of toys, and general mayhem.

It's October, and all my promises to myself to the contrary, I just can't help but start sewing. And, as I stressfully wonder if I am going to finish in time, as I try to put in a zipper while my one year-old crawls between my feet eating elastic and pushing the presser foot of my sewing machine, as I think again about the dinner I haven't started and the mess filling the house, as I pop in another movie for my daughter who has not participated in an alternative activity for days, I realize how close to the mother of my falls I have become.

So, I haven't written on my blog; I have not written at all. I have made no progress on plans for Christmas and too little on the three birthdays that are coming up in the next two weeks. I have exercised only sporadically, but I have created four awesome Halloween costumes this October.

In terms of the details, you will just have to wait. Halloween is coming soon, and I will certainly post pictures of my darling family and my annual handiwork then.

For now, I am ready to pack up my sewing machine and put it away to remain untouched for the next eleven months, having thoroughly worked my mother's muse out of my system for another year.

A Perfect Ten

For some reason the passage of Jeffrey's and my tenth wedding anniversary yesterday has found me a bit nostalgic.

This perfect September day in 1999 does not feel very long ago:


But, now we find ourselves here:

And, I must admit that some significant amount of time has passed.

The past ten years have brought many things, more changes than I can even comprehend, but here are the top ten discoveries for me from marriage.

10- Friday nights when the kids are in bed early, ordering take out and watch a movie or favorite show at home.

9- America really is full of lots of open space. We had a quote we would read in high school debate about how there was plenty of room in the country for more people, based on all the open land in the Midwest. I may question the science of sustainability of the logic the author was employing, but having moved across the country three times, I can definitely vouch for the quantity of open space between Wyoming and Nebraska.

8- Running. We celebrated our five year anniversary by running the St. George marathon together. Never would have considered that I would love running, but am glad we discovered it together.

7- Jeffrey really is a handy man. Given his parentage, I never expected my husband to be handy around the house, but then we bought our first home, our first drill, and Whoa! He can do ANYTHING (if he really wants to, which often he doesn't, but...).

6- Working together. I like working with my husband. He is my best critic, editor, sounding board, colleague. I have loved campaign trails, desks across from each other in Congress, community projects, home improvement projects. All the times we have gotten to work side by side.

5- Getting Away. Among my favorite memories are the times we have gotten away, for an evening date or a family vacation. I have come to love these chances to leave behind daily life and focus on one another. It began with a perfect Honeymoon in New York and has included Oregon, California, Arizona, Chicago, Yellowstone, Jackson Hole, the Grand Canyon, Lake Powell, Bear Lake, San Diego, Florida, the Outer Banks, Minnesota, St. George, Williamsburg, Park City, Sundance, Boise, Lincoln, Nebraska, Bethesda, Salt Lake City, Manassas, maybe even Marietta, Ohio and Sioux Falls, South Dakota (although those two tie for the scariest motels on the planet and may not count). Anywhere we have been together has been bliss to me.

4- The beauty and blessings of the temple. It seems to be woven throughout all the significant moments of our lives, including our sealing ten years ago, doing work for family-members, working in the DC temple together, visits to temples throughout Utah, California, Arizona, Minnesota...

3- The providence of God. I could never have planned the course of life that has unfolded for us, but through it all, things have always turned out better than I ever would have conceived was possible.

2- The joy of parenting. I could never possible have imagined the wonder of Mia, Maggie, and Elsie Jane.

1- Jeffrey. Every day, I still wake up happy to be facing the day with Jeffrey by my side (even if, given his early schedule, it is most often figuratively right now). Life really is sweeter when you are married to your best friend.

Updates

Insult to Injury

So, on Thursday, about two hours after I posted my entry about Elsie Jane mastering the stairs, she took her first steps.

She walked all along the wall in my bedroom, steadying herself with one hand, and then she let go and took two solid steps over to a table. I just couldn't believe it.

She took another couple of steps today. I just know tomorrow she is going to start running. Think it would help slow her down if I just confine her to a port-a-crib for a few months?


The Truth

This list is for all of those who read about my plan to create perfect order and balance in my life and felt disgusted, like losers, or somehow gained an inaccurate view of my abilities.

I did get to going through and organizing all of my kitchen cupboards on Friday. I also, apparently for the first time in a VERY long time, cleaned out my freezer. Here is what I found:

--A whole bunch of little baggies full of fish that Jeffrey caught in the Chesapeake Bay this summer that had become permanently frozen to the freezer door. Seriously, I had to use the blow dryer to partially thaw them, remove them, separate them, and then relocate them in the freezer. Now, I need to come up with some fish recipes that my family will like. I love fish, but everyone else...well...

--A pie crust I had made in December and intended to use to make black bottom pie when Jeffrey's parents visited before Christmas. Yes, I mean Christmas 2008.

--Containers filled with single servings of red beans and rice, chicken masala, and spinach lasagna which I had prepared for Jeffrey to eat when we left town in April. No wonder I had been running low on dishes!

--Empty bags from items we had polished off, but never thrown away.

--A carton of ice cream with only ice crystals inside.

--A plastic figurine doll of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Don't ask. I don't know.

--A gallon size ziploc bag full of "snow" -- Mia's souvenir from winter.

--A sticky, thick, yellow substance about one inch deep covering the entire bottom of the freezer drawer.

All of the preceding items have now been removed and disposed of appropriately.

A Place for Everything

I admit it. I am a bit of a neat-freak. Okay, maybe a bit more than a bit.

But, I come by it honestly. My mother's favorite expression when I was growing up had to have been, "A place for everything, and everything in its place." A well-worn mantra about creating perpetual, unyielding order out of life.

I, as the oldest, internalized this fully.

It is my ultimate goal in life to find the place in which everything belongs, and ensure that is where it is. And, to this end, I engage in many of my most innate and automatic behaviors.

I make lists; I sort; I plan; I even worry. I cannot relax in a mess. I struggle to let go of any unfinished task or project. I obsess over the constant checklist in my head of what needs to be done to bring my home, my finances, my life, my children, everything into perfect order.

Often, the dialogue in my head is less of a dialogue and more of a task-master.
Traversing with ease from the mundane, daily list:

Exercise. Shower. Get Dressed. Get the kids dressed. Clean-up Bedrooms. Fix their hair, don't forget to have them brush their teeth. Make my bed. Change Elsie Jane's diaper. Carry stack of items to be put away downstairs on my way. Fix breakfast. Fix lunch. Fix a snack. Mia needs to practice piano. Double check the back pack. Feed everyone. Tidy the kitchen. Meet the bus. Wash dishes. Sweep floors. Vacuum. Fold Laundry. Send Email...

To a host of other topics.

There's the "Things we need to do around the house list":
Clean spider webs off front porch. Get carpets cleaned. Touch up paint on kitchen cabinets. Fix kitchen floor. Get septic system serviced...

the "Projects I want to work on list":
Re-do dining room. Sew Halloween costumes. Sew dress-ups for Christmas. Organize photos. Update blog. Figure out how to publish my book...

the "What I plan to buy for birthday / Christmas gifts this year list":
Bike for Mia. Scooter for Maggie. Doll house for both girls. Tents set at Costco, maybe I should pick that one up soon...

And so on and so forth through the "Grocery list," and the "Items we want to purchase in the coming year list," to the "People to invite, food to eat, and games to play at Mia's birthday party list," to the "Proposed schedule and lesson plans for dance class list," to the "Things I need to do to make good progress on my food storage list," to the "Books I want to read in the coming year list."

Truly, if you were to visit my house and observe things closely you would find each of these lists, plus a whole lot more, written on various scraps of paper, in my planner, on the fridge. I learned a long time ago that writing things down helps my brain to empty a bit, calm the constant nagging voices of the to-do lists.

But, there is a dark-side to the need for such perfect order in all things. I find it very hard to relax, to let go, to focus on the moment. And, as a mother, that weakness is my greatest sorrow.

I want to enjoy my children. I sincerely want to play with them, be with them, teach them in an organic way that seizes each opportunity as it arises out of life. But, too often I feel torn. My perpetual need for order makes it hard to capture the little moments without some degree of guilt or stress.

There is a constant tension between three essential needs in my world.

#1- The need to get things done. In the end, someone has to pay the bills, wash the clothes, do the dishes, and fix the meals. These are actually vital and important parts of my family's well-being.

#2- The need to pay quality attention to my children. Kids need attention in unplanned and often inconvenient ways. Giving it to them as they need it, being present and loving with them through the ups and downs, twists and turns, tantrums and demands of a given day is essential to their sense of being loved and acknowledged.

#3- The need for time to myself. I am sure every mother has, like me, sometimes felt a slave to the previous two needs. I have to be able to have some quiet, to make some progress on my interests, my health, my relationships on a regular basis in order to continue to provide all that my family needs and to have a personally-fulfilling life.

This is the point where my husband would pull out his planner and walk me through the Stephen Covey 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and the four quadrants that show that I allow the unimportant but loudest things, the items in crisis mode, to too often keep me from putting time into the more essential, but less pressing tasks. And, he would be right.

It is just a constant struggle for me. I cannot completely let go of any of my three essential needs, but figuring out how to manage all of them is a challenge.

So, after prayer and contemplation, stresses and worries, and even a few melt-downs, I decided to approach the issue in the best way I know how: Find a place for everything, and put everything in its place.

I began, when we returned from Utah, by setting my physical world in greater order. I went through everything in my house. And, I mean EVERYTHING. I organized every closet, examined every toy and article of clothing, went through every drawer, and ensured that everything had and was in its rightful place. I gave away anything I no longer needed. All my maternity clothes and baby supplies found new homes. Bags full of toys, clothes, and other items were donated. If I can finish my kitchen cupboards (which a stupid cold I am battling has held me up on) this week, I can say that under the surface, my whole house is in order.

Then, I made a list of all the other things I want to do in my home, and I told myself that I could work on only one at a time, and only as it fit into my schedule. Which is my bigger approach to this issue.

I thought through what was essential in my life and determined I had to know exactly when I was going to make time for it. I could not hope it would just emerge at the top of my to-do list each day in a haphazard way. In addition, by knowing that there was a set time for each essential task, my hope was to let go of it during the other times.

My plan consists of four main rules:
#1- Get up by six.

Exercise. Pray. Shower. Get Ready. Be prepared to assist the kids in getting dressed, morning chores, fixing food, etc. by 7:30 at the latest. The key here is not to let ANYTHING distract me. My primary task is ensuring that I am ready for the day. Then, I am in a strong position to be present and available to help the kids get ready and out the door. Our mornings are less stressful and rushed when I am prepared.

I have spent the past 18 months justifying, and rightly so, how I cannot rise early. Pregnancy and waking with a new baby just make it too hard. But, now Elsie Jane is ten months and usually sleeps through the night. There are no more excuses. And, in terms of my personal goals and helping my family's lives to run well, rising earlier is essential.

Just a note, during the summer, when I was NOT trying to rise early and do this, I would tell Jeffrey that you could gauge the quality of my day by how long I wore my workout clothes. Since the goal is always to put them on, go straight to completing my exercise, and then directly remove them and get in the shower (about a one hour process) if I wore them for three or four hours, well let's just say there had been a lot of disruptions along the way. I hate nothing more than days when I am showering after noon!

#2- Use a schedule to organize and accomplish household tasks.

Mine is pretty simple. For the mornings it consists of:

Mondays - Clean the House. (This is the really-get-it-clean-after-the-weekend clean: scrub all baths, vacuum and mop all floors, change sheets and linens, wipe down entire kitchen, ensure all clutter is picked up.)

Tuesdays - Update finances, send emails, work on computer, write.

Wednesdays - Laundry. All of it washed, folded, and put away over the course of the day. Also, Maggie's dance class in the morning.

Thursdays - Projects. Any project I want to work on has to be completed on this day or started and put away until the next Thursday.

Friday - Errands. Grocery shopping, dry cleaner, any other items.

That's it. The goal is that these tasks are not allowed to bleed into other days. So, if the cleaning is not finished on Monday, it waits until the next Monday. Not that I do nothing the rest of the week, it is just that the other days involve quickly picking up, cleaning up after meals, and such, but that is all.

For the afternoons, my goal is to be available to have lunch with Maggie, study my scriptures, and play with Maggie in the afternoons. Obviously, some flexible time is necessary, and this is where it exists.

#3- Once Mia gets home from school, anything that was not done is put aside until the next day.

The afternoons / evenings require my full attention and organization to be carried off with any success. Since we have soccer practice, piano lessons, bishopric meetings, young women's meetings, book groups, school functions, and more on the various evenings in the week, just making sure we have dinner, clean-up, and engage in an effective bedtime routine is all consuming. Besides, this is when my kids need me the very most; if I am not prepared to focus on them, everything falls apart.

#4- Plan family / date time every week.

I feel it is essential for us to have some time as a family and for Jeffrey and I to have some time alone together each week. Lately our schedules have made this rather complex, but if we plan well in advance we can succeed in making it happen.

Right now, our strategy is to take the kids swimming and out to dinner every Friday. We try to hire a babysitter once a week, most often on Saturdays (even if it is just to go to the ward baptism and get a sandwich -- as we have done the last two weeks) but this week it is Thursday so we can to Back-to-School night and then go out to dinner. It just has to occur at some point.

My new schedule creates a place for everything that is essential in my life. If I can keep everything in its place and not allow myself to get distracted or pulled off course along the way, my hope is that I will get the tasks done, without them taking over, have some reliable time for myself and my interests, and be more available and prepared to give during the times that my family is all at home.

I am only a few weeks in, but so far it seems to be helping this neat-freak to let go a bit more.

All too fast...

It seems so trite for mothers to complain about how fast their children are growing up. But, lately I am just feeling it so bad, that I am going to do it anyway.

Last thing I knew I was a mother of two little ones and a baby. Not anymore.

It began when I was organizing some pictures. I came across this of Mia just after we moved to Virginia (which seems like only yesterday):


And, compared it to this:


Aack! What happened?

All the sudden, it feels like, she has become quite the grown-up. She lost her other top tooth; she changed Elsie Jane's diaper; she consistently gets up to practice piano every morning before school on her own; she reads everything. I am not sure I am ready for all this.

But, it only got worse when I was taking Maggie to her first full day of preschool last week. Just the night before Jeffrey was commenting on his fears of navigating Maggie through her teenage years, since she already gives us fits over the types of issues you would expect to find with a sixteen-year old.

"Pooh, pooh," I said, "It will be fine."

Then, as we pulled up near the school, Maggie turned to me and said, "Mom, I really need my own cell phone."

What!?!

"Yes," she continued, laying out her argument with great care, "Then, if there is a problem I can call you and Dad."

Seriously! I admit it, Love, I too am scared.

I mean, she is THREE. Oh, what may await us when this fashion-diva, cell-phone toting tot turns thirteen.

And, as if all the accomplishments and interests of her older sisters were not enough to give me pause, Elsie Jane has decided to just make it official. She is no longer a baby.

Since our return from Utah I have been pondering what to so about safely securing the stairs in our house. Our little 1930's bungalow in Salt Lake had a door at the top of the one staircase to the basement, so I have never owned a baby gate before. My stairs now have crazy banisters, and I have simply not known what to do.

So, I just tried to always keep an eye on Elsie who, at ten months, is all over the place now.

But, this last week, she mastered the stairs on her own. She can go all the way up and all the way down with no trouble. And, she is super fast.

I will turn around for a minute, and when I turn back she is no where to be found, because she has scurried up the stairs.

In fact, this is her favorite past-time lately. It is like having her own jungle gym at home. Elsie spends all the time she possibly can, every day, climbing up and down the stairs.

I guess that solves my gate problem.

But, it leaves me with another, mourning the loss of the little baby years. Sigh. I never thought I was the type of mom who didn't want her kids to grow up, but lately it just seems to be happening all too fast.

In the buff...

Well, I did it.

And, as I sit here with butterflies in my stomach, I can't shake the sensation that I just stripped down, nude, documented myself, and posted pictures on the internet. I am that naked.

I have promised myself that this blog is a place to tell the truth, to be myself, but I am presently shuddering over doing it.

Deep breath. Calm down.

Here it goes.

I have been working on a story. A children's story. For several months now. It came to me suddenly, was far more difficult than I expected it to be to write, and has had many revisions. And, this is the part that causes internal somersaults, I am hoping to get it published.

There I said it. I just wish I could silence the voice in my head that sounds something like this, "You presumptuous, untalented, idiot. Who do you think you are?" And so on, and so forth....

In any case, I am to a point that I need more feedback and critiquing of my work.

I need honest, helpful responses on how to improve it to a point that I can then send it off in its best possible form, well prepared for a boatload more rejection of my work.

So, I thought of all of you. You anonymous, but friendly, souls who bother to read what I write already. I know you are out there.

So, if you have a minute and are willing to do me a favor, read my story. Tell me what you think. I have thick skin, and I really want to know.

Thanks.

You can get to it by clicking on the link on the right that says: What I May Be. Thanks, Again.





I am still working on breathing. It is hard to feel right when I feel so naked and exposed.

But, eventually in life, you just have to take a risk. This is my first step.

Mama Mia!

Maggie, my three year old, has a favorite song. Every time we get in the car or turn on music in the house she cries, "Mama Mia! Mama Mia!"

At first, I thought that this Abba hit, turned Broadway Musical, turned Hollywood Blockbuster was adored for its snappy, upbeat tune. But, I think this summer I have discovered the truth. Maggie loves Mama Mia because Maggie idolizes Mia.

Maggie's favorite song is really just a tribute to the greatest person in her life: her sister Mia. In fact, to hear Maggie sing it, the lyrics to Mama Mia go something like this:
"Mama Mia, here I go again,
My, my how about my sister!"

How about her sister? Maggie forms the one person, non-stop, 24-7 Mia fan club.

If Mia does something, Maggie has to do it too. If Mia is playing with a toy, Maggie will take it. If Mia says something, Maggie will repeat it. (Sometimes for the length of a full conversation that they are both having with me!)

But, during the last few weeks the infatuation has risen to an even greater frenzy.

Maggie began by saying, "I not want my voice. I want Mia's voice. I want to talk like Mia!"

Then, she said, "I not want to be Maggie. I want to be Mia. Why you make me be Maggie?"

And finally, this last week, "I am not Maggie. I AM MIA!!!"

But, as any celebrity can testify, iconic status does have its downsides. Like, a complete lack of privacy.

With Maggie forming a one-girl paparazzi, she effectively follows Mia ANYWHERE she goes. And, if Mia tries to shut the door and have some privacy (which is what I often encourage during heated moments of over-zealous adoration) Maggie will collapse into a screaming, puddle and then diligently pound the door down for an hour, until Mia, in a new state of desperation opens it up to escape from Maggie.

There is also a bit of a challenge in having no personal ownership. Not of property, not of ideas, not of time with your friends or family. Nothing. Maggie infringes on everything that belongs to Mia. She often cannot even sleep in peace.

Maggie wears Mia's clothes and shoes; Maggie hangs out in Mia's room in her spare time; Maggie sneaks into Mia's bed and sleeps with her at night.

If Mia is having a fairy birthday party, so is Maggie. If Mia wants an American Girl doll for Christmas, so does Maggie. If Mia wants to eat orange ice cream, so does Maggie.

Watching it unfold up-close, I have begun to understand why celebrities snap. It's called too much of a good thing.

Seriously, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I watch Mia slug her sister and think, "I would feel exactly like doing that too!" (Not, that I am condoning violence. No, we talk a lot about turning the other cheek and such, but still...)

In sum, from a mother's perspective, raising an icon and her biggest fan in the same house can create some degree of tension. It is a love-hate relationship.

While my daughters love each other and are truly, as they say, "BFF" -- which I have learned is "Best Friends Forever" -- they need some time apart, some opportunities that are uniquely their own. Really, they need their own lives, for the health of their relationship and for the sanity of our family, they need to find their own lives.

So, in truth, I was relieved to be sending Mia and Maggie off to school this week. Especially since, they were both so excited.

Maggie, of course was rather devastated that:
1- She was not going to Mia's school;
2- She was not riding on the bus to school, like Mia;
3- She was not going to take her lunch to school with her, like Mia;
4- She could not wear exactly the same clothes to school as Mia;
5- She did not originally choose exactly the same backpack as Mia; and
6- She has to wait so dang long in the afternoons for Mia to return back home.

But, in the end, Maggie loves her preschool. She only wishes she was going every day. And, much to my relief, Mia seems to be off to a much better start in first grade than she had in kindergarten.

While we have had a few more peaceful days, and I am hoping for even more, I know that the Maggie "hearts" Mia dynamic will only continue to be well captured by Mama Mia! because, in essence, it is just a song about a love that always wins out, even when misbehavior, tantrums, threats to leave and never come back plague it regularly, deep down, its a crazy, inescapable, eternal love that never really subsides.

I guess that is all I can really hope for with my kids. That after the years of growing up together, the inevitable battles over who gets to use the bathroom and "borrowed" clothing, the constant need to differentiate one's self and the competition of being siblings, even the unkind words and frustrations that come with being family, that the ultimate outcome will be that they always come back to loving each other, over and over again.

OBX

So, if you live in Virginia, and you want to vacation in the summer, the consensus seems to be that there is only one place to go. The Outer Banks. For those, like us, who are from the West, this is a series of islands along the coast of North Carolina.

Having never been before, but determining that it was time for the Merchants to embrace where we live and start vacationing here, we were delighted to make our first visit to the Outer Banks in August with our friends, the Jones.

It was way easier to go with someone else who had scoped things out before, and our kids loved having friends to play with on the beach. Seriously, at one point I asked both Mia and Maggie if they wanted to build a sandcastle, and I was turned down by both, since they already had a friend.

The beach was gorgeous. I loved the remote and undeveloped feel of the area. I can't wait to go back.

Here is a taste for our time at Cape Hatteras.

The view up the coastline.

Hatteras Island.



Kids loving the ocean.

Elsie Jane not so much loving the sand.


The Cape Hatteras lighthouse.

Taking the ferry to Ocracoke Island.

Say Brie...

I love to take pictures. Not that I am a wonderful photographer or anything. But, I do enjoy it.

Unless, it is a special occasion and the photographees are my children. Then, I hate taking pictures. Not that my kids aren't beautiful and photogenic. They are. Not that I don't want fabulous documentation of how they are growing up and each special moment in our lives. I do.

But, that is precisely the problem.

Whenever I really care about getting great pictures, it seems like I encounter a mountain of opposition, leaving me and the kids wearing anything but smiles on our faces at the end of the photo-shoot.

So, trying to avoid the tears and ill feelings that have accompanied our family's Christmas-photo-taking over the past couple of years, and very much wanting pictures that included Jeffry and me as actual, physically represented members of the family, I decided to take a big step. I hired someone to take our family pictures.

The problem is, I am super, really, very picky about pictures. Nothing cheesy for the Merchants, please. I want something classy, refined, yet candid. I want perfection in a photo.

So, given our love hate relationship with photos and the high bar I have set in my mind, I knew just who to hire: Samantha.

My sister's sister-in-law is darling. And, she takes fabulous pictures.

After spending lots of time thinking about what to wear and where to shoot and all those other details. After several significant melt-downs on the way to the shoot. And, after several hours with Samantha, I have been dying to see the final products...

which she put up a preview of this week.



I have just one word. Perfect. Thanks, Sam. I am in love.

For the rest of the preview, check out Samantha's Photoblog.

I can't wait for the disk to arrive with all the rest on it.