He's Here. He's Really Here.

October 2014

October 2016

More pictures later. I'm going to enjoy my son today.

Counting Down

How is this possible?

28 days.

In a short 28 days, I'll be squeezing my boy.

I spent the last 30 minutes rereading all of the posts from the week Ben left for Peru (the day he left, and how I felt about it), and tears wet my cheeks. That's the first time in 23 months I've reread those posts.

I should have waited a few more weeks.

Now I can't wait to see him.

October 4, four days shy of two years.

28 days, four weeks from today.

I know the time will fly by . . .

28 days.

Who's counting?

Christmas Tradition

Days morph to nights with no awareness of the passage of time. Games, puzzles, parks, hikes, food, and family. It's been a good holiday week.

The holidays are all about tradition, and we indulged in ours. Christmas Eve was spent at the Phoenix Zoo. We love going that day--hardly anyone is there, and the temperature is delicious.

Annie loved every animal and every ride and every kernel of kettle corn.

My little kids loved showing her their favorite corners of the zoo--the elephants, the Komodo dragon, the spider monkeys . . .

. . . and the orangutans.

Micah fell into a fountain and smelled of swamp water for the rest of the morning, and Lily sat in a puddle of water that soaked through her jeans, leggings, spandex, and underwear to make her cold and miserable for the rest of the morning.

Our time was limited that day and we were unable to take our traditional train ride around the east side of the zoo, but Lily convinced me that they needed a carousel ride.

I was so bad about pulling my camera out this Christmas--one shot on Christmas morning, and none the night before.

Things I want to remember about this Christmas--fancy dinner on fancy china without a single major spill. That's got to be a first in a while. Brad stuffed the pinata as full as possible, and after Eve took the first turn, Brad raised it up for Hyrum's turn--where it promptly broke off the hook. Lily instantly pounced on it, threw it against the fence and yelled, "Look! Free CANDY!" Instead of the kids being mad about it, they scooped up handfuls and headed back inside. I never thought that would fly with this bunch.

As we sat around the Christmas tree that night, I asked the kids how they felt about having fewer presents under the tree this year (part was a purposeful decision we made as a family to serve others this year, and part was imposed upon us by others). Three of them determined that they didn't like the season as much without guessing presents and piles under the tree. At that moment I agreed with them. Much of my attitude this year was tainted by the choices of others, and I had a hard time getting into the season.

After piling all together in Lily's room for the night (watching Will Ferrell's Elf and stuffing themselves with pinata candy), they came into our room to see what Santa had left in their stockings. They knew that only three presents would be under the tree for each of them, and they savored their stockings. I liked how each small gift was unwrapped and enjoyed before moving on to the next. By the time they got to the tree, their moods had changed. Each gift was important and valued--none of those "filler" gifts that I always seem to stack under the tree because they need new jeans or because this child is one gift short of everyone else. Brad and I didn't exchange gifts this year (I've been driving around my Christmas gift for the past month already), but he surprised me with a beautiful bouquet and a card that brought tears to my eyes.

The best part of the morning was opening the last gift--a small cardboard box that had found its way to our house all the way from Peru. Ben wrote a letter to the family and one to Tucker and Karli explaining their gift, and he wrote four letters in four copies of the Book of Mormon for each of his younger siblings. Tears fell as we read his words, and our family drew close in that quiet moment. I took advantage of the spirit we felt then to reiterate my question from the night before. Now that the present opening was over, did they really miss having lots of presents under the tree? All four of them said no, and they said that they hope we do it like that again next year (minus the theft out of the garage, Mom added).

Finally, after 25 years of mothering and fussing over Christmas and presents and the questions of "Is it enough?" or "Is it too much?" I found the perfect balance for our family. It was peaceful and joyful and calm and beautiful. I don't know if I can repeat that feeling next year, but you can bet that I'm going to try.

Six hours later, we were connected across the hemispheres to our missionary.

I love this boy with all my heart. In his Christmas letter, he requested that his 40-minute call be divided in two-minute increments, with each family member having time alone with him. I was in charge of monitoring the time, and in the transitions between siblings I would hear tender or funny exchanges. My heart swelled with joy. I can't explain it any other way. I saved the last two minutes for myself, and as I sat down in my chair, my eyes and throat swelled with tears. I looked into the eyes of my son, and both of us silently cried for a moment. I can't believe it's been almost fifteen months since I've hugged my son. I can't believe he only has one phone call left from the mission field. I can't believe how he's grown and changed and yet how he's still exactly the same. Too soon the time was gone, and the chasm between Lima and Mesa closed once again.

As we crawled into our beds at the cabin that night, our thoughts were the same.

It was the best Christmas ever.

Half Gone, Half Left

Did you know today is a holiday around here?

Bet you didn't.

Now you're trying to figure out what the holiday could possibly be, aren't you?

Here's a hint.

Got a guess?

It has been exactly 365 days today since I got to do this:

My Ben. I miss him with an ache that can only be described as sacred.

A year ago, I wrote a post on what it feels like to send a son on a mission, and I echo those feelings today.

How much I miss him.

 I miss his silliness and his joy for life. I miss his laugh and his hugs and his listening ear.

 And while the ache in my heart is deep, I wouldn't trade these two years for anything.

For the people he is meeting and whose lives he is touching.

 Everyone deserves a little Ben in their lives. I'm just lucky enough to be his mom.

 Probably my favorite story from his mission is about this couple. You can read about them here.

There is so much to serving a mission. Building character. Learning life skills. Developing a personal testimony of Jesus Christ. Serving and walking and teaching and talking and losing yourself in the process.

The countdown begins in earnest now. In a few weeks, Evie will have her last birthday while he's gone. Then, it will be the last Thanksgiving, the last Christmas, his last birthday, the last phone call . . .

. . . and then he will be home.

If I could talk to him today, I would encourage him through this very discouraging patch he's in. I would tell him it's worth every second. I would share funny stories from home and smooth over all the tough stuff. I would share my own testimony of Jesus Christ and ask to hear his.

Most of all, I would tell him how proud I am of him and tell him to give it his all until the end.

Hurrah.
Hurrah for Israel.

Two Years Gone By

It was the day my bestie, Karen, had had set in her phone for two years.

 The monitor said one thing . . .

 . . . but Karen's phone was right. It was on time!

 So much waiting . . .

 The volunteer in the purple coat was there to keep us all in check so the other 225 passengers could all deplane without getting trampled by all of us.

 And then Logan appeared behind the customs door.

 He was not patiently working his way through the crowd.

This is one of my favorite pictures from the day.

His suitcases got a little stuck in that crazy door, but it didn't hold him back for long.

Two years ago, this young man left his family to serve a mission in England. And he was back.

Moms always get the first hug.

Then dads.

Then sister.

And brother.

And then Mom again. And again and again and again.

Buddies and cousins and aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas all took their turn with the newly returned elder.

When it was my turn, Logan whispered in my ear, "You're hugging Ben. Pretend I'm Ben."

Welcome home, Elder Cole. Well done.

Hurrah. Hurrah for Israel.