The summers in Fargo make the winters here almost worth it. The temperatures are warm and cozy - like a comfortable hug from a lifelong friend. The sun, the breeze, and the shade mostly work together to form an ambiance of pure pleasantry. The inside of my home is somewhat neglected, as I relish to spend every available moment outside. My camp chair has conformed itself to the curves of my duff, and we sit together to enjoy the day's beauty and contentment.
The breeze is my favorite summertime friend. It blows just enough to keep the flying critters away (read: man-eating dragonflies and other terrorizing winged insects), and just enough to keep the heat in check. If I had the leisure to sit outside in the summer all day every day, it would be an opportunity I would certainly take advantage of. Watching a rainstorm from the shelter of the garage would be no hindrance.
Haley, now a very active toddler, loves to play outside with sticks, rocks, and most affectionately with the dirt. She and I marvel at the birds, dance away from bugs, and together sit and wonder about the clouds as they pass overhead. "Blue and white, mommy! The sky blue and white!" I think the clouds are just as happy to be floating above us as we are to watch them. My little nature loving toddler is a girl after my own heart.
There are no mountains, and there are no pristine blue bodies of water nearby, but the atmosphere of the outdoors is appreciated regardless. Freedom to run, jump, roll, or simply sit. I'll take it. No boundaries at all - just acres and acres of outdoors.
As the leaves rustle and applaud for how happy they are to have our company, I sometimes just close my eyes and say quick little prayers of thanks. Thanks for His creation, and taking time to plan out the smallest of details. Thanks for all the senses to be able to enjoy it. And thanks for the opportunity to experience it, even if only for a season.
To read the story of our precious Harlynn Renae, start here and follow the "next" links at the end of each post. Thank you for coming and sharing with us in this journey.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Why I Love Saturdays
We've been guilty of using the weekend to try to cram everything we "need" to get done into two days' time, wear ourselves ragged, and wonder on Sunday evenings where our weekend went. We still have a long to-do list, but rather than try to become super-humans and accomplish more in 48 hours than anybody else, we've taken a step back.
Saturdays are my absolute favorite day of the week. It starts by Brent and I being woken up by the sweet mumbles over the monitor from Haley. Usually it's, "I want mommy." which I'm happy, though tired, to oblige. When I take her out of her crib, she almost immediately starts her demands for breakfast, though I try to sneak a few more snuggles. She and I make our way to the kitchen, I start brewing my coffee, and get her situated with her "yoyurt". We end up eating some breakfast together, and I start to savor my first coffee for the day.
She'll entertain herself with her toys while Brent gets a while longer to snooze, and she and I will tell funny stories or build or color. Usually I sip my coffee and she makes me something "delisish" in her own kitchen that I have to sample. When Brent gets up, we watch an episode or two of Dinosaur Train, which is somehow her most favorite thing to watch. What am I doing in a Pteranodon nest?
We'll play outside, tidy the house, have lunch, and then it's nap time. I, for some reason, am never tired the same time she naps. So I use this time to do what I want to do. When she's awake and refreshed, we play some more, and then 5:00 comes. Today we spent all afternoon outside working on pulling weeds and trimming shrubbery. She wore Mommy's gloves and played in the dirt, so had to have an emergency bath time upon reentry of the house.
Every Saturday at 5:00 we turn on the radio and listen to Prairie Home Companion. It's on while I cook us dinner, and we listen to it until it ends. It really is entertaining, and if you've never done it, I would certainly recommend you start. Once it's over, we start to wind down, get Haley into her PJs, brush her teeth, say bedtime prayers, and sing some songs together. Lately, her most favorite song in the entire world is Happy Birthday. So we sing that multiple times.
Once she's tucked in, we come out and do whatever else we need to do to wrap up our day so we can spend the evening anyway we want to. We might clean out the basement, or I might knit, or we might play some two-handed pinochle. It doesn't matter, I love this tradition. I love Saturdays. I love my morning snuggles, my evening singalongs, and everything in between. If my week has to end, I want to enjoy how it comes to a close. I love Saturdays.
Saturdays are my absolute favorite day of the week. It starts by Brent and I being woken up by the sweet mumbles over the monitor from Haley. Usually it's, "I want mommy." which I'm happy, though tired, to oblige. When I take her out of her crib, she almost immediately starts her demands for breakfast, though I try to sneak a few more snuggles. She and I make our way to the kitchen, I start brewing my coffee, and get her situated with her "yoyurt". We end up eating some breakfast together, and I start to savor my first coffee for the day.
She'll entertain herself with her toys while Brent gets a while longer to snooze, and she and I will tell funny stories or build or color. Usually I sip my coffee and she makes me something "delisish" in her own kitchen that I have to sample. When Brent gets up, we watch an episode or two of Dinosaur Train, which is somehow her most favorite thing to watch. What am I doing in a Pteranodon nest?
We'll play outside, tidy the house, have lunch, and then it's nap time. I, for some reason, am never tired the same time she naps. So I use this time to do what I want to do. When she's awake and refreshed, we play some more, and then 5:00 comes. Today we spent all afternoon outside working on pulling weeds and trimming shrubbery. She wore Mommy's gloves and played in the dirt, so had to have an emergency bath time upon reentry of the house.
Every Saturday at 5:00 we turn on the radio and listen to Prairie Home Companion. It's on while I cook us dinner, and we listen to it until it ends. It really is entertaining, and if you've never done it, I would certainly recommend you start. Once it's over, we start to wind down, get Haley into her PJs, brush her teeth, say bedtime prayers, and sing some songs together. Lately, her most favorite song in the entire world is Happy Birthday. So we sing that multiple times.
Once she's tucked in, we come out and do whatever else we need to do to wrap up our day so we can spend the evening anyway we want to. We might clean out the basement, or I might knit, or we might play some two-handed pinochle. It doesn't matter, I love this tradition. I love Saturdays. I love my morning snuggles, my evening singalongs, and everything in between. If my week has to end, I want to enjoy how it comes to a close. I love Saturdays.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Alarming
I told my sister this story the other night - it was one I had forgotten about quite honestly. I have often told stories about lessons in humility and this one is no different. Ignorance is bliss until you do something silly as a result. This is one of those silly times.
My first "real" job was as a sales associate at Corral West Ranchwear. I can't say "Corral West Ranchwear" without hearing the radio commercial in my head, where they sing the store name, crack a whip, and shout, "Yaw!". The store closed at 9:00 p.m. which required me to drop off the night deposit at the bank. Of course, banks aren't open at 9:00 p.m., so you have to use the night drop. I was fresh out of high school and my arrogance would have told you I knew it all. My actions, however, proved otherwise.
I will tell you I had never used the night drop before. I paid cash for everything and was always visiting my credit union during the hours of operation. I didn't own a debit card until my husband forced me to get one after we were married. I didn't even own checks until I moved out and had to pay rent. I paid for everything with cash. I also didn't work a full time job, which allowed me the liberty to withdraw cash from my account during daylight hours. Always.
The first time I ever dropped off the night deposit, I had to make a second lap around the bank before I even found the night drop. I remember thinking, "Oh THAT'S what that metal thing is!" I gently pried the door open before I saw my first challenge - getting the deposit bag to fit between those giant metal grates of the drop drawer.
You're seeing where this is going.
I barely opened the night drop drawer, positioned the bag just so the metal lock would wedge between the metal grates, and worked that drawer open and closed until the bag finally worked its way back and I heard it drop into the collection pit of deposits. It was a chore, a work out, and I started only depositing envelopes when we had large deposits because I knew there was no way all the cash would fit at once in those bulky deposit bags.
I did this every night for several weeks.
One night I was doing the deposit and I accidentally opened the door further than I ever had before. There before me was a genius concept. An actual compartment for deposit bags! The metal grates were a safety feature to guard against robberies, and here I was thinking they were some teeth-feeding mechanism to get the deposits inside. Heaven help me, NO ONE TOLD ME THIS! I was so relieved to have found an easier and more practical way to do the deposit. The right way. Who knew?!
I then developed the habit of making the deposit, and opening the drawer a second time to make sure it had dropped so no one would be able to reach into the compartment and take it out. One night shortly after this new-found ritual, I was pulling out of the parking lot when I was suddenly surrounded by three cop cars.
Three. Cop cars. Police. Surrounding me.
One officer approached me, flashlight in hand, shining it directly into my eyeballs. He moved it down to see my name tag (emblazoned with "Corral West Ranchwear")and asked me what my name was. In case I was a hard-core criminal who was only pretending to work at a western clothing store.
"Val."
"What are you doing here, Val?"
"I just dropped off our deposit from work."
"What work?"
"Corral West...I just...the top of the hill...I wasn't...is something wrong?"
"Yes. The bank alarm was tripped."
My first thought was, "OH MY GAWSH, someone was trying to rob the bank while I was making my deposit!!" I was alarmed to say the least (pun intended). Scared out of my mind. I remember sitting in the driver's seat and looking around expecting to see a would-be robber lurking in the bushes.
I had to wait for him to confer with the other officers before he would move his car and let me continue my very humble journey home. I was cleared. I wasn't going to jail. I didn't even have to bribe him with a discount on Wranglers.
Then I realized, and I'm shamed to admit it was hours later, when I opened the deposit drop door the second time I REALLY opened it, with all my might to make sure it was really empty. Then I let it slam shut. It was me. I had tripped the alarm. There was never a robber. Only a naive 18 year old who didn't know how to work a drawer. A drawer, people.
Thankfully I work at a bank now, so if I need to make a deposit or withdrawal, I can do it all during hours of operation. Like it should be done. No metal alarm traps necessary.
My first "real" job was as a sales associate at Corral West Ranchwear. I can't say "Corral West Ranchwear" without hearing the radio commercial in my head, where they sing the store name, crack a whip, and shout, "Yaw!". The store closed at 9:00 p.m. which required me to drop off the night deposit at the bank. Of course, banks aren't open at 9:00 p.m., so you have to use the night drop. I was fresh out of high school and my arrogance would have told you I knew it all. My actions, however, proved otherwise.
I will tell you I had never used the night drop before. I paid cash for everything and was always visiting my credit union during the hours of operation. I didn't own a debit card until my husband forced me to get one after we were married. I didn't even own checks until I moved out and had to pay rent. I paid for everything with cash. I also didn't work a full time job, which allowed me the liberty to withdraw cash from my account during daylight hours. Always.
The first time I ever dropped off the night deposit, I had to make a second lap around the bank before I even found the night drop. I remember thinking, "Oh THAT'S what that metal thing is!" I gently pried the door open before I saw my first challenge - getting the deposit bag to fit between those giant metal grates of the drop drawer.
You're seeing where this is going.
I barely opened the night drop drawer, positioned the bag just so the metal lock would wedge between the metal grates, and worked that drawer open and closed until the bag finally worked its way back and I heard it drop into the collection pit of deposits. It was a chore, a work out, and I started only depositing envelopes when we had large deposits because I knew there was no way all the cash would fit at once in those bulky deposit bags.
I did this every night for several weeks.
One night I was doing the deposit and I accidentally opened the door further than I ever had before. There before me was a genius concept. An actual compartment for deposit bags! The metal grates were a safety feature to guard against robberies, and here I was thinking they were some teeth-feeding mechanism to get the deposits inside. Heaven help me, NO ONE TOLD ME THIS! I was so relieved to have found an easier and more practical way to do the deposit. The right way. Who knew?!
I then developed the habit of making the deposit, and opening the drawer a second time to make sure it had dropped so no one would be able to reach into the compartment and take it out. One night shortly after this new-found ritual, I was pulling out of the parking lot when I was suddenly surrounded by three cop cars.
Three. Cop cars. Police. Surrounding me.
One officer approached me, flashlight in hand, shining it directly into my eyeballs. He moved it down to see my name tag (emblazoned with "Corral West Ranchwear")and asked me what my name was. In case I was a hard-core criminal who was only pretending to work at a western clothing store.
"Val."
"What are you doing here, Val?"
"I just dropped off our deposit from work."
"What work?"
"Corral West...I just...the top of the hill...I wasn't...is something wrong?"
"Yes. The bank alarm was tripped."
My first thought was, "OH MY GAWSH, someone was trying to rob the bank while I was making my deposit!!" I was alarmed to say the least (pun intended). Scared out of my mind. I remember sitting in the driver's seat and looking around expecting to see a would-be robber lurking in the bushes.
I had to wait for him to confer with the other officers before he would move his car and let me continue my very humble journey home. I was cleared. I wasn't going to jail. I didn't even have to bribe him with a discount on Wranglers.
Then I realized, and I'm shamed to admit it was hours later, when I opened the deposit drop door the second time I REALLY opened it, with all my might to make sure it was really empty. Then I let it slam shut. It was me. I had tripped the alarm. There was never a robber. Only a naive 18 year old who didn't know how to work a drawer. A drawer, people.
Thankfully I work at a bank now, so if I need to make a deposit or withdrawal, I can do it all during hours of operation. Like it should be done. No metal alarm traps necessary.
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