We had a fun afternoon with Grandma Morehead at the Durham Museum.

More photos of the lovely museum (this visit and an earlier one) here.

I try to take at least one photo every day. Here are some of my favorites—one per day—from the past week. (To see all the dailies from the year, check out the set on Flickr.)

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I think Ian liked driving the tractor even more than Simon did. More pictures of the day here.

I’ve been using the stairs that lead up to the attic as a linen closet, but more often than not, towels, sheets, and out-season kids’ clothes were getting thrown in there willy nilly. I was starting to fear it could become one of those cartoon closets that just keeps dumping tons and tons of stuff out and buries the unsuspecting sucker who opens the door.

My parents came down to build some shelves and, in theory, banish the linen closet clutter. They pulled up first thing in the morning with a trailer full of scrap lumber and a bunch of power tools. My dad tried to explain to me where the shelves would go and how it would look, but I have to admit that when we started out, I just couldn’t picture it. But he had a vision, and so I watched as he measured and marked and held boards on one end while he leveled them and later cut them with the table saw and even tried my hand at the drill. We used the carpenter’s square and the reciprocal saw and a number 2 pencil and a buncha other tool things. And then, piece by piece, it all started to come together and actually look like shelves. I will say that I did learn a lot, but I’m definitely not ready to tackle any further home improvement projects or even handle power tools without supervision.

My Grandpa Carlson was also quite a skilled carpenter, and I thought of him many times throughout the day. My dad looks an awful lot like him, and all the more so in his tool belt and working on the kind of project Grandpa would have loved.

Simon, did you touch Mommy’s iPhone?

I try to take at least one photo every day. Here are some of my favorites—one per day—from the past week. (To see all the dailies from the year, check out the set on Flickr.)

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Before:

After:

Never leave home without them.

Lately, Simon has been really concerned about things running out (or “almost out”), so we spend some time talking about where we might get more. This was this morning’s rundown:

Me: Hey, Simon, we’re almost out of gas. Where should I go to get more?

Simon: A das station!

Me: And what if I need some coffee?

Simon: At da coffee house!

Me: We need some groceries. Where could I go?

Simon: Da gwoooshwee stoe. [That’s “grocery store,” but I bet you got that from the context.]

Me: I need more socks. Where do I get those?

Simon: Hy-Vee.

Me: Hmmm. Okay, what if I need a shirt.

Simon: Hy-Vee too!

Me: How about Target?

Simon: Nooooo. Silly Mommy.

Me: [Trying to throw him for a loop.] Where would I get a new belly button?

Simon: [Without missing a beat.] God!

So I’m a few weeks behind. And, darn it, I did miss a day. But here’s the catch-up. (To see all the dailies from the year, check out the set on Flickr.)

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There are a couple of camps just outside of Fremont. In high school my youth group would have retreats there, and we would go walking on the trails down to the Platte River. I had always hoped that “someday” I would be able to take those hikes with my husband. This weekend I finally got my wish—sort of.

The weather was astounding. Quintessential Nebraska fall. A walk in the woods seemed like the perfect Saturday morning activity, except for one thing: the boys had both been sick, and Simon especially was not himself. As we loaded up the boys and drove to the camp (just a mile or so down the road from my parents’ house, where we had just survived a very rough night; I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that I don’t think any of us ever want to hear the words “pizza” and “hut” together again for a very, very long time), I sensed that Jason was not really looking forward to the walk but merely humoring me. I told him all about the trails, dramatically beginning with “ever since I was a little girl,” to try and warn him not to muck up my long-held dream of how it would go with a bad attitude.

He simply asked whether in my fantasy of hiking the magical trails with my future husband there were also two sick kids along. Um, no, can’t say that there were.

In the end, it was neither a mind-blowing wonder nor a complete disaster. The trail was pretty much how I remembered it, and Jason thought it would be good to come back when we’re all well. Simon refused to walk even a little bit, so Jason carried him (and can I just say, my husband is amazing). Ian slept on my back in the Ergo. We decided to turn back shortly after we buried Simon’s breakfast under a pile of leaves.

So we’ll try again next year (or maybe even later this year if the weather holds), and in the meantime I’ll continue to learn to be deeply grateful for my reality, even when—especially when—it’s a little different than how I pictured it.