We are MOO-chers!

We saw this sign at the mall and couldn't pass up a free meal at Chick-Fil-A:


Here is Uncle Greg, cutting out cow spots with Lincoln:


Here are Uncle Greg, Aunt Hayley, Laura, Lincoln and Isaac--just in case you didn't recognize them in their authentic, real-to-life cowskins:


Baby Emi...boy, does she love a good chicken strip:


And in the mall parking lot...the best view of all (I'm a lucky gal):

Good Morning, World!

Noelle is sick--fever, snot, drool, crabby attitude (who can blame her?). She was fussing at the breakfast table, so I thought I would capture it and blog about her crankiness, but this was all I got!

What she was saying at the time: "Cheeee!"

Waxing Philosophical (Sorry About That)

In defense of motherhood as a career...

These kids--these four sometimes sloppy, sometimes loud, sometimes chaotic kids--each came separately to me as tiny little bodies that could not speak or act for themselves. Yet each of them the day they were born exuded distinctive personalities. Those personalities jumped out at me, and I knew exactly what each of them would be like, as I held them immobile in my arms, before they even had a chance to demonstrate those personalities.

This one, for example, I knew was sparkly and energetic:


This one was slightly sad--as though this new loud world overwhelmed him after having resided previously in such a peaceful place--but he was also contemplative and tender-hearted:


This one was loving and affectionate (it wasn't until age 1 that he also exhibited one of his more dominating traits--stubborness):


This one was both feisty and sweet:


And each one has grown into those adjectives of their own accord. I didn't have anything to do with it. They are each their own individual. I don't feel as though they really belong to me, to do with them as I wish, to mold them as I see fit, but rather it is my obligation to make sure that they are given every opportunity to succeed in this world and the next.

When Laura was four and Lincoln was two, they came into our room one night, about 2:00 AM scared. They walked hand in hand in the darkness, and as I opened my eyes to see them, I was overwhelmed with a feeling-- undeniable--that it was the greatest priviledge of my life to have the opportunity to raise them. And to learn from them. That if I dilligently did so, the world would benefit from their being in it.

Not a bad job description, eh?

There are no atheists in foxholes (or lightening storms).

Okay, so this picture does NOT do this storm justice, but last night about 10:00 pm, Steve pulled me out on our porch to see the most shocking lightening storm I have ever witnessed in my entire life. It was many, many miles south of us, but the entire sky was lit up without interruption for a good ten to fifteen minutes.

Here is a picture of the dopplar radar showing the short-lasting storm. (It's the litle red chili pepper between Iowa City and Washington. FYI...solid red like that is NEVER a good thing.)


Anyway, after all the record breaking snow and ice storms and floods we've had this year, I was yet again stunned by this brief show of nature. All I could think of at the time was, "I hope those people are alright." Nothing came of it, after all. Just a good show. Frightening, though, in the moment.

Dogpile

Since we don't have a dog (as I am reminded on a regular basis), and they must find a way to entertain themselves somehow...
I literally walked into the room and found them like this. Luckily my camera was right there.

Day Trip to Nauvoo

Some good friends of ours from college (Steve's old roommate Richard Price and his wife) met us there on their way to Chicago. Here are some pics:

Crossing the Mississippi:


Enjoying a quick morning snack:


Walking around the town:


Laura, Amelia and Evelyn:


My boys (chillin'):


My girls (taking a stroll):


Making rope the old fashioned way:


All of us together:

A Glimpse of Iowa (From my Car Window)

Okay, okay. Those of you from the East are saying, "Eh? That's the best you've got?" And I know where you're coming from. I've been to Boston where the trees are spectacular--almost as spectacular as the historical ambience that can be found on virtually every street corner. I've passed through Kennebunkport, Maine, and quite admittedly, every square foot of it looked as though it ought to be featured in some travel, landscape, or architectural magazine (even if it was only 60 degrees farenheit in the middle of July, and I had to buy a sweater). And no one is going to argue that New York has the best city skyline, hands down.

But Iowa? No body really thinks of Iowa. Maybe that is why I love it so. Even when snapping amateur photos from a fast moving vehicle, you still can sense the quiet, crowdless peace of the place.