I've heard it said that you can't know joy without knowing pain. There'd be know way to appreciate the high without the low. Maybe that's why we have seasons. All I know is, this world can be simply breathtaking. And I love being reminded of the millions of miracles around me as I watch the earth wake up again. It just does something to my spirit. If you had spied on my 30 minute commute home on Friday, you would have noted my wind-whipped hair and the fact that my hand was sticking out of my sunroof for the duration.

But that's nothing compared to what I get to see when I get home. Here are some of my favorites:

--I was the sole disciplinarian for Tru today, and that doesn't happen a ton. The boy has a rebellious streak a mile wide, so it didn't take long for him to find his way to a time out. Afterward, I picked him up and was trying to extoll the virtues of not screaming like one is on fire while stealing toys from one's brother, and I couldn't get two words out before he would solemnly plant a firm kiss on my lips. I'd try again to finish the lecture, but no go--more kisses. It became comical pretty quickly--I think he was honestly trying to shut Mommy up by kissing her into submission. And it worked.

--Now that it's warm, the boys have a new favorite activity. The barren, dirty alley. They'll amuse themselves for a while on the second story deck, digging in the rock box and pushing the tractors around, but eventually they beg to "dig, dig, dig!" Apparently, little boys come programmed knowing that digging in a sandbox of rocks is good, but REAL digging is sitting on your heels in the dirt, stirring stuff up just enough to create little dustclouds around you and coat you with a nice thin film of grime. As completely opposite in disposition as my boys can be, they are united on this front. Dirt is king.

--Putting Harrison to bed has a fun perk. After I read or tell him a story, he immediately returns the favor. His stories tend to go in little trends for a couple of weeks until something stimulates him to make major changes. The current story line always begins with Big John and involves getting stuck in the mud. The stories vary a lot, night to night, but lately you can count on those elements. But the best part is after his story. Then he asks me if I'd like to know a secret. I always do. He won't ever tell until my ear is brushing his face, and then I get lots of warm, loud breaths, lots of gibberish I can't make out, and then a few random words like "apple" and "banana" and he pulls back with a huge smile. I assure him that's a great secret, and then I tell him a secret back.

--Dan is the man. He puts a lot of guys to shame. In the last couple of weeks, he not only found these two tiny ceiling fans and lights on clearance for a steal, but he somehow managed to get up into our attic and pull wires and . . . stuff (don't really know all the details here) . . . and put up ceiling fans in the boys' bedrooms that hadn't been set up for any fixtures in the ceilings at all. It amazes my to think of all the skills he's picked up since we got married. But my favorite part of that story is how he shopped around and found fixtures for a fraction of what they should have been. Have I been rubbing off or what?

I'm a chronic prodigal

I swear, half of my posts are apologies regarding how long it's been since my last post. No apology this time. If you're still bothering to check, then you obviously had enough faith to get you through that last lapse and can't be hatin' on me that much.

So--Happy Easter! We had an egg-cellent time today (honestly, I know they say puns are the lowest form of humor, but it seems to me that very witty people use them), and I'm putting up a kind of tediously long little vid for the grandparents, or anyone else who wants a glimpse of our Easter morning.



I hadn't talked to Harrison much before this season about the crucifixion or atonement, and thought that now would be a good time to start. Christmas is much easier--kids get birth. But I don't think he fully got that one. I tried talking to my little 3-year-old Sunbeam class today, but death, much less one on a cross for us, was a little out of their grasp. I kept getting interrupted with questions like, "What is 'killed'?" But even though I can't explain it to them yet, I hope my boys grow up with an understanding and gratitude for what we are celebrating today.