the fourth then and now

I am not sure what it is about documenting the 4th of July that is so difficult for me, but apparently it's a pattern; in the five years I've been blogging there has not been one single 4th of July post. All that is about to change, folks. In true speed-blogging fashion, I'm going to mingle a few old photos in with the new as an attempt to make myself feel better about slacking off for all these years. Plus, it's actually really fun to see the different years' celebrations side-by-side as documentation of the evolution of our family. So here we go: a look at our 4th of July traditions and fun, mostly from this year, with a few of the vintage ones for fun.

There is a group of girls that I run with every morning when the weather is good (meaning: late spring, all summer, and early fall). There are typically 3-5 of us that go, sometimes as many as 6 or 7, all of us pushing jogging strollers (many of us pushing double joggers, one of us pushing a triple) and it is especially awesome when some of the older kids ride their bikes along. We get plenty of smiles, laughs, and comments as our entourage moves along the parkway. Anyway, one of these running friends of mine and I have run in a little race on the 4th of July for the past two years, and it has been a fun way to start off our holiday. Last year we ran the Riverton 10K-- she was a few months pregnant and I was a few months un-pregnant (ie: Pearl was 3 months old), so we were a good team :).

These are from last year. Christina and I after finishing, and then me nursing a ravenous Baby Pea who was not sure why her mama was not at home that morning to feed her.


And then here we are this year, after finishing the 5K in Murray (they didn't have a 10K option or we would have done that, but after the race I was pretty happy it was only a 5K-- I don't know why I felt so weak, but I was glad to cross that finish line after 3 miles instead of 6!). Now our boys are 4, she has a new baby, and I still have my nursing baby who was still a little mad that I wasn't home to nurse her, but now she's 15 months and can walk over and squeeze my legs when she sees me for the first time instead of just screaming.
(As an aside, do you like how I am wearing the exact same outfit both years? That is my favorite tank top to run in. It was John's dad's basketball jersey from long ago (I'd guess the 80's, but I suppose it could be the 70's), and John inherited it along with a few other choice articles of clothing (including some pretty sweet track shorts) that he would never wear. I figured I should not let a perfectly awesome tank top rot away in a pile, and now that tank top and I have run miles and miles together. I love it because it is the perfect length and tightness and the perfect shade of retro blue, but also because it was John's dad's and I like to think about the amazing man who used to wear it. A man that I've never met that I owe so much to. I think he'd like that I get to hold his grandbabies while wearing his basketball jersey :).)



Baby girl missed me and wanted to nurse, but was soon distracted by a banana and popsicle.


We stayed and watched the parade (much to my husband's chagrin), and George thought it was pretty much the best thing ever. By the way, I do not know why he insists on wearing his hats sideways, but he does, so we roll with it.


George and Jakey got bags to collect their candy in, and it was a miracle there were not little boys fist-fighting over pieces of taffy. They were serious about their candy-collecting.



Pearl and I watched from the curb and saw a couple of lovely things.


The first was Mayor Snarr with his fantastic mustache.


And the second was the happy surprise of John's darling cousins marching in all their Scottish attire. We didn't know they were going to be there and I probably embarrassed them as a ran along backwards in front of them taking their pictures and smiling and waving frantically. Look at how cute they are though! You would've been excited, too!


Oh look, what do you know, we went to a parade last year, too! It's cracking me up that George is pointing at a firetruck in this one from last year in the same way as the one above from this year. This was a parade down Main Street in Vernal, UT. We had gone camping that weekend near there and decided to make it into town that morning for the parade. I really need to post more pictures from that weekend last year because I have a billion and I love them. Soon, maybe.


After the parade this year, we went home and decided to go play at our park for a bit before we had a barbecue. George rode the 100 yards over to the park in style on his PowerWheels truck that our neighbors generously gave him a couple of years ago. We all played around on the basketball courts for a bit...


...Some of us more seriously than others :).


These little legs were made for walkin', and she is a little maniac, walk-running as fast as she can to get to places that she knows she's not supposed to go.


Like down the sidewalk and up the stairs to the road with her daddy and brother in hot pursuit.

This sweet moment was captured right before he tried to "help" her off and ended up running over her foot. There were tears, his not hers, because he had to take a break from the truck (he was being mighty careless and hasty in his driving :)), followed by an early escort home for him from his mama, followed by angry sobs coming from his room and, "I want a NEW mama! I'll never be my mama's friend again!" It is pretty rough to be my offspring, apparently.

After George had decided that his life really wasn't so bad and some apologies and hugs were had by all (and after he had changed into his favorite basketball outfit), we lit a few sparklers. Don't let Pearl's squinted eyes fool you-- she was fearless with those things and swung them around like it was her job, prompting us to run and duck for cover. Really. We finally had to just take them away from her because she would not let us hold on to them along with her to prevent her from burning and maiming her brother and the trees.

Later that night we headed to Sandy for the Real game that has become tradition for us on the 4th. 

Sugar is always a notorious part of these games as a means of keeping busy children happy and seated. Unfortunately this method doesn't really fly with Pearl. She is obsessed with going up and down stairs and makes demanding screams in their direction until we finally cave and go climb up and down with her. If it makes you feel any better (it does me), we always make sure she uses a nice voice and says please before we fold :).

Here is a shot of our little family this year outside the stadium.

And here we all are last year in the stadium before the fireworks. Look at that chubby little Pea!

She was much less disruptive last year when all I had to do to keep her happy was nurse her.

George has always been easy and mellow at the Real games. Last year on the 4th we splurged on some cotton candy and he was in sticky-fingered heaven.

My boy enjoying (with caution, of course) the fireworks at the stadium last year.

He has always been cautious (unlike his sister). This was when we lit fireworks at home last year.

And this was from the year before (2009) when it was just the three of us. I love these pictures.

Sparklers have also been a constant at our 4th of July celebrations. Here, in 2009. George, of course, held the flame as far away from his body as possible. His sister tried to grab the flame this year, for the record.

Here are a couple from last year (2010).

And finally, from this year.

We also had fun with a few little fireworks in our driveway.

Someone always had to keep ahold of Pearl so she didn't run right into the fire. Look at her delighted grin. She cracks me up.

Here her responsible big brother held onto her with both hands to keep her nice and safe.


John suggested that we go up on the roof to watch some fireworks from around the valley. It was so much fun because we could see them in all directions.


I played around with the settings on my camera because it was way too dark to get any kind of focus without a flash, but I didn't want a harsh, bright flash. I liked the way these shots turned out, especially this one because it looks like George has a little twin ghost.


Perhaps the roof wasn't the safest idea with our daredevil one year old. Don't worry, we were careful :).


Proof that I was on the roof, too.


All in all, a very happy day (all three years :)). Until next year! (If I post about it... or I guess I could say, "Until 2015, when I post about the previous 3 years of 4th of July celebrations!)

best friends forever

I have massive amounts of stuff to post (I'm talking: 4th of July, fishing (lots), water play, G's birthday etc. etc.), but this picture is my current favorite and deserves a post all to itself. I look at it and just feel so full of love and gratitude for these three people that I get to spend my days with.

John is everything that is good and steady and teasing.

George is everything that is playful and tender and testing.

Pearl is everything that is spunk and joy and loud.

I cannot get enough of these three. Feeling super blessed, now and always.

july 4, 2003

I need to write about our 4th of July fun, and I still have more Chasing Pteronarcella to post, but I wanted to take a minute for something else first. The 4th of July is mostly about barbecues, family, summer, and fireworks for me just like it is for you, but during quiet moments I always find my mind wandering back to Romania, thinking about the July 4th of 2003.

I find myself imagining a mother (Maria is her name) giving birth to a baby boy and there are so many questions I want to ask her. I wonder about how old she was, if she gave birth to him in a hospital or at home, and if there was anyone around her to give her support. I wonder if his father was there or if she had been left alone. I wonder if she had other children, if that baby boy had any siblings that he would never meet. I wonder if the mother's heart broke when she first set her eyes on him because she already knew that she would be unable to care for him. I wonder if she thought he was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, or if it was too painful for her to have those thoughts, knowing what was ahead. I wonder how long she held him before she left, or if she even held him at all. I imagine her facing the impossible task of saying goodbye to her baby boy, her kissing his perfect cheeks one last time, the tears that had to have been streaming down her face, the agony she must have been in. Did she know she wouldn't ever see him again, or did she hold on to hope that maybe one day she would be able to come back for him and raise him? Did she know he'd be going to an orphanage, or did she think that perhaps there would be a foster home and adoption in his future?

I don't know the story of how she left him and he came to be an orphan, but I do know that she was the one who gave him his beautiful name, that she was the first one to call him George. I know that he grew into the most beautiful baby boy, that his eyes were bright blue, that he fell asleep readily in my arms, and that I loved him like he was mine. His mother  couldn't have known that her baby boy would impact my life so deeply, that still, six years after I saw him for the last time, I would sit and cry, wondering about where he was, hoping and praying that he was okay. I imagine her crying for him, too. She couldn't have known that one day I would give birth to a baby boy of my own, that he was due to come on a July 4th, too, and that I would choose the same name for my son as she had chosen for hers. She couldn't have known that a picture of her George would sit in a frame on the bookshelf in my George's room, and that my three-year old George would shed tender tears of sadness as he heard the story of her George not having a family or home.

I daydream about meeting George's mother. I imagine hugging her tight, and I imagine us both embracing her boy that we love so fiercely. I imagine us being so much more alike than we are different, and I imagine asking her to forgive me for once being angry with her, for once, in fits of agony myself, asking (no one in particular) how she could have abandoned her child. I imagine us understanding each other. I imagine the pain of her past being cleansed, her son's grief and loneliness and heartache being swallowed up, and them being able to be a family. I will live next door with my family, and our Georges will be brothers.

On July 4th I celebrated Independence Day, but I also celebrated a little boy turning 8 years old. I said a prayer for him, that wherever he is he feels love, that whatever his life is like he has peace. Oh how I wonder about him. One day I'll know.

These first few photos are of my Romania Georgie that first year that I met and fell in love with him in the hospital.




And these are from the second year I lived in Romania when George miraculously ended up in the orphanage I was working in. I couldn't believe his curly hair. The first picture is from the last time I held him and said goodbye (he's wearing a shirt my mom sent for him), and the second picture is from the last time I saw him, when I happened to catch a glimpse of him outside with the maintenance man painting pesticide on the trees. I miss him.

chasing pteronarcella: in the trenches

The main objective on the collecting trip was to sample rivers and streams and collect insects, obviously. This post will show you what that looks like when you have a toddler and a baby with you. Adventures, for sure, but I love that this is just their lives. This is what they know and it is (and will continue to be) an intertwined part of our family story now. George knows how to just dive in and collect the insects with forceps and transfer them to the alcohol without even being asked. Pearl is fascinated by these icky little creatures and enjoys picking them up with her chubby fingers for closer examination. I am not as naturally thrilled about these bugs as the other three members of my family, but I am learning to be less horrified when a three-inch long stonefly lands on my face and wants to hang out there (those pictures will come in another post). When I think about the direction of John's career path, the overwhelming emotion I have is one of gratitude. Gratitude that he has found a way to do something that he loves and feels so much passion for. Gratitude that it will mean that our family has built-in adventures almost constantly and that our children will grow up with these kinds of experiences just being part of their lives. Gratitude that my horizons and interests will have opportunities to expand as John shares it all with me. I know that it is still a long road and that there will be bumps along the way and that there will be days that I don't like that my kitchen dishes have been turned into bug-filled sorting containers, but right now I just feel really blessed and grateful.

I love these photos because they are just an accurate glimpse into what collecting bugs in rivers looks like for our family. These people are my favorites.





Most of the time our collecting routine consisted of me hanging out with the kids on the banks,


while John went out into the river to kick up some rocks and see what he could find.


Then the whole family would get involved in the sorting/examining process. Notice Pearl reaching right in to help out. I tried to keep her away from the trays as much as I could (ya know, 14 month olds and open containers of alcohol and all), but she was so interested in it all that I had to let her explore a little.

I love George's gigantic stick here and the very pleased look on his face :). This was right about when I would have to put the camera down and run snatch Pearl up before she just trotted right into the water,


I don't mind helping with the sorting of bugs as long as I have forceps. George, on the other hand, is happy to dig right in with his hands. Pearl, too. I am not there yet. Maybe give me a few more years of this and we'll see.



She likes to touch and hold them. I don't get it, but I'm happy she does.




Often times John would be in the river for quite awhile trying to find what he needed, so the kids and I entertained ourselves. Pearl was just starting to take off with walking, so she loved just being free to roam around on her little feet.


And George is happy wherever there is a body of water and rocks/sticks to throw in, so we were good to go for the most part.


At one spot in New Mexico George taught Pearl how to throw rocks into the river herself. I sat back and watched this unfold (with my camera in hand, of course), without any intervening and it was so much fun to watch George show his little sister how to do something that he loved. Pearl was seriously delighted, as you can see. (George is in underwear because he had fallen on the riverbank and gotten his shorts all wet and muddy.)



Pearl started going for the boulders once she had mastered throwing in the little rocks :).


Here's a close-up shot at what the collecting tray would look like at a particularly successful spot. And look! I was on this trip, too!


Every once in awhile I remembered to give John the camera so that we could document the mama in this family. Here we are walking up from one of the rivers. I was in charge of getting the kids back and forth and John was in charge of getting the bugs back and forth :).


And since we're on a roll of pictures with me in them, here are a couple more of us all looking like we had been camping for a few days (we had). Disheveled and dirty, but happy :).



Camping and hot springs adventures up next.