For Mother’s Day this year we had a chance to revisit the hiking trails along the Platte River near my parent’s house. The last time we went was almost four years ago, and well, it could have been better (and it could have been worse).

This time was great. We underestimated our boys’ attention span for throwing sticks and rocks in the river, and I underestimated my desire to linger and take a billion pictures, so the biggest complaints we got, really, were that it was time to head back too soon. The kids loved collecting rocks and sticks and pine cones for their “nature backpacks.” I said no to bird feathers. I’m not sure if bird feathers are okay to collect or not? I always fear we’re going to die of some birdy disease. Jason said no to what I’m pretty sure were perfectly good morel mushrooms, citing that one book where that guy died in the wilderness because he misidentified a plant. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. But boo.

I love that it just gets more and more fun to do things with the kids. It takes a little of the sting out of how fast they are growing up. A little.

I came across this guy on my walk this morning. I’m thinking of him as a good sign, a harbinger of slow days to come, a summer mascot.

Making a summer to-do list with the kids. It includes sleeping in a tent in the back yard and seeing bears, but I’m hoping we don’t get those two things crossed off simultaneously. My personal to-do list includes blogging and sewing and finding that giant stone head that’s somewhere in Lincoln.

Planning to do a Whole 30 with Jason (and a few other friends) in June (I hope to write about it as we go. For now, I’m madly collecting recipes).

Taking apart and rebuilding a bicycle. Yep, I’m becoming a regular bike geek. I am participating in the Earn a Bike program at the Lincoln Bike Kitchen and seriously loving every minute of it. (I  make ridiculous mistakes, like trying to get the tire off of the wheel without first detaching the wheel from the fork. But whatever. I now know what a derailleur is and a crank puller and how to true a wheel.)

Reading random books I find lying around the house. I would welcome recommends for summer reading.

Watching the Tonight Show, or at least the monologue, pretty much every night. We watch on Hulu, so it’s always a one-day delay. And The Paradise, a BBC series set in England in the 1870s.

Celebrating several graduations this weekend as well as a few new babes just born or coming any day now.

Looking forward to the next eleven weeks or so of mostly unscheduled days. I’m hoping there will be lots of time for exploring and wondering and spending with friends.

Yesterday my dad and the boys made me the best Mother’s Day gift. The final product is a bird feeder (specifically, it’s made to attract Baltimore Orioles, which is my mom’s favorite bird), and of course I love it. But if you know me you can guess that what I loved the best was watching my dad patiently teach the boys to use his power tools, hearing the stories again about how my dad learned these things (and got many of the tools) from his dad, seeing Simon’s delight as he felt so grown up doing things (mostly) by himself, holding Clara tight when it was “too loud,” laughing with Ian at his too-big paint shirt that made him feel “like a princess.”

When I thanked him for making me such a thoughtful and special gift, Ian corrected me: “It’s really for the birds.” Well, then, lucky birds, but they don’t have anything on lucky me.

Haven’t done one of these in a while.

Simon doesn’t say a whole lot about school unless he is asked specific questions (a kid after his dad’s own heart). When I heard the kindergartners are studying parts of speech (seriously? it seems like that was more like seventh grade grammar waaaaay back in my day), I couldn’t resist asking him a few questions.

Me: Simon, do you know what a pronoun is?

Simon: It takes the place of a noun.

Me: Can you give me an example?

Simon:  She. So you could say, “She is . . . ” [he was having trouble coming up with an example, so my mom interjected]

Nana: “She is my best friend.”

Simon: So you take away “she” and say, “She was my best friend.” No, wait, let me give another example. “Simon likes to draw.” Take away “Simon” and say, “He likes to draw.”

Ian: Or! You could say, “Ian likes to count.” Take away “Ian” and say, “The house likes to count.” Hahaha, a talking house!

Simon: That would be a fiction.

Today, I happened across a new-to-me blog, Sometimes Sweet, and was inspired by this series, a writing prompt each week. I tend to get all gung ho at the beginning of a project, and then, well … we’ll see how this goes. Looking back in the archives, a couple of the prompts made me catch my breath to think of sharing on my blog the first story that came to mind, but as for today, I like the idea of some inspiration and, for goodness sake, something to get me writing again.

Everyone has a time in their life they view as a crossroad. Sometimes you can see it as it’s happening, and you’re able to choose one way or another. Other times you may not realize you’re there until you look back, and see what a turning point it really was. This week, write about a time you view as a marker in your life; a distinct place where things changed, for better or worse.

Sometime in the late fall or early winter of our second year living at the Grand (just over ten years ago by now), Charity and I hit upon an idea that we had high hopes for. The impetus for this brilliant scheme was that we were weary of being single, and to put it simply, we wanted to meet our husbands. Now. Yesterday. We had had it with all the bright ideas and usual ways that we had heard might spark love — and in particular, we were cynical enough by then that you wouldn’t have caught us dead at a church (or any other) singles’ group activity. We weren’t meeting anyone in class, at work, at church, on a plane, or in the grocery store. We didn’t want to join an online dating site — just didn’t. And, probably more than anything, we were tired of talking about it. Still, in an uncharacteristic moment of practicality, I realized, and pointed out, that no one was knocking on our door with the intention of asking us out — and we would have noticed because we spent a lot of time at home in those days (it was a good place to be).

So we decided to play pool at Yia Yia’s. To meet boys.

The plan was pretty straightforward: we would go to Yia Yia’s every Thursday night. We would invite people to join us, or we would try to strike up a conversation or game with whomever was already there. Either scenario had a chance of working out. At the time, we didn’t think that our husbands were among any of the guys we already knew. But we thought, you never know, maybe one of the guys we already knew knew a guy that we didn’t already know. Networking was also uncharacteristic of me (though maybe more natural for Charity).

I don’t remember much about how it went week to week, now that it comes to it. I remember a couple of times one or the other of us inviting friends and/or acquaintances — I can’t even remember whom, though — only to have it feel disappointing and then a little awkward when they didn’t bring anyone new to us. Perhaps we were too subtle in our intentions? In fact, the only boys we ever actually met were two friendly eastern European kids there to play pool too — I can’t remember their names or even the country they were from, only that they were too young for us. (Just as a side note, though, the Europeans — we called them by their country name at the time, the Bosnians maybe? — were delightful; they were charming in their own way, and we very much looked forward to running into them, even if they were decidedly not “the ones” we were looking for.)

And it would be weird not to mention that Jason came sometimes too (pretty regularly, I think). I was thrilled because I already had a big crush on him. It kind of feels like that’s a different story, though, because even though he turned out to be The Boy, those nights at Yia Yia’s don’t really feel like part of our story except in a roundabout (if fairly important) kind of way.

What I do remember is laughing and having meaningful conversations and playing a bit of pool; trying but not trying too hard; being out there, having a good time, not overthinking it. I remember being hopeful, being open and, for once, not feeling self-conscious about it.

No, we didn’t meet our husbands playing pool at Yia Yia’s that winter, but it sure was a good idea, nonetheless.

What is your favorite color? Red

Who is your best friend? Owen and River and Josh and Isaac

What do you want to be when you grow up? Website designer

What is your favorite animal? Cheetah

What is your favorite book? Dangerous Cats

What do you like to do with your family? Snuggle

What do you like to do with your friends? Play

What do you like to do outside? Ride my bike

Where do you like to go? To the park

What is your favorite food? Quiche and cantelope

What do you like to drink? Lemonade

What is your favorite TV show? Special Agent Oso

What song to you like to sing the most? “Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear”

What is your favorite toy? my new Lego jet