Swimming!

 Walking around the mall with fire truck toys we don't actually use...

 My favorite statue of a pioneer mother and baby, with Lincoln cheesing it for scaling purposes.

 I always wanted to be a Native American.

From Wesley: Happy birthday to Cam Krack. What a special person! So kind, so full of love. It was wonderful to have a grandma who lived close to us. Thanks for treating all of us kids as you would your own grandkids. We love you!

Now back to Cassie: Happy anniversaries to Kathy and Geran, Rosey and Lance, and Megan and Drew! What a wonderful week to celebrate marriage! We hope you had ice cream or something equally as great in your eyes.

This week, Levi and I went through Wesley’s box of childhood treasures: artwork, report cards, baptismal program, a ton of papers on war and warfare and strategy (some complete with drawings) and a book about his family and friends that began with a drawing of Christine, “I like my mom.” The next page was a close up drawing of Chad, “I LOVE DAD!!!” This sounds familiar. I’m grateful that our boys have such a good daddy. I love him, too. I felt a little melty about it all. I even found Wesley’s first limited-use temple recommend, signed by my dad. Perhaps it’s a little silly, but I saved that out for our family history folders. Who would have thought that Pop Corrie was signing his future son-in-law’s temple recommend when he looked across at that darling 12-year-old boy, so eager about the Priesthood and willing to do the right thing? And he’s only improved! WOW! This week he learned how to solve an issue at work. The boys and I prayed for him. What a great thing that we can pray for each other specifically at any time and know that Heavenly Father hears and helps.

This week I finished editing Grandma Wright’s 1978 journal. I’m a month behind my schedule with that because I’ve had a surprisingly constant flow of students in a hurry in addition to rewriting my class on a deadline. Oh, I love her, though. Reading her thoughts has been a blessing. This week must be the turning point in my pregnancy—it happened with the others—when my rumbly contractions start. I’ve thought about her and her children and her patience when they had needs and she had pain. She just went forward. So I’m doing my best. I can handle the discomfort and inconvenience okay. It’s my brain I struggle with (shocking!). With Joule, my contractions start in earnest when I sit down. I choose not to think too much about the actual drive to Texas, especially as Levi excitedly says, “Baby Joule be born in Colorado!” Oh, no, he’ll arrive in Texas. Thankfully, I know that as long as he continues to follow suit his brothers, we’re fine and I am still safe for my last three months. Phew!

Yesterday Wesley and the boys endured going to the Denver Art Museum (cutely abbreviated the DAM with big backpack buttons). Admission is generally around $15/person, but every first Saturday is free. Hurrah! We walked around an exhibit on airports with models, videos, interviews, paintings, photographs, and all sorts of coolness. The boys asked interesting questions about modern art. We all enjoyed the Western art featuring “the making” of the West. They’re good sports; once was enough for them.

Usually (99.8% of the time) it’s me who makes the uncomfortable comments; it’s a gift. You may feel that way about this paragraph—so proceed at your own volition. We bought a furniture dolly on sale at Harbor Freight and the cashier said, “Whoa! Two already and another one on the way!” Wes responded, “Yep. We’re having a party!” innocently enough. The woman looked at Wes. She looked at me. She scrunched up her face like that was a lot more than she ever wanted to know. “Sure looks like it!” Once we got to the parking lot, I clarified what she was thinking for Wesley. We laughed and laughed. The boys joined in with their hearty fake laughs just for fun. This moment was almost as good as a few weeks ago when a woman approached me at a store with “You are so fertile!” Um. Thank you? I know I’m really blessed. (In most cases I do respond smoothly and try to use this as a way to testify of family, but I just laughed at that one!) Really, though. Even on rough days, we know we’re living the best dream ever.

On Monday we started a daily chart for Levi as an experiment. A sad face happens when he kicks, hits, licks, spits, or will not listen (within reason). Three sad faces are free. The fourth means no treat with dad. The fifth means no favorite jammies. Man, does he know when his three strikes are up. We also add happy faces about the good he does so we can talk about the consequences of both good and poor decisions. It’s worth trying another week. For the majority of the week he proudly reported “No more sad faces!” to Wes. Some days are more difficult. Life.

Levi is a communicative crack-up. We bought new underpants. He likes to wrap his blanket-cape at his shoulders just before bath time and run around in underpants yelling, “I a hero!” I don’t know where that came from, still hilarious. I’ve been wearing my retainer during the day. I walked in to him putting something in his mouth and asked about it. “Mom! It my retainer!” Oh. Of course.

Since moving here, he’s been extremely interested in what day and what time it is. He knows that Wesley stays home on Saturday and Sunday—so those are the important reference points. He knows Wesley comes home around dinner time. “When is dinner time?” One day as soon as Wesley walked in the door, Levi told him “I’ve been waiting for you for a long long long long time! All day!” He has wanted to know when we’ll return to Texas. We told him “August.” So August 1 rolls in, he asks what day it is, and then exclaims: “It August! We move today!” This led into months and weeks. He’s been telling me that we move in August, soon, and “our bums probably hurt” since we’ll be driving so long. Ha! He’s right.

Lincoln cheerfully wanders the house pushing “dozers” and “loaders” and “backhoes” and asking for “watermelon.” He’ll take a playmate if one’s available. When I try to play with him, he looks at me like, “Mom, I love you, I do, but I need some space. VRRROOOMMM!” then away he goes through all of the rooms, circling, loading, dumping. Stances that I stretch toward in yoga naturally settle in Lincoln. He squats, parallel feet flat on the floor, playing. He poses the down-dog with joy over his blanket. I called him a yoga master; this hit the funny bone of both boys. Levi’s still laughing and calling Lincoln “Yoga Masta!” We welcomed a hail storm. Although it woke Lincoln up from his nap two hours early, he loved it! He especially enjoyed holding the hail in his hand to watch it melt. Lincoln continues teething. Ten teeth now! He gnaws and chomps and drools. Ugh. For everyone. His nose runs. He wakes up. And cuddles. I’ll take that.

On one of my monster days, we ventured to the pool and played on the stairs, kicked until our hands and feet turned raisiny, splashed and squealed. We dried off in the sun, shivering. On another day, Lincoln woke from a nap, kissed me soundly, then went to find Levi. They rubbed noses and kissed cheeks for a good five minutes. Sweet little goofballs. It’s good to be brothers. Both have been kissing my burgeoning belly, “Hi Baby Joule!” He kicks back (without receiving a sad face. This is because he lives in a swimming pool. Ask Levi).

Welcome August!