{Just so’s ya know: I have no idea why there is a gigantic space of nothingness above my post.}

We spent the weekend in St. George, Utah for our darling niece’s baptism, and I surprised my husband with a trip to Zion National Park for his birthday while we were there. I had been to Zion when I was about 16, but Ryan had never been there before, so I was bursting with excitement for him to get a taste of the scenery that has been happily imprinted in my brain since I was a teenager. The day’s weather seemed to be concocted from my husband’s favorite recipe: a cover of clouds, far too much gloom, and a dose of cold. I was miserable, but he was thrilled — as a birthday boy should be.

Ryan’s brother and sister-in-law played host to us, and chose two beautiful hikes. We were so happy to have them along for the fun company and for their expertise in kid-friendly hikes in Zion. But just look at us in our coats and sweaters. Yuck.

We started the day with a hike to Weeping Rock. It’s a rock overhang where water is constantly pouring down, as if the rock is crying. You hike to a ledge underneath the overhang. It’s an easy, quick hike, and so very worth it. It seemed that the temperature underneath the rock was 10 degrees colder than everywhere else in the park, but the beauty was enough for me to forgive it.

You can see the overhang we were under (look at all those prepositions) in this next picture.

It was a good thing we did have sweaters and jackets with hoods, because it was almost like walking in the rain. Is there anything more beautiful than a baby’s cheeks? I think not.

Although, this is the view we were greeted with when looking out from Weeping Rock. Quite beautiful, even with my silly camera on my phone. Close second to a baby’s cheeks.

We next went on a hike to three separate pools. I think it was called the Emerald Pools hike. Liam, Lydia’s 5-year-old cousin, promised Lydia (also 5) that there was a secret hideout somewhere along the trail. The only problem was he couldn’t remember where or what it looked like, other than it had a big rock. Lydia spent the next eternity rounding corners of the trail shouting, “There’s a rock! Is that the secret hideout, Liam? Is that it?” In her quest for the secret hideout, her 5-year-old frame skipped carelessly along the edge of the trail, her 5-year-old mind completely unaware of what my 30-year-old mother-mind could see in perfect clarity: her impending doom at the bottom of the cliffs we were walking on. To say it was stressful is an understatement. Happily, nobody got hurt, but Lydia did get a few time-outs (in the wilderness… what a mean mom) for ignoring my death-preventing directions.

Also, she was really bad at getting out of the way of other hikers. Who knew it would be so hard to teach proper trail etiquette? I apologize to any hiker parents I was annoyed with before I had children.

Even with the time-outs, we were blessed with several happy-children moments.

Liam eventually led us to the promised secret hideout, where the two spent precisely the amount of seconds it took to snap this picture.

We did spend more time at the three lovely pools, however — each nestled in what seemed to be a separate bedroom of the wilderness, with smooth, red walls towering to the sky and a general feeling of hush among the many hikers from countries all around the world, each group whispering in their own language of the beauty they were being gifted. There is nothing like being in a beautiful spot of nature. It draws people from everywhere, and the beauty unifies each person, whether they understand each other’s language or not.  

I wish I could have captured better images of what it really looks like there. This only shows 1 percent of the beauty. 

My husband is a mama’s boy, and it’s one of my most favorite things about him.  He is tender and sweet to his mom, always concerned with her comfort and happiness.  Lucky for me — it’s a well known truth that mama’s boys are also tender and sweet to their wives.

He turned 30 this weekend, and I made big, exciting plans.  I told him to take off Monday and Tuesday, which immediately led him to believe I was going to jet him away on some fantastic vacation.  But I knew my “present” for him would be 1,000 times more exciting than the weekend in New York or the family trip to Moab he was envisioning.  This is what I love about him: that I could be 100 percent confident that a gift of time with his mama would be the best gift he could receive — that there would be absolutely no disappointment when he discovered we were staying in Salt Lake City for his birthday.

His mom flew in Friday night and stayed with a friend.  Saturday morning, I told Ryan it was time to get his birthday present.  I told him to get in the driver’s seat, programmed the friend’s address into the GPS, and directed him to follow the robotic lady voice commanding his every turn.

The friend lives near a museum, so as we neared, Ryan thought we were going to spend the day at the museum.  Good sport that he is, he acted enthusiastic about that prospect.  As we passed the museum and headed toward a golf course, he decided we would be golfing (even though neither of us know how), but wondered how we would golf with two kids in tow.

When we pulled up to the friend’s house, he recognized where we were, became completely befuddled, and gave up guessing.

As we waited for the door to be answered, his confusion was so thick it could be cut with a knife.  He didn’t even venture to guess why I was pointing a camera in his face.

His mom opened the door…

and it was smiles all around!

We jetted off not to New York City, but to the Thanksgiving Point Tulip Festival…

where we all soaked up the fun of a dad who works long hours to support a family…

where we posed a reluctant child wearing a new sweater knitted by Grandma…

where we stuck myself in a picture so our posterity will know I existed…

and where this little angel took her afternoon nap.

It was no Times Square, but it was the most memorable way for my mama’s boy husband to celebrate 30 years of life.

We’ve been tired around here.

Really, really tired.

You see, we spent over a week in the motherland (California) celebrating my little brother’s wedding.

Some of us had a hard time letting beloved Uncle Darren go.

Freshly married, he’s off to see the wizard now.  If the wizard is the Army, because that’s where he’s going.  To join the Army.  THE ARMY.  Somebody tell me he’ll be ok.

While in California, we also got plenty of face time with grandmas and grandpas…

reading stories,

finding the perfect walking sticks for hikes,

and visiting lovely little coastal towns in perfect California spring weather.

We truly hated to leave, especially since we heard it snowed in Utah at least 3 out of the 9 days we were gone.  (Did I mention it was during the month of April?  Because if I neglected to mention that, which I did, I will mention it now.  It was the month of APRIL.  And it snowed.)

I also dreaded my return to normal life, which consisted of a week full of deadlines for The Sugar House Journal and preparing 15 students (and myself) for a piano recital 6 days after our tiring 12 hour drive through the desert.  Somebody is not a good planner and that somebody is me.

Now, with my articles and recital behind me, I have been lazing around, relishing the ease of ordinary life, which consists only of mothering, running a household, preparing for a baby and teaching piano.

Deep breath.  That felt good.

I’m back to blogging.  Hope to see you around soon!

My German daughter says autumn sounds so much prettier than fall.  I agree.  No more fall.  By the way, did you know that seasons are not capitalized?  It bothers me a great deal.  I think “Spring” looks much better than “spring.”  And “Autumn” looks so much prettier than “autumn.”  But, alas, it is not meant to be.  *sigh*

Tomorrow is the first day of autumn.  Are you excited?  Autumn (I can capitalize it there because it’s the beginning of a sentence-and, oh my, doesn’t it look so lovely?) is the best season of the year.  Autumn must be celebrated.  How are you celebrating?

Here, we celebrate holidays and special occasions with food.  Oh, you do the same?  How very American of us all.

Tomorrow will begin with homemade bread (Breadmaker, my friends, breadmaker.  Do you really think I know how to make homemade bread?) and hot chocolate.  The bread will, of course, be toasted and slathered with butter.  It will then be dunked into the yummy hot chocolate.  Because that’s the only way to do it.

The afternoon will be spent wearing autumn colors and crunching leaves on a lovely, cool walk somewhere in nature.

The evening will be celebrated with homemade chili, corn bread, apple juice and pumpkin cookies.  Could you plan a more perfect day?  Really, could you?

And here is a recipe for the easiest and best homemade chili.

Ingredients:

1 lb. ground beef or turkey, cooked

1 lb. tomatoes

1 green bell pepper

1 medium onion (or a little less)

1 can black beans

1 can kidney beans

1 packet chili seasoning.  Get the cheap stuff.  It’s just as good as the expensive stuff.

Throw it all in a crock pot and cook for a couple hours.  You’ll know it’s time to eat it when the smell is so divine you can’t resist a taste.

Some things bring an instant smile to your face.  Like when your almost-3 year old says, “You look so pretty!”  Or when you step outside and feel YOUR perfect temperature, like the day was created just for you.  Or when your husband does an incredibly thorough job of cleaning the refrigerator.

Or when you see a group of kids holding up signs like these:

Today I got a free hug and a few big smiles.

When you were little, did you believe in fairies or even WISH to believe in fairies?

The creative woman of www.fawndear.blogspot.com actually MADE a tiny fairy door in a tree at a park.  Then, she told her friends about it and promised that if any children left notes to the fairy, they would be answered. 

So then she ANSWERED what looks like at least a dozen notes, refurbished the fairy house and left delightful, illustrated responses for little, believing fingers to retrieve.

Can I please live in her neighborhood?

Go see the pictures here.  The little fairy house is so ridiculously delightful I’m tempted to pack my bags and go leave a note myself.

We spent the last week in a little piece of heaven; a place where time does not exist because it really doesn’t matter if you check off anything on a to-do list since to-do lists are not allowed.  A place where the water is warm and blue, the trees are abundant and green and the family is loud and fun.  Lake Almanor in Northern California is the annual retreat of my husband’s family, and we look forward to it all year.  It is almost as anticipated as Christmas.

Let me tell you just a little bit about this lake.  It is huge.  HUGE.  It is blue.  BLUE.  It is warm.  WARM.  It’s perfect.  It is by far the nicest lake I have ever jet skied or boated on, and I’ve jet skied or boated on no less than 5 lakes, so I am an expert, of course.

This was a year of firsts.

• First, I fell off the jet ski.   My husband and I were frolicking in the middle of the giant clear lake on matching jet skis.  So romantic.  He was spending his time learning new tricks and showing off for me.  I was spending my cautious time running over waves made by him, driving in straight lines, and circling wide and far to make any change in direction.  Somewhere in all that, I fell off.  How does one fall off a jet ski when driving in straight lines?  One must be as klutzy as yours truly.  I can teach you how, if you want.

• Ryan caught his first fish on only the second fishing trip of his life.

It was still wiggling and alive when he brought it inside.  The poor dear.  It reminded me why I don’t eat fish.  But Ryan did.  And he claimed it was good.  I will never know.

• Lydia ate her first plum.  After a bath.

I think she enjoyed it.

• A bat entered the house.  Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of this memorable episode because I was laughing too hard from watching 3 grown men, 1 grown woman, and 3 almost grown boys chase after it while everyone shouted instructions and my sister in law locked herself in the bathroom.  Eventually, the bat was coerced into the breezeway where my brother in law held the net.  My husband and his brother promptly sacrificed their own brother in law to the Dracula creature by locking him in the breezeway with the fluttering night animal.  We heard some screams and a little bit of blood sucking.  Russ hasn’t been the same since.

Other happy things, such as hide-and-seek with cousins and free style, outdoor fairy dancing, took place.

It was perhaps the happiest week of the year.  Much of that happiness, of course, was because of the heavenly location.  But more of that happiness, I dare say, was a result of being with Ryan’s family.  The Wrights are warm, accepting, loud and funny.  They all have this laugh- it has been referred to as a machine gun laugh- and it makes you feel so gosh darn funny you just never want to leave their presence.

But we did leave their presence.  We spent a few days with my wonderful family, not one member in possession of a machine gun laugh, but still warm, accepting, loud and funny.  We met my little brother’s fiance.  She is so short her feet don’t touch the ground when she sits in grown up chairs.

But she looks awesome in skinny jeans.  And we like her.

Vanessa from A Fanciful Twist constantly posts beautiful adventures of exploration in her Arizona landscape; posts that make me want to crawl down to that desert with a bottle of warm water on the hottest day in August because her adventures are THAT beautiful.

I was hoping for that kind of adventure when I went to explore a staircase that went to nowhere I could see.  But I must make a disclaimer before you continue reading:

This post of my exploring adventure will NO T make you want to crawl to the Utah desert with a bottle of warm water on the hottest day in August.

Carry on with your reading.

These stairs, these stairs.  They are in the ugliest part of town.  But the stairs are intriguing.  You can’t see what sits at the top.   But don’t you want to?  They’re so romantic, in the Anne of Green Gables sense of the word “romantic.”

From the overgrown weeds that ARE seen from the street, I knew I wasn’t going to see a lush oasis when I reached the top.  But I hoped, oh I hoped, for something beautiful.  Because I have been driving by these stairs for 3 years, my mind has created a grand world up at the top of those steps, a world filled with discarded historical artifacts and mysteries to be solved.

I was ecstatic to find that the steps went further and further into the sky than I anticipated.  I just knew that meant something good had to be waiting for me.

What could be beyond these golden weeds?  What, oh what?

I’ll show you what.

An overgrown, abandonded parking lot, accessed from an ugly driveway I hadn’t noticed was only a few feet away, that’s what.  Complete with trash and dumped couches.

But when you go exploring with your two most favorite people in the world, even an overgrown parking lot that was supposed to be a secret garden full of treasures can be the grandest of adventures.

I’m boycotting responsibilities.

Not all of them.  It’s just that lately I have been way too overwhelmed with jobs and home life.  I can’t really boycot jobs if I want to make money, so I’ve been boycotting home life.

Not my family.  Just the chores and the grocery shopping and anything else unpleasant.  Boycotted.  Not doing them.  You can’t make me.

Instead, I’ve been spending my time as if I am the nanny of a wealthy New York socialite (something I became an expert on after reading AND watching Nanny Diaries.  See?  And you questioned my authority).  I’ve been taking my daughter to fun places without worrying about what is waiting for me at home.  I haven’t allowed an ounce of guilt to creep in for spending time only in the pursuit of fun while the floors remain a patchwork quilt of last night’s (ok, last WEEK’S) dinner.  And the toilets?  While I am at the zoo, I can imagine that the maid will take care of those.  And when I get home and actually see them, I can get really angry that the maid isn’t doing a good job. 

Remember?  Boycotted.

While ignoring the dishes, I saw a post by Emily of Is This Really My Life? with a picture of her children at Thanksgiving Point’s Children’s Gardens.  That looks fun, I thought, and swooped over to my daughter to announce we would be visiting a garden.

She was ecstatic, so we went.  And we had a blast.  The Children’s Gardens are set up for imagination.  If you know me, you know I lost my imagination over 15 years ago.  Vanessa of www.inevergrewup.net is the queen of imagination and I study her faithfully to understand how to play pretend with my daughter.  Creepy?  Maybe a little.

But let me tell you, even I could imagine in this place.  I imagined fairies in the lighthouse (they forgot their shoes when they left, according to Lydia) and a symphony conducted by my daughter (she stood on a box and waved a stick while I ‘played’ the piano).  I imagined we were African animals and we took turns being the elephant. 

We imagined a dance performance on the stage.

My imagination only took me so far since  I could only last for about a minute or two.  But then Lydia took over.  And we had so much fun.

She even imagined she could fit her whole body into this crate.

Why is it so easy to imagine here?  They have it set up so perfectly.  In the midst of beautiful shade trees and flowers, there are areas sectioned off with wooden blocks, fun rocks and tree stumps to climb, sand pits, play houses, caves, instruments and stages.

And the best part, according to Lydia?  The water area.  I told her not to sit in it because I didn’t bring a change of clothes.  She obeyed for a few minutes, but what was I thinking?  That’s like asking her not to touch a cookie in a room filled floor to ceiling with cookies.

She sat in the water.  And I didn’t care.  Because the maid at home will do her laundry.

I did not receive any sort of payment for blogging about this.  I wish I did.

A few weeks ago, a census taker knocked on my door.  I knew she wasn’t there for me because I had filled my census out the second I received it.  I really like taking surveys and filling in information.  I get a slight thrill when I have to fill out anything, like insurance forms or applications for anything.  And don’t even get me started on how much I love the doctor’s office paperwork.  Sometimes I accompany my husband to his appointments just to fill out his paperwork.  I’m not kidding.

~But I digress.  Quite a bit.~

Anyway, the dear old white haired woman was at my doorstep to ask me for information about some neighbors down the street.  I don’t know much about those neighbors, other than that they yell at you when you bring them a plate of Christmas cookies and they also like to get in near fights while my husband and his friend stand close by, trying to decide if they should be heroes or walk away. 

~I digress.  AGAIN.  This is NOT the point of my story.~

I gave the woman as much information as I could and we chatted for a while.  She told me how some people yell at her, swear at her, slam the door in her face or act really creepy.  Poor little white haired old lady.  She doesn’t deserve that.

She complimented my daughter’s eyes.  (I LOVE when people compliment my daughter’s eyes because I think they really are quite beautiful.) 

After we had chatted enough, she stepped back into the world, not much more equipped to do her job of tracking down the psycho neighbors than when she stepped into my house.

But even still, as she left she said to me, “Thank you for your help, and thank you so much for your beautiful smile today.”

Awww…I want to adopt her as my local grandma.  I want to be like her.  I want to thank people for smiles.  As childish as this makes me feel to admit, it feels really good to be thanked for a smile!  It feels really good to hear that my daughter’s eyes are beautiful.  The world needs more sweet people like this woman and I think I’ll start by attempting to join her ranks.  Would you like to join with me?