This week my dad officially retired from 27 years of working in the Idaho court system; he dedicated the last 18 to the Idaho Supreme Court as an administrator. Our family vacations included conferences to Sun Valley (I saw Oksana Bauel soon after her Olympics and almost toppled over), conferences to Couer d'Alene, conferences to Washington D.C., and family gatherings in southeast Idaho. I loved them. I loved watching the judges. I loved hearing about legislation. Until recently, I never really thought about the different perspective (politcally and socially) Dad's work gave me.

On Tuesday my parents attended their last conference in Sun Valley. The justices and others read their goodbyes: Mom called it a sob fest. Today, Dad started his job as a trial court administrator in Utah. He continues to work because he loves it (he might go crazy without it?) and now they're closer to my siblings, their siblings, their parents.

I thought I would feel weirder about this. I packed a bunch of books (yes, my parents still haul around part of my library and neither of us charge the other for the service) in May. The house is up for sale. And my kids won't remember my parents living in Idaho. Strangely, that's okay. I'm proud of my dad for the integrity he's shown, the work ethic he's taught, and his constant dedication. I'm proud of my parents for doing what they know is right even when it is inconvenient, scary, and new.

All of this has me thinking about my actions and how they impact my children. Will my yaywhos remember Texas? Maybe not. Will they remember potty-training? I hope not. But they will remember if they felt secure, loved, educated, valued. They will remember if we had fun and worked hard. They will remember if I lash out (even if they don't remember when I speak softly!). I don't expect them to be proud of me, but I hope they aren't ashamed. I pray they know I do my best and that I'm learning too. What do they see and what do they care about? Will they even analyze this before they parent and grandparent? Will they care that I'm the one who scrubbed the floorboards and made bread? Will they care that we read scriptures together and acted out crazy scenes from our imaginations? Will it matter to them that Wes and I memorize things like morse code so that they can be better, so that they'll foster curiosity and follow their passions? Will they feel how much we believe in them?

My parents told me a few days ago that you learn the gospel and then you have children to see if you can actually live it. They succeeded. Will I? By grace and mercy, I pray.