Monday, August 22

Today was my husband's 31st birthday. In true Tyson form, he requested as little fuss about it as possible. (We threw him a giant party for his birthday last year, which he was a good sport about, but that kind of thing is really only appreciated every decade or so). In fact he was so thrilled when Isla was born only four days after his birthday, so that all of the attention would be on her for the rest of his life.
This afternoon, I helped the kids create birthday cards for him. Everett's said, "Happy Birthday! I love eating pizza with you!" and Isla's was a creative mix of purple paper, purple glitter paint, and purple stickers. "Pupo" is her thing at the moment. An hour before he got home from work, I raced to the grocery store to pick up a fresh slab of salmon and brocolli and threw in some sea salt chocolate chip cookies for good measure. He ate, and opened his cards with absolute delight and then took a long recovery nap after having gotten up at 4 this morning. And that was that. Best birthday ever in his book. (We are so different. On my birthday I'm over here like, oh a surprise trip to somewhere exotic would be perfect, thanks)
Yesterday I was loading an old journal into our bookcase and a bunch of old love notes from him slipped out the back and onto my lap. One was in one of those envelopes that accompanies a bouquet of flowers and it said something about meeting for lunch. Another had a literal heart cut out of a piece of paper, and was "colored" with a bunch of white-out. And I always love finding little bits and pieces of our old selves, but reading those notes, there was no ache or lurch or longing to be back in that time of pre-children, and love notes, and last minute meetings for lunch, and white-out hearts. And I didn't notice my lack of nostalgia until I came across this quote today that says, "When looking back doesn't interest you anymore, you're doing something right." So apparently I'm completely off in the kids department, cause I'm basically in a constant state of nostalgia when it comes to those two. But with him? I don't find myself ever looking back at all. I love our now, in all its forms. And I feel lucky for that.

Happy Birthday my darling lover boy. Life is sweeter with you in it.

a dreamy dream of a weekend at the family dry farm

Tuesday, August 2

I think we can just plan on this being a yearly thing I blog about. You can see my post about last year's trip up to our family's dry farm HERE, a place which is for sure, hands down, one of my favorite places in the whole entire world. Ririe, Idaho you old dog, you. It cannot be helped. I have photos of me and my sisters up here on this land when we were somewhere around 8,9 and 11 years old, during a summer week of back roads, and jeep rides, and climbing on old tractors. It's where my dad came to help HIS dad work. And where even my grandpa came to work with his dad. It's land that is rich in Adams history a beloved pillar of our childhood memories. My sweet sweet grandpa passed away early yesterday morning, yet the day before, knowing that we were headed up to the dry farm, had mustered up enough energy from his sick bed to call to my brother, "FIX THE FENCE!" Him and those giant, calloused, sun spotted grandpa hands of his loved this beautiful piece of land as a methodical and dedicated caretaker throughout his entire life. It means so much to all of us to spend time on it together, already steeping the next generation of memories. 

Just a coupla show offs right here. 

This little house is where my dad took his lunch breaks during his childhood summer workdays. He spoke with glowing fondness of sitting at the little table with the lunch my grandma had packed for him: tuna fish and spears of dill pickles between two thick slices of homemade bread slathered in butter. With his own personal bag of chips and a cold Pepsi.

And now here his pile of grandkids sit in the same house. Time is so funny.

Everett learned how to sling shot some rocks while we were there, which he got very good at, very quickly.

His reaction the second after he hit his target ...

It is every bit as peaceful as it looks. But 10x more incredible in person.

These are the newlyweds in an open display of rebellion after being coerced into a family vacation one week after getting married. No I'm kidding, they loooooooooved it. 

The ghost of camping past, here to cheerfully remind you of how rarely people wash their sleeping bags.
The very first of the raindrops on that fuzzy little head. 

And a hat to keep those pesky drops away.

 Idaho, we love you.
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