Beckett

So Beckett is growing, growing, growing. But not getting much bigger. He is full of silly faces, and the funniest belly laugh/grunt. He has also entered the whinning screaming two year old phase where he is getting really frustrated at not being able to communicate. So some days I want to just lock him in a closet.

He decided to eat this cake with a toothpick. It was hysterical. He ate about half a bite all night long.

He is darling.

This day he kept walking around with his hands in his pockets- so dapper.

I just love this guy- when he is sleeping.

So one day Beckett decided to help me cook,

And then Dad found him,

Spreading the joy in the family room.

How to Hunt a Brother

Easter Day

So in a fit of insanity- I decided to sew myself an Easter skirt and matching ties for the boys. Thanks to Marika I wasn't up too late. This is also an example of why there are no good pictures of me. Alma is not photo talented. And because I know the masses are clammering for it I included a picture of me in the skirt so you can see it too- how Alma always gets such a flattering angle is a mystery to me.

Here are the monkeys all lined up on the stairs, sadly it rained and snowed off and on all day so we had an indoor egg hunt- which is kind of sad. Grant was Beckett's helper (his idea).

Coen at this age didn't really get it- one egg and he was happy. I don't know if it was due to the helper but Beckett got it- he was running around like a maniac getting all the eggs he could.

Coen was digging through this potted plant getting all the plastic eggs and leaving behind all the hard boiled ones- I thought a sign of brilliance. Then the next week he ate about a dozen boiled eggs- so maybe he shouldn't have spurrned the real eggs.

The loot

Annie did pretty good too.

This is For Becky

So Becky keeps nagging me to post pictures on the blog- so here it is.

This is the hydrenga peeking out for spring.

So today is Easter. A day of rebirth and renewal. As I look out the window by our desk I can see the world emerging from the dismal depths of winter. The trees and hydrangeas are sprouting green leaves, the daffodils, and hyacinth are at full bloom. And as I see these forbearers of the glory of spring and summer- hope grows and blossoms as well.

Not long ago my sisters and I lived through a difficult and painful week. We met with my mother in a safe and caring environment. We needed to tell her we loved her- but we also needed some sign of sorrow, or anguish- remorse or guilt for the pain, abuse and neglect of the past. And not too surprisingly none was forth coming. All we received was denial, further abuse, and anger. It was painful beyond any emotional pain I could describe. Not only were we remembering things long in the past and gut wrenching to discuss- but these tender vulnerable children were then abused again. It made the decision clear for me that my sisters were right and it was time to end our relationship with our mother. I sorrow for the loss of my mother. I know if she is well she is welcome to return to our lives. But I can't picture that. My mother has never been truly well in my lifetime. I don't know what that will look like.

And then at the end of the week the last lecture I attended was one on grief. It was uplifting and hopeful. The counselor pointed out that we not only have to mourn for death, or the loss of a place- me must also mourn our lost childhood if we want to live our lives with out anger or sorrow. And so I saw hope for the future. I know how to sorrow- I know how to grieve. I just have never grieved for my childhood. But I could see that I could find peace by embracing my grief, experiencing it and coming out the other side cleansed and renewed. Like spring returning to a barren frozen earth.

And then a few days after I returned I sang in the stake choral celebration of Easter. We sang an old French carol entitled Love is Come Again. I had sang this song many times in rehearsal- and yet not until the performance did the words really touch my soul.

Love is come again like wheat that springeth green
When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,
Thy touch can call us back to life again,
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green;
like wheat that springeth green.

(this is not a great recording but the only one I could find)

And so this Easter morn, I feel the hope that was heralded by Christ rising from the tomb. The knowledge that he felt all our pain as he knelt in the Garden of Gethsemane. That He knows my pain, that I may turn it over to Him and feel the peace available to me through faith in the Atonement.

So this Easter morn I feel hope. I know that I am like the hydrangea bush by our front door sprouting green leaves- preparing for the glory of the summer. So to am I grieving for the past preparing for the glory of the future.

I lightened things up for spring.
And look over there>>>>
Well a little lower over there>>
I finally made a list of crafts to finish.
And I finished some.