family & home

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The older I get, the less certain I am of anything.

I know that there’s one place to find truth and that we are given exactly what we need.

I know that who you marry matters and that I have been greatly blessed in that regard. Also, I just kind of really like him.

I know that moments become days and days become a childhood and I’ll never be ready for them to be gone.

And so lately, despite the stories I could tell here and the things I could share, I find myself sinking into these faces. Standing by them at the sink; really seeing them when they read to me; answering questions from underneath the laundry pile; saying “I’m sorry” when my patience fails; telling them the truth, always; laughing with them around the dinner table.

Because all of those moments and days – what we give them and oftentimes what we don’t – really, truly matter.

And that’s pretty much all I know.

IMG_9272 IMG_9263 IMG_9265 IMG_9269 IMG_9270One of my earliest childhood memories with my own Mama involves sitting on a counter top, grating the giant zucchini from the garden. I couldn’t have been more than four or five and not much bigger than the zucchinis themselves.

I so often wonder which of the happenings of these full and busy days they will remember. The tire rolling down the dirt road with the little boy chasing after it? The list of chores that weave the tapestry of our days? The nightly milking of the goat when all of the helpers seem to find their way to the milking stand?

Annabelle has recently voiced a strong desire to help more in the kitchen. “Can you teach me to make bread, Mama?” she asks when I’m just trying to finish one thing up and get to another. And this is where it gets hard. Soon her enthusiasm for dishes and kitchen-helping will fade, as it did for her brothers before they were employed full-time at the task. Soon she will speed things along and cross things off the list all by herself.

But oh, that list.

And so she is teaching me through it, me slowing down and showing her, her running in and out of the screen door as her interest comes and goes. Because sometimes dirt pies are more fun than kitchen cleanup. And sometimes where she wants to be is right there by my side.

I wonder if she’ll remember that too.