Sunny Mustard Yellow Dress

Today I wore a sunny mustard yellow dress. I got ready slowly in the morning.  I took time to dry and curl my hair with care while Rosemary napped a few feet from me in her swing near the gauzy white translucent curtains in our bedroom.  I put on the crystal earrings that John bought me last summer in Helen.  I listen to the same three love songs over and over again on repeat still in a romantic and happy daze from the anniversary evening before. It felt refreshing and comforting to find myself in this ritual that has been absent from many of my days in the past few months.  I went through the day feeling poised and utterly feminine and somehow historical.  My buttons clasped and unclasped countless times through the day as I nursed Rose cradled in my arms.  In the evening I rushed around tidying up the simple decorations from last nights anniversary celebration.  As I walked up the stairs to our bedroom carrying the wooden candle holders my grandfather made and the pale pink tapers I felt grounded in that mundane task.  I was barefoot and my mustard dress swung from side to side as I scaled each step.  As the night drew on and a change of attire was fitting I unbuttoned the dress and it fell to the floor with a swoosh as the heavy weight of the fabric dropped.  Today I wore a sunny mustard yellow dress. 

“We’re both lucky”

Last night before falling asleep on the eve of our 10 year anniversary I told John, “I feel so lucky to be married to you.” He gave me a squeeze in our embrace and said, “We are both lucky.”  In these 10 years we have made forgiveness a swift reflex and we give each other the benefit of the doubt.  We believe the best in each other and we don’t keep score.  I believe I could have been molded into a very different woman but John Murphy is my soul’s truest counterpart.  He has taught me tolerance, perspective, and forgiveness.  He has a calming influence on my heart and brings out the very best in me.  If I have a dream he is my biggest champion.  We have built a life I am so very proud of.  We have given life to 4 amazing children that we cherish more than anything.  He feels like the softest most wonderful place to land at the end of every day.  Who knows what the next 10 years will bring but tonight before we fell asleep we spoke of the calm reassurance we have in the foundation of our love and friendship.  John Murphy, thank you for loving me in the most confident, passionate and jocular way that gives me roots and wings. 



Blessing Rose

This past weekend we had the honor of blessing Rosemary in our home. It was so sacred to be able to gather in our very own living room to do that. She was blessed in a handmade dress that was over 100 years old.  It belonged to my great Aunt’s husband’s grandmother! She was calm and happy and beautiful. We had a small gathering of family and the rest joined us on Zoom.  She was blessed to know that she has a mother who loves her more than she will know, a father who will always be there for her, a brother who will protect her, sisters that will care for her, and the love of her Savior to rely on in times of challenges in her life. Many other beautiful things were said and felt.  Happiest blessing day, Rose! 


Rosemary’s Mother

Becoming a mother to our Rosemary has been every bit as tender and magical as our other 3 children.  She came as a great surprise and I’ll never forget telling John we were expecting her in the front music room of our home in the middle of Friday in August.  We were both shocked and he reacted with such collected confidence and calm excitement as he always does, that steadied me.  I cherish this sacred role and divine responsibility to mother our four children. The weight of that responsibility and privilege drives me to my deepest prayers every day.  I’m not perfect, not even close, but I’m perfect for them.  We need each other, I believe our strengths and weaknesses were skillfully matched by my Heavenly Father to teach us what we need to learn.  I love being a mother, I love being THEIR mother. 

Clocks and Calendars

Motherhood has made me two great enemies: clocks and calendars.  The cliche is true, “The days are long but the years are short.” Time is a stealthy thief and it marches on impassively and indifferent.  The other day I looked at Avett, I mean REALLY looked at him, and his legs were suddenly longer and his face was noticeably older in a way that gave me a glimpse of him 10 years into the future.  Rosemary is now 5 weeks old and is starting to loose the slow sloth-like cadence of her newborn movements.  Evie can read words like “nuisance” and long chapter books in bed every night.  Today as I was stroking Clara’s hair to put her to sleep for her nap I felt the shape of her strong bones at my fingertips.  They were larger and so unfamiliar compared to the baby I nursed and nestled only a year or so ago.  These days won’t last forever and the weight of that taps on my mother heart.  I don’t know how I can be so aware and unaware at the same time that the canvas of each of my children is changing right before my eyes in both slow motion and time-lapse.  I want to hold on so tight to so many moments but I can’t.  So I’ll capture them when I can, tuck them away, and then open myself to the novel beauty of what comes next.  I love them as they are, I’ve loved them through so much before, and I’ll love them into what ever they will be.  Evaleigh, Avett, Clara, and Rosemary: I’m so grateful to be your mother, I love you. 
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