Moving.

These photos were taken by a friend of mine (thanks, Katrina!) and mean so much to me since they are mostly in the backyard of our little house where we've lived now for 2 1/2 years.

In just over a week we will be moving to Carlsbad, California. Jake's company is transferring him down there to cover the southern California region.

It is so surreal to me that we are moving, and leaving this place behind. Utah has been our home more than once as we've bounced around from place to place. I have 6 siblings here. Hannah, Jared, Miriam, Gideon, Naomi and as of this summer, my little sister Bethany. Most of them have young kids or newborns. Their faces go through my mind as I prepare to move away. So sad to think they will no longer be part of my daily life. I've pushed those feelings away for most of this process. I can feel them  coming like a tidal wave.

And my friends, my FRIENDS. Some of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life. Diverse, open, trusting, caring, women. I will die a hundred deaths without them.

The positive side... we are moving to a place about a mile from the ocean. To me, it's as close to home as I can get (although, still 12 hours from my hometown). We visited there a month or so ago. We went to the beach and after the girls had gotten their legs wet, I took Lillie's hand and we walked along a rocky jetty to the very end, my arm shaky from lifting her over every boulder and crevice for 200 yards. The breeze was overwhelming. The city of Carlsbad was behind us, covering the cliffs, and Jake and the girls were just below us on the shore. We sat there for a bit, Lillie and I. She stuck out her jaw, the sun on her face and her hair blowing back. I got tears in my eyes then, seeing my strong girl with her sparkly eyes facing west, the cold Pacific spray on our legs and nothing but open water on the horizon.

I don't mean to be dramatic. I just got emotional on the jetty that day, my gypsy heart winding it's way around that new town. Letting myself get drawn in by this completely new and gorgeous piece of coast.

Change molds us, like driftwood. It shakes up the box that holds our family until we finally resettle in slightly different positions, the light is different, the walls are different. Everything is fresh. And there, in that place of unpredictability, is where I thrive.

Happy Birthday Matilda.

Dear, dearest, dearie little Tadi.

You are two now. I took you up to the mountains alone. Just you and I. You rolled down your window and watched the trees whizz by. I watched you in my rear view mirror, pursed my lips, my eyes tightened. What is it about time and memories and love that make you so incredibly happy and so desperately sad at the same time?

We parked. I pulled you from your car seat, your underarms first, with your little feet following slightly behind. I asked you questions as you rode my hip out to the lake. To everything you said, "Nyaaaa". And one time you rubbed my arms, craned your neck to see my face and said, "Mahhhhhhmmmmy", with a soothing tone and proud smile. You do love me, that I know.

You've got these legs and ankles to die for. Flat feet, just like me, with knobby knees that always turn and look toward each other. And a crease on the back of your thigh! The last of my babies to have one still! I admire it every day.

You're kind. And then other times, not so kind. For instance, you like to hit your sisters and then pull back to watch what happens next. Always a fun activity. Watching them writhe in pain on the couch, you just a few feet away looking guilty. You're always, always teasing. Lillie's your favorite because she acts like everything you do and say is a direct assault on her character, which, it probably is.

Your two older sisters dote on you. Ask to see every photo I take of you, ask to be the one to give you treats. They just can't get enough of you. You're pliable and loving, and they want a piece of you. They bribe you to sit on their laps and they go steal kisses from you after you fall asleep promptly at 7:30.

The night you turned two, I put the three girls to bed and let you stay up, bathed in the twilight of May 14th. Time was humbled as you played with your new baby, bottles and baby wagon in the silence of the evening. The temperature outside matched your body and a little breeze played at our hair as I laid just inside the door watching you. I finally set my camera down and sank into my elbows, my fingers running circles over my mouth as I tried to get a handle on my emotions.

The truth is, you're my gift, my reward. The culmination of my hard work in the trenches of motherhood. You are always at the other end of my outstretched hands, the ones that longed for you and were satisfied only after I finally held you in my arms two short years ago. You're there on my hip, when I try to be a mother to a 9 year old. You keep me grounded, frantic and young.

Your eyes and nose and mouth are a carbon copy of me, your silliness a reflection of all of us, your fight is all yours, and my baby, you will always be.

Easterrific.

I am lackadaisically catching up here. I keep meaning to come here and update, but client work comes first. And so do iPhone word games. And sitting on the couch eating Easter candy with Jake. 

So, an update:

This morning Grace stood by the light of the back window. She tucked her hair behind her ears and ate her cheerios and looked at the window. I stopped making sandwiches and let my hands fall to the counter and stared at her. She is incredible. 

Minutes later I watched her and Ruby bound up the steps of their school together. Running to get out of the rain. When did we become so integrated into this earth, this world, this thriving community? They are so present in their own lives now, sitting in their classrooms, talking to their friends and taking tests. They come home and I juice out of them no more than 1% of their day and the rest is filed in their brains under "life experience". I wish I knew all they were absorbing.

Ruby has a major BA in the morning (Bad Attitude). She doesn't shake it until about 12 minutes after waking up. So it's 12 minutes of pushing her to get her act together. I drag her skin and bones carcass out of bed and help her get dressed. Then she pouts all the way to the bathroom and afterwards, lays down in front of the shoe closet. With no motivation to take the necessary steps to adorn her feet. The hair brushing is just ridiculous. You'd think I was taking a slice out of her toe.

Last night we played a game just before bedtime. Everyone sits on the floor facing Dad and he has to try to make us laugh using only one word. When he says the word, the first person that laughs or giggles is out. Last one standing gets to sit in the chair and make us all laugh. Lillie is not so calm in these situations. It takes all of us working together as a family to keep her happy and settled down and satisfied. Everyone helps. When it's finally her turn to sit in the chair, Grace and Ruby each offer to laugh first so she feels funny, etc. I love seeing the girls treat each other well. Because it means that amidst the mess and stress, we notice some success.

Tadi is a bad (good?) teaser. The car is like chinese torture. Driving down the freeway and Lillie starts humming a tune. Tad watches her and after about 15 seconds, calmly states: "Bopp". (which means "stop"). Lillie flails. The screaming cracks my brain open. Emotions spray onto the window and doors and it takes her several tens of hundreds of seconds to calm down. So I tell her she can sing again. I threaten Tada, "WANNA TIME OUT??". Lillie sings. I watch Tada in the rearview. She leans in. Her eyes sparkle. She says, "Bopp". And the cycle continues. I look out the window and wish I was somewhere else. I remember Ruby doing the exact same thing to Grace in the car. 

Jake and I muddle through our day and at the end, sum it up in long conversations that twist and turn. Life is so good, I often stop and really try to feel it. I wish I could grab it and embrace it. That feeling that I'm lucky, that I have so much. I felt it pretty strong this weekend when I photographed a funeral for a beautiful boy that passed away much too early. In the face of such grief, and the complex feelings that follow, I come home to hug my babies. And celebrate today.