all three.

The thing about kids is they keep changing and growing. You can't stop it. All you can do is stand back and marvel (and make sure they don't get hit by a car).

Carly has taken her role as a 4-year-old quite seriously. She informs just about anyone she meets that she is 4 years old and now attends preschool. Preschool has been a learning experience for all of us. She loves it just enough. But she loves being home. It warms my heart that she loves being home. She seems to do really great at school. At her parent-teacher conference, the teacher mentioned she was quiet and reserved. But in the weeks since, both teachers have said she is really coming out of her shell. She has a couple of little friends she reports playing with every time she goes. One of these friends in a boy who wears braces on his legs. She asked me about it, and I explained that Jesus made his legs a little different, but doctors gave him those braces to help him walk. At a field trip last week, Carly slowed down to walk with him while other kids rushed ahead. Four-year-olds aren't big on chit-chat, but they kept looking at each other and smiling and laughing. She is an example to me of just how little such differences matter. She loves when daddy takes her to school. Its a fun thing for both of them. Chris has been quite busy, and she has been having some attachment issues. She won't let him leave her sight when he is home; he'll go to the restroom and she says "Are you going to school?!" She's always been a daddy's girl, and I hope she always is. 

At home, she is the type-A, slightly emotional, loving, active big sister she has always been. She is quite good at playing with her babies, and giggles and squeals often fill our home. But if it is not giggles and squeals, it is screaming. Sometimes the babies just get all up in her business, and sometimes she gets all up in theirs, and battles ensue. She cherishes their nap time, and I try to make an effort to do things with her during that time that we just can't do while the babies are awake. She has become an irreplaceable member of my twin-survival team. She helps me get them up and settled at nap time. She holds hands while we walk to the car. She finds shoes, brings diapers, soothes terror over the vacuum. At the grocery store the other day, both babies started to lose it when we weren't even half-way done. I started to stress, but Carly went over to them and played peek-a-boo and sang Itsy Bitsy Spider. Most of the time 3 is hard. But other times, I wonder how people have twins without a Carly.

Oh, Quinn. This girl is something else. She is the sweetest little thing. She has a cute little voice, and expounds quite a bit in Quinnish, but still speaks limited English. She loves books. She will grab a book, force her way onto your lap, and grab your hand and place the book in it, just in case you weren't catching her drift. She likes snacks and at this point probably out-eats her bigger little brother. She is currently in a clingy, mama's girl phase. She likes to be with me most of the time, and when we walk she likes to hold my hand. I can't say I mind, she is incredibly delicious, and she is sweet when she is clingy (her brother is more of a head-butter). I can't help but love when she reaches out for me and says "mama! mama!" She LOVES her blanket, and can often be spotted walking around with it wadded up in her arms.

Quinn is our flower child. She is unique. It is so hard to describe in words. I had the sweetest experience with her that I feel describes her so well. We went to a wooded park to take fall foliage pictures. It was in the evening so it was pretty quiet. We were leaving, and almost out of the wooded area, when I realized Quinn was missing a shoe. The others went ahead, and Q and I went back to find her shoe. It was so quiet without Carly and John. Quinn is a peaceful little thing most of the time. We went back a ways, and just ahead of us stood 3 beautiful deer. In the fall leaves and the rays of sunshine and the silence, it really was quite the sight. I was holding Q, and she pointed to them and whispered her beautiful deep jibberish to me. And she just watched them. I suddenly felt the spirit so strong. We watched them for a bit, then a cyclist came and scared them away. But that is Quinn. 

John. All we can say about John is he is all boy. I mean, all those things you hear about boys? John fits every stereotype. He's not quite as sharp as his sisters, but he is super vocal. He has a particular passion for roaring and ribbiting. He loves "vrooms" and "choo choos". Like, he is obsessed with vehicles. I didn't know that was a real thing. He takes his little trucks and drives them over and over again over the air vents in the floor, because that makes way more noise than just driving them on the carpet. He colors with marker on his face and gets in the bath fully dressed. He HATES his car seat because he doesn't want to be restricted in any way. One day the girls were picking dandelions and taking them to Chris. John was watching them, and decided to join in the kind gesture. He brought Chris a large piece of bark. Its the thought that counts, right?

John likes to "snuggle" which is really more like wrestling, and he LOVES to wrestle. He really loves wrestling Chris, and loves to climb up on him and jump off. John is so loud. He is 100% everything. 100% this is the best moment of his life ever, or 100% this is the worst thing in history. He is highly emotional. And when he is sad he screams, and when he is happy he screams. The problem with John is he is so dang cute. I'm pretty sure Heavenly Father provided him with such cuteness to ensure his survival. But the boy is as lovable and as infuriating as they come. And he really is "all boy."

As for the duo? They are chaos.

They both know a lot of animal sounds, but beyond that they don't talk a ton. Their vocabulary includes mama, dada, bottle, night-night, bye-bye, pumpkin, Jesus, amen, and Elmo. I think it is interesting that while John uses words more often and usually says them first, they usually learn the same words. Their vocabulary is almost identical. I guess they are learning in the same place from the same people. They hit 18 months in August. They checked out perfectly at their appointment, and went to nursery without a problem. I don't know if it because they have each other, or because they have always been a little more independent with it comes to being watched by others. But they do great, and after a LONG sacrament meeting, the next two hours of church sure are nice. They are learning songs and are getting pretty good about folding their arms during prayer. During family prayer each night, we try to get them to be still and quiet. Lately, when they successfully last an entire prayer, they know they did a good job and all three of them stand up and clap and scream and squeal and laugh. It is hilarious.

John and Quinn make an incredible mess. They really wreck a lot of havoc. We keep the kitchen gated off and it is annoying, but every once in a while I will let the babies in there and it reminds me why it remains gated. They empty drawers, start the dishwasher, pull the desk apart, climb up on the table. Our living room is a disaster zone, but it is contained. I recently took about 80% of our toys to the basement, so that has helped too, but it really is amazing what they can accomplish together. I can only imagine how it is going to be in another 6 months. Two 20-month-olds wear me out. The thought of two 2-year-olds makes my head spin.

But they are partners in crime and their deeply contrasting personalities make for a relationship full of love and emotion. Quinn recently started saying "J'boi" . . . "John Boy". And I die every time she does. They are sweet and funny with each other, and totally insane. And I can't imagine having just one.

These kids are the three musketeers. Every time Carly gets out of school, she is so excited to go see her brother and sister, and they squeal when she arrives at the car. She climbs in and gives them each a kiss and there is much rejoicing (very loud rejoicing). They cherish each other, and they have so much fun together.

Every night after the long process of getting the kids to sleep, I spend way more time than I'd like to picking up toys, wiping down tables, chairs, and floors, doing dishes and preparing for the next day. To every thing there is a season, and my current season is a messy one. But before I go to bed, I like to sneak in to the kids room and peek at my sleeping babies. I walk into that room and the spirit is so strong. I love to fill my heart with their goodness before I fall asleep. They are my work, and they are my reward. And sometimes, I must admit, I find myself thinking about how much simpler it would be if there were just two. But when I look at those peaceful faces and listen to their even breaths, I know just how much I need all three.

every leaf speaks bliss.

I have to say, in all my love for autumn, my heart has been a bit heavy these last few weeks. I feel like Michigan is slipping away. There is so much excitement in the months ahead, but still so much unknown. While applications are going in and dissertations are soon to be proposed, answers to what our future holds are still a ways off.  What I do know is that this life journey will always and forever be shared with my very favorite people. The other evening I went on a run. It had been a particularly hard mom day, and I ran my favorite trail. The sun streamed through the trees and every time the wind blew the leaves rained down on me. It was beautiful and soul-soothing, as it has been so many times before. One of my favorite quotes came to mind: "Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree." {Emily Bronte}. I decided to go back to that beautiful place and take pictures of my beautiful people.

What I really want is to stay in Michigan. I want the perfect university with the perfect job to be right here. And I want Idaho to be a few hours one direction, and Indiana a few hours the other direction. And I want winter to end in March.

Is that really too much to ask?

I know wherever we go, we will find happiness.

We have always been led by the hand of a loving Heavenly Father, and I know that will continue if we ask Him to guide us.

So here's to one more beautiful Michigan fall.

And here's to what's next.

thirteen point one.

I'm not a runner. Not in the traditional sense of the word; those people who just naturally run smoothly and fast and just love it from the get-go. I started running when Carly was 16 months old as a way to lose those last few baby pounds and a way to have some "me" time. I ran on a treadmill, 2 or 3 miles, and I liked it decently enough. After I had the twins, I started running again. I wanted to run a 5k, so I started running outside. The transition from treadmill to road was rough. It felt so much harder. I have bad knees stemming from a basketball injury in high school (highly frustrating, since I was a mediocre bench-riding basketball player), and it took a lot of stretching and strengthening to teach my knees to endure. It still does. But my outdoor training went well, and last Fall I ran a 10k. That race was my victory race. It will always be a special experience for me.

That 10k also lit a fire. I set a goal, I followed through, and I had the sweet thrill of success. I wanted more. A half-marathon entered my mind, and by New Years' I decided to make it a resolution. I got violently ill and ended up in the hospital on the first day of February. After that experience I could hardly walk, let alone exercise. When I started running again in April, it was starting from scratch. But I crawled my way back. I found a half on Labor Day and a good beginner training schedule, and I was excited. 

I met with a marathoner friend before I started. She shared her wisdom and fanned the flames of my excitement. She told me, "If you do this, it won't be your last one." My dad, a 23-time marathoner, was also a wealth of knowledge. As I went through the training process, all the "quirks" about my dad started making sense, like his habit of chugging glass after glass after glass of water morning and night. I remember one night I stood by the sink with the water running, chugging glasses of water. I laughed out loud. I was now my dad, and it was a really good thing.

My Summer of training was full of ups and downs. There was the pain and frustration of plantar fasciitis (which was cured by arch support insoles) and the hunt for the perfect shoe (I literally went on runs in 6 different pairs of shoes over the summer). There was the trial and error of finding the right food, the right fuel, the right routine. There were victorious Saturday runs. Each week they got longer and longer and longer. And each week we tackled them. I grew to love those Saturday runs. They were beautiful and empowering and completely exhausting. I needed a power nap every Saturday afternoon, and a long nap every Sunday to recover. But to go further than you ever have before week after week, now that is a good feeling.

I was blessed to share this adventure with two wonderful friends. When you live far from family, your friends are your family. I have always felt that in Michigan, and I am so grateful for my training buddies, because this first go around would have been so much harder without them. They were a source of sanity and camaraderie. They were there to cheer me on when I felt weak. I looked forward to our Saturday runs together. They were like GNO, only before sunrise and we burned 2000 calories instead of consuming it. Conversation makes 10, 11, 12 miles go by much faster. During the half itself, I was feeling so good at 10, I sped up too early. I was feeling pretty wasted at the end, but Jessica stayed with me, and Tara was right behind us. We crossed the finish line seconds apart.

Then there is my kids. If there is anything these kids have taught me, it is that I can do hard things. Its that hard things are often the best things. Its that the most rewarding things in life have to be worked for. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I would have had the mental and physical fortitude to do this before them. My pregnancy with the twins was the most painful thing I've experienced, not to mention childbirth (even with the miracles of modern medicine). Then you have months of sleep deprivation. The emotional toll they take on you is the icing on top. They made it possible for me to do this. They made me stronger. Not only that, but they were so wild every day that I couldn't wait to get away on my runs (ha!), and they were the very best cheering section when I got home. The morning of my first 10 miler (it was my first double-digit run, and I was nervous), I came home to cheering, squealing, screaming, jumping, and clapping. While a successful 10-miler will leave you feeling high, it doesn't compare to coming home to that.

After further analysis, I realized a half marathon itself is a lot like having kids. At first it seems like a really good, fun idea, and you're really excited. Then you get into it and you are wondering what the heck you were thinking . . . this is miserable. But in the end, you are happy, you are better, and you've devoted yourself to something greater than yourself. And it was worth it.

Let us talk now about my man. If you noticed, I said I found a half marathon for Labor Day. This meant I'd be done before Chris's semester picked up, and before Carly started school. I ended up sitting 2 weeks thanks to the mysterious foot pain that made it so I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. After solving the riddle of plantar fasciitis, I was too far behind my schedule to stick to it. It is hard to find a half here that is not on a Sunday, but I found one a full month later. Chris was set to start dissertating, and I tried to tell him I shouldn't keep running. He wouldn't hear of it. Half-way through my training plan, and I ended up almost starting at the beginning again, with a new race on October 5th. He got a proposal date that meant a LOT of work . . . in the weeks leading up to my race. We had some wild, exhausting weeks. Chris took the brunt of the pain, with long sleepless nights and evenings of holding down the fort while I ran. I have to say, the training took much more time and physical and emotional energy that I expected. I'm sure it being my first go-around exacerbated that. We lost a lot of family time, and even more couple time. We were both working toward huge, contrasting goals. And this man of mine was endlessly supportive. There were many nights I talked my running stress out with him, nevermind the intense stress he was experiencing. But while he could talk me through mine, there was only so much I could do for him. He had a lot on him, and still does, and I am so grateful he was there for me through this.

I mentioned I sped up too early during the race. At the very end there was a steep hill up to a bridge. I was dying up that hill. Just then, a familiar car slowed down next to me. Chris and the kids had the windows rolled down, and cheered me up the hill. They were late; they should have been waiting at the finish line already. But it turned out that they were exactly where I needed them to be exactly when I needed it. Chris has a habit of being exactly what I need him to be, and this was no exception. He is the best of men.

Now I'm going to admit something. Friends and family made it possible for me to do this race. Their support made all the difference. But the reason for my running a half marathon had very little to do with them.

About 4 weeks before the big day, I was struggling emotionally. I was hitting a wall and losing motivation. I was thinking while doing the dishes one night, "Why am I doing this?" Then I decided I needed to actually find an answer to that question.

The answer: because I want to.

As a mother of young children, you spend 95% of your time doing things for others. I eat while wiping counters. I take 2 minute showers with tiny fists pounding on the door. There are diapers and owies, park visits and play time. It is important for mothers to still be women, to still have hobbies and passions. It is so hard to find those things outside of our children. I view motherhood as my greatest calling, the single most important thing I will ever do in my life. And devoting my life to them is something I take pride in.

But I wanted just a little corner of my life to be just mine.

I just wanted to use that spare 5% to reach someplace new.

And this was it.

Running the open road/trail has become a passion.

It is something just for me.

I found a quote that said, "I loved life more because I ran, so I kept running."

That was spot on.

I'm not a natural.

I won't be setting records or impressing people with my speedy times.

But I love life more when I run, so I'll keep running.

And my friend was right: knees-willing, this half won't be my last one.

I ran my half marathon in 2 hours 17 minutes and 24 seconds, achieving my goal of sub-2:20.

During those final miles, I popped by headphones on.

A song came on, and as I neared the end of my long journey (in more that one way), the lyrics had a new meaning. 

Where there is desire there is gonna be a flame

Where there is a flame someone's bound to get burned

But just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die

You gotta get up and try, try, try.

I crossed the finish line at a full sprint, then walked to the side and laid down on the ground (because that is exactly what you're supposed to do . . . ). But while the world spun around me, I thought, I just ran a half marathon. And I felt very very good.

So here's to goals.

Here's to hard things.

And here's to doing something you've never done before.

picking apples.

We went to our favorite place to pick our favorite apples to celebrate our favorite season.

The day before autumn equinox, we headed to the apple orchard. 

There were cider slushies, hot dogs, and too many pumpkin donuts.

There was a hayride, missed by a daddy and a certain little boy who needed a change and ended up without any pants.

There were animals to squeal over and pumpkins to pick.

There were honeycrisp apples to be picked. It was the first time we've been allowed to pick them. They are so coveted, the orchard usually doesn't allow you to u-pick. But that day they did. And we filled our bag until it was spilling over. And everyone ate as we picked for good measure. (Honeycrisp apples . . . reason #67 I can't bare to think of leaving the Mitten.)

It is crazy to think of our years coming to this place. I remember the year I was newly pregnant with the twins. After an August meant to be forgotten, I finally felt human again once I found the right medication in September. We went to the orchard and life felt repaired. Now here we are two years later, the twins I didn't know about yet walking up and down the rows, eating apples strait through the core, carrying them like teddy bears, chowing doughnuts like they are going out of style. Life has a particular was of changing so much while somehow staying the same. They looked so much like little Carly did during our first visits to the orchard.

Speaking of our firstborn. How much she has grown.

I love Michigan and I love fall and I love apples, but what I really really love is family time. I love escaping everything for just a little bit, to be together. I love family traditions, things we can look back on and remember, things that our kids will cherish.

And I love these apple-eating, cider-guzzling, pants-messing, crazy humans. 

One of my favorite quotes reads, 

"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

Every year as I soak in all that is fall, I can't help but feel that is more than a little true.

Welcome, autumn.

We're glad you've arrived.

wake me up when september ends.

So, September came and so did all the crazy. Dissertation is up in full swing, job applications are piling up, a half marathon is being trained for, school is being attended, homework forgotten, and soccer practice loved. I don't know how things picked up so fast, but they sure did.

Chris's dissertation proposal is at the end of  October (I told him to wear a Halloween costume but apparently that's not professional. whatevs), meaning a lot of writing and approval has to happen before that. He has also begun applying for jobs. We have a lovely poster board hanging on our kitchen wall, and when the application gets finished, he gets a sticker (you think I'm joking . . . ). It is a stressful thing. We stay up too many night studying up on cities facts, research interests, church presence, and temple proximity. It is a hard balance between being too picky and not picky enough. The applications take a lot of time. But the jobs don't come out all at once. Pass on applying for this job and hope for a better one? We're at 4 now. Who knows how many we'll end up with. We are praying for a lot of interest, and a lot of options. This is our first rodeo, and we have no idea how to hold on to the bull.

I've been training for a half marathon for approximately 17 years, I swear. Its a long story, and I'll tell it some day because I know you are sitting on the edge of your seats to hear it. But I love it and I hate it and I can't wait for the race even though I'm going to puke from nerves and I'll be so sad when its all over. It has 1) taken up way more time than I expected, b) been way more emotional and mental than I expected, and c) been more fulfilling than I expected. But what is life if not spent working toward a goal once thought unreachable?

Carly is amazing and totally insane. Chris says she gets it from her mother. She seems to be doing great is school. Her first ever "homework" assignment was to turn a blank paper human shape into "Carly". I totally forgot about it until bathtime the night before it was due. #numberonemom So we did it instead of bedtime stories. We glued buttons for the eyes and yarn for the hair and she painted a rainbow dress. Paper Carly was adorable. Real Carly didn't want to turn her in, and neither did real mommy. Carly also really loves soccer. She is way more excited about it than school as this point. But school is harder, and mom isn't there cheering her on. I love love love watching her. But I love our "off days", our M/W/F with no school and no soccer where things are like they used to be. She's not all the way grown up yet and I'm sure grateful for that. She is the so great.

Quinn is the best human ever created. And I know I'm biased, but at the same time we've created 3 and Quinn really is the best. She is so funny. She is becoming quite the little mischievous bully, and you'd never guess it because she has the sweetest smile and voice ever in the history of forever. The other day I watched her: sitting next to John, she slowing moved her hand toward his ear, and pulled on it. He swatted it away. Repeat over and over until John freaked and screamed like "Leave my ear alone!" And Q was smiling and laughing like it was hilarious. Because it was it was so dang hilarious. She makes the best "oink" ever and her hair grows straight down into her eyes so she looks at you from under it, or blows it up with her mouth. She loves her blankie and sleeps with a little Book of Mormon on occasion. And if I had one wish it would be that Q stay exactly how she is right now forever.

John is a mess of a human being. He likes sticks and balls and getting dirty and screaming all the dang time. The other day the girls were having a tea party and Q was there in her tutu and carrying a purse and John came up and threw a soccer ball on the table, knocking all the dishes. That sums up John. He is a punk and all boy and so dang cute you want to bite his head off. He says "bye bye" and "night night" and waves when he is tired. And he LOVES Carly's soccer about as much as she does. He follows the big kids around, dribbling and doing throw-ins and sitting in the huddle. The coach is good about it, because I can't keep him away. It is insanely cute. But if you do anything, one single thing, he doesn't approve of, he screams like you chopped his hand off. He cray cray.

Fall is hands down the best time to be in Michigan. There are apples to be picked, pumpkins to be chosen, leaves to be admired, cider to be guzzled. My heart is aching that it is our final Fall in this beautiful place. I want time to slow down, and late September and October last forever.

Love this beautiful mess we're living.
xoxo.

growing up.

Big kid school.

I signed Carly up for "big kid school" in June. And we've been talking about it and preparing for it all summer. I told her she could go when she turned 4, and it was 3 LONG weeks after her birthday that it finally started.

Carly is going to preschool twice a week in the mornings. I think it will be just enough, without being too much, and still allowing for a lot of casual family time. It is at an elementary school, which gives it a real "big kid school" feel. We've been excited.

In the days leading up to her first day, all my motherly emotions came to the surface. Lately she has been having some behavior problems, talking rude, throwing massive tantrums, being moody. We are working through it, but I worried about her behavior at school (though she has continued to be perfect at church). I worried about her making friends. She is wonderful, but she is a type-A big sister to twins (aka: bossy), and that can turn other kids off. And she gets frustrated when people don't do what she says. She has so much light in her; I just wanted desperately for that to shine rather than some recent struggles.

The night before her first day, we had a special back-to-school family home evening. We talked about respecting her teacher, we talked about being kind to friends, we talked about making good choices, we talked about having fun. Then she received a tender priesthood blessing from her daddy, her first back-to-school blessing. She was happy, and my mom reminded me to not worry, just be excited. So I was.

The morning of the first day, she put on the outfit she picked out and we even used a curling iron on her hair. She was so excited as we headed out the door. Then we arrived at the school, and I think this is when it hit her. I think she finally understood that I was going to leave her there. I looked back at her and her eyes brimmed with tears: "But I just want to stay at home with my family." My already heavy heart spilled. I'm sure my cracking voice was a real confidence builder for her (#momwin). I told her she was going to have fun, it was going to be so great. I finally convinced her to "just try it, and if you don't like it, you don't have to stay."

[a friend from church is in her class. so fun.]

We got inside and she got her name tag and she looked completely nervous and unsure. Other parents were just headed right out, but Carly wanted me to stay. Finally it was time for them to head to the classroom. Carly waved, trying to be brave, but lost it. She cried for me to stay, to not leave her. And I lost it too. I told her she would have so much fun. I kissed her hand (dang Kissing Hand book), and I promised I would be back, I always come back. She clung to my hand. Her teacher had obviously done this before, and gently took her hand and tried to strike up a conversation. Carly cried out for me, but I rushed out the door. My heart hurt for her.

I returned home and worried incessantly about her until it was time to pick her up. When I did, she was all smiles. "You came back!" she said. I told her I always always do. Everything seemed fine and dandy.

We arrived home because I need to grab something, but I pitched the idea of a celebratory lunch at Old McDonald's. And I don't know what happened. In hindsight, I think it was the combination of so much emotional stress and excitement all in one morning. I think it was a lot for her little, high-intensity system to handle. But she completely lost it. What followed was an hour and a half long out-of-control tantrum, that started in the car, continued in her bedroom, and wrapped up in the basement because the babies had to nap. Carly has thrown some whoppers in her life, but I've never heard or seen her react this way to anything. During this hour and half, I questioned every decision I've made as a mother. I felt like I was doing nothing right. Maybe she wasn't ready for school. Maybe it is too much. Maybe it is not enough? Maybe this, maybe that. When she finally came around (trust me, I tried to stop it, but there was nothing that could be done, and when that is the case, I just let her do her thing in a room that isn't occupied), I was defeated. She cheered up, and we spent the next day very pleasantly at the park, but my anxiety spiked. I was worn.

I prayed hard for her. I prayed for her to be strong and patient and capable. She is a truly brilliant and shiny girl. I prayed for her to be that brilliant and shiny girl.

Today, we got up and ready for school. She was happy. She was excited. Chris dropped her off and reported that we was perfectly fine. After school I picked her up and we played outside for a while. I asked her questions and got very few answers about her day. But as the day wore on, she told me more and more about school. I love hearing about it from her view. I love that she is experiencing things that I don't witness, and she can tell me about it later. I could tell as she talked, that she was owning it, that it was becoming hers. That is exactly what I wanted for her. She was brave. She tackled it. And I think she is going to have a great year.

 

Tonight was another beginning.

Carly started soccer. I was so excited to sign her up. I grew up playing soccer, and just loved it. Carly was a bit washy in her excitement, and kept asking when she could do ballet. Then the mommy guilt came flowing. I put her in soccer because I wanted her to play soccer. I loved soccer and didn't love ballet. You get to run around and score goals in soccer! You get to be outside and wear cleats and be on a team. I was biased. But I felt she would love it given the chance.

We got her some cleats, and she picked out some sparkly silver shoelaces to spice them up. She also picked out the socks with hot pink stripes. Like most things in life, Carly is tackling soccer with a certain amount of flare.

Her first practice was tonight. Her coach is fun and peppy. Her team sat out in a little huddle before and after practice and I felt like it was about two weeks ago I was at my own soccer practice, standing in my own huddle. My, how time flies. She has two friends from our ward on her team, which will be so fun. It was a beautiful evening. And Carly just loved it. She had pretty good ball handling skills, but when she was supposed to be going around the cones, she just dribbled all over the field. She was intense, and adorable. After practice she didn't want to leave, and we stayed and played as a family for a while. When we got home, Carly said, "I wish I had my soccer game every night."

School is cool.

Soccer is fun.

It is going to be a fabulous fall.

Though I'm not sure when we became the parents with school and soccer practice to schedule around.

It is a bizarre feeling.

This week was a tough one. So much anxiety, so much changing, so much growing up. On Tuesday night, I went to bed feeling a bit overwhelmed and hopeless, praying everything would fall into place. Tonight I'm all smiles. I'm so proud of Carly and so excited to watch her tackle hard thing after hard thing, because she really is so strong.

But this week was another swift kick in the figurative parenthood gut. It was a reminder that parenthood never gets "easier". You tackle one phase, and then another begins. You "start over" over and over again. And for the rest of my life, there will not be a day where I'm not worried about, praying for, celebrating, or encouraging one of my kids. My poor mother gets insane stressed text messages from her daughter all the time. Kids just never leave you alone.

But then you have victories.

Today was a victory. The image of her running excitedly out of school with her backpack bouncing, and the sight of her chasing after a soccer ball in a sunshine-bathed field, those are the payments for the hard parts. And they are worth every second.

beach day.

I have really been wanting to make it to Lake Michigan one more time before school starts, beaches close, and Fall descends. I didn't want to face Saturday crowds, so I traded Chris for a Wednesday off, and we trekked west. "Beach Day" was on.

[On the way there I jimmy-rigged the Kindle so all three kids could see it. I was pretty proud of myself.]

It was a windy day at the lake. It make for a sandy mess, but also some awesome waves. It felt and sounded like the ocean. John wasn't so sure at first. He loved the beach so much the first time, I was confused. He screamed for the first hour we were there. Finally we decided to have lunch and, what do you know, happy John. Apparently he needed to get his blood sugar up. Quinn took the opportunity to live Beach Day to the fullest and ate unlimited cookies.

We had lots of fun getting really really ridiculously sandy. Laying in the sand was all the rage (probably because it was warm!), and John kept putting his face right down in it. We also found a Carly head and half of a Quinny while playing on the beach.

The rest of the time was filled with jumping waves, playing chase with daddy, and getting pulled on the sled. A friend enlightened me to the sled on the beach idea. Only in Michigan, I suppose. When we were all worn out, we headed back to the car. It is always longer back to the car than it is out to the beach, it seems, and lugging a sled full of heavy beach gear across the hot sand reminded me 1) to never do cross fit, and 2) increase my gratitude that I was not a pioneer. But we managed to find a Qdoba and a Culver's on our way back east, and that was a beautiful ending to a beautiful day.

We just love Lake Michigan.

It is near the top of a long list of things we love about the Mitten.

I'm so very glad we squeezed in one last 2013 Beach Day.