It Was Saturday and We Went To Palmyra

Sometimes the only thing to do when you have little children is to strap them down and go for a drive. So on Saturday evening, that's what we did.

Because I'm not entirely sure we've ever taken the children to the Scared Grove, and the Joseph Smith House and the Temple we decided to make that the end destination. They've never been there!? How can that be?

There's a saying for stuff like that: taking things for granted.

A little Lena running to her heart's content

And so it was the first time we had been there all as a family, walking on the temple grounds. The place Jeff and I, nearly seven years ago, inside the then snow clad-temple, were sealed to each other and to any future children we decided to bare. We were the only ones roaming around and running in the grass Saturday evening and it was nice. That's the beauty of the small temples. And Palmyra specifically has so much land and space. It's really beautiful there.

And the Grove...Jeff proposed in that grove you know. Well actually in the parking lot of that grove. He pulled that diamond ring out of a tiny clear plastic bag that was burning a hole in his pocket on a regular day in July and I witnessed something rarely seen, an awkward and nervous Jeff. Then he asked me to be his wife forever. And I said yes, and here we are together with so much yet so little life behind us.

I don't think we even knew the weight of that decision then. In fact, I'm sure of it.

We lost Boba Fett there on those meaningful and sacred grounds on Saturday, and years before found the beginnings of a life we are so blessed to have.

Saturday evening together felt like real proof of power in the small and simple things.

And expressing so many feelings this consistantly sappy and sentimental as of late doesn't necessairly mean I'm pregnant.

At least I hope it doesn't. It's time for precautionary measures. Did I just talk about birth control on the blog? Yes, I think I did.

When I got pregnant before Lena (an early miscarriage) I knew it the instant I started bawling while watching Patch Adams at my sister's. Patch Adams, people. It was 2005. And that movie is awful.

Here's to more trips to the sites and more space between baby number 3 and 4. You know, if baby number 4 is to exist.