New Year, New Direction

I always take a deep breath at the beginning of each year.  It's not really something I consciously do, and I admit that it's a little bit quirky, but it's something that has become so consistent in my life that I expect it, I wait for it, and when it comes I smile through it.  It's not so much a deep breath of preparation for coming months ahead, nor is it a deep breath for the completion of months behind...  It's mostly a deep breath that fills my lungs and my soul with insight about where I am in life right now, and with promise that the coming year will bring both happiness and growth (which sometimes are the same thing and other times are not).  The deep breath smells sweetly of fresh beginnings, of no mistakes, of potential, and it finally exhales into resolutions to be a little better, to try a little harder, to pray and smile and listen a little more, and to enjoy this journey of life that I am living.

This year my deep breath came on the second of January.  I closed my eyes when I felt it tickle in the back of my throat, I let it come deeply, and as it filled my lungs I thought about my life.  So many changes, I thought.  I've been through so many changes over the past year and I have so many changes coming up in the present one.  I felt a warm sense of accomplishment for the way I've handled the changes of the past year, and at the same time a sharp sting of resolve to handle the anticipation of the coming changes with more grace than I have been.  It's been ugly, folks... the anxiety of this upcoming move has kept me awake at nights and the sadness I feel at leaving this lush east-coast for the barren desert rolls around inside of me like barbed wire.  My mind has figuratively picked apart the desert countryside of my future and has been exploring the dark crevices of my fears.  But they remain dark.  I do wish the hot sun would shine on them and take the mystery away from their shadows, but that is not possible.  I don't like the ugliness I feel, so by the time my breath slowly exhaled I had made my new years resolution.  I will harvest beauty this year.

In order to help me with this goal, I've decided to give my blog over to the idea.  I've changed the title from Turning Tomorrow into Yesterday into Harvest Beauty, and I will try to write my posts accordingly.  I've found that, even through the darkest trials of my life, there is always beauty.  Always something to hold on to, always something that shows that God is mindful of us and of our lives.  This is my resolution this year.  To remember that in every life painting, there is a brush stroke of beauty.  Sometimes it's the entire painting itself, and other times it's hidden in the painting like a clever artists name.  Regardless of its size, my goal is to find it, recognize it, harvest it, and keep it in my heart.

I'm reminded of the story of Joseph of Egypt who harvested and stocked and saved for seven years while the crops were plentiful, and when the seven years of famine came he was ready and did not suffer. 

I will keep as much of the harvest here as I can so that it will be readily available to me (and to you if you want) when beauty is in short supply. 


Here's to a beautiful 2014.

Heart Attack Reflections

Eyeballs...  Balloons...  Sharks... 

To the average person, these three words would have little, if anything, in common.  But to me, they all evoke the same feeling in my heart.  Fear.  I don't recall the exact moment any of these things started haunting my existence, but it was long before the man I married decided to make his profession one of slicing eyeballs; long before I had children who require balloons at every single birthday; and long, long before I moved to an apartment right on the beach where sharks are swimming entirely too close to me.  Facing these fears on a regular basis has not curbed their intensity... in fact, if anything the intensity has been inflated.  I now have rules about how much Brian can share about his day with me (no hand motions to describe procedures (only words), and I do not look into ANY eyes as he's talking about it).  I have rules about the presence of balloons in my house (ONLY on birthdays and NEVER in the car).  And I have rules about when I will and will not enter into the ocean.  My family and I laugh at the irrationality of these fears (mostly my family), but the laughter doesn't seem to curb their intensity either.

In addition to these silly and rather irrational fears, I have one very real and rational fear.  One that I don't laugh about (ever), sometimes cry about when I even think about it, and can actually remember the exact moment it hit my heart and latched itself there like a leech.  It was early spring.  I had just gotten engaged and heard a terrible story of a newlywed couple who, on their way on their honeymoon, got in a car accident which killed the groom.  (Why do people even share these stories?)  That was it.  A new fear had been born because I all the sudden had someone in my life that I loved in a whole new way and that I simply couldn't imagine living without.  And with each passing anniversary, each new child, each rocky path conquered, that fear of losing this man I love has only grown because now he's that person in my life that I love even more. And more. And more.

We have had a few kind notes and phone calls this past month from friends and family who are remembering the events of last Christmas.  Their messages are so appreciated and all have the same wonderful tone: thinking of you, and so happy you are all healthy together this Christmas season.  Of course, I've been reflecting about the last year because, that's what I do, and one memory keeps working its way to the front of my mind.  It was Christmas Eve, and the day had been so very emotional. After tucking the children into bed and leaving them in the care of Grandma and Grandpa, I drove to the hospital with a suitcase full of presents to set up in the hospital room.  (I must have looked terrible because more than one group of people stopped and asked if I was alright. No, I wanted to say.  My 32 year old husband had a severe heart attack a couple of days ago, I'm 7 months pregnant, and I have three small children at home, so... I'm scared... and I don't know what my future looks like. But of course I just smiled and nodded.  They smiled back and we shared a silent understanding.  You're here on Christmas Eve, too...)  I walked into Brian's room, so happy he'd been moved from the ICU that morning, and tried quite unsuccessfully to hide my emotional face.  I felt it so important to not worry him with my own feelings quite yet because I wanted him to focus on himself, so I explained them away by simply saying that I felt a bit overwhelmed.  I tried to set Christmas up quickly but, being the perfectionist that I am, I ended up staying too long and felt supremely guilty when Brian admitted that my preparations were stressing him out.  I left the rest 'undone', kissed him, and tearfully made my way to the door to leave him alone to rest.  As I opened the door I heard him say, "Oh, Linds," his tone was gentle and sounded as if he'd just realized something important. "I'm so sorry." I looked back at him, laying in that hospital bed and he continued, emphasizing each word, "This is your biggest fear."

I waved my hand to dismiss it, again, not wanting him to worry for me just yet.  "I'm fine, dear," I said.  Though, I most certainly was not and I'm sure my tears blew my cover.  "Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning.  I love you."

Of course, I'm lucky that I didn't actually have to live through my biggest fear last Christmas.  But boy did I have to stare that ugly thing down face to face.  It came much too close.  Close enough to touch, to smell, to taste and, worst of all, to feel.

But, now I see that an unexpected thing has happened. 

Unlike my fears of eyeballs, balloons and sharks that intensify when faced, facing the fear of losing Brian has interestingly diminished it.  To be clear, it is still my biggest fear, and I pray every single morning that the Lord will protect him and keep him safe because that is certainly a trial I never want to live through.  But.  I'm not so afraid of it as I once was.  And it's because, through those indescribable hours where I wasn't sure he would ever be coming home with me again, I dug to the root of myself and somehow knew that I would be okay.  Call it faith or madness, but it is perhaps the most empowering feeling I've ever felt... the feeling of knowing that, even if my biggest fear happened... I would be okay. 

Maybe that's what the Lord wanted to teach me through all of this.  To have faith in myself.  To have faith in Him and to know that I could get through anything... anything... with His help.  How blessed I feel that the Lord could teach me that lesson without making me live through the real thing.

Oh gosh.  How blessed I feel in that.

 Sometimes the rest of the picture is just so great that your poo-face just has to take one for the team.

This past year has been shoved full of so many experiences and memories that, because of our humble feelings of mortality, have been absolutely cherished.  We have lived this year and I have a folder bursting full of pictures to show it.  Of course, we have struggled and cried and wrestled and woken up exhausted just as much or more than other years because, evidently that's just life, but we have also laughed and loved and played and dreamed. We've hugged more and listened more and navigated through our disagreements with more love.  Brian and I are having very different experiences this year - me living a sort of dream, and him living a sort of nightmare - and for all the friction that could cause in our lives, we've still managed to respect each others feelings, to stick together and to feel part of the same team through it all. 

He is such a good man, guys.  And I am one lucky lady.

Our Future in Sin City

Sunrise from our hotel in Vegas

"I think the thing that is most important to me..." I started.  I paused for a second to try to gather my thoughts into clear ideas.  We were discussing that word that had been circulating around our home like a vulture over road kill: future.  With a country wide open with possibilities, it has been near impossible for me to feel comfortable on any one decision regarding where to settle and raise our family.  But I knew one thing: my happiness seemed to be directly affected by natural beauty.  And the type of natural beauty I found most beautiful "... is water," I concluded.  Lakes, streams, waterfalls, oceans, rivers, clouds, thunderstorms, even the morning dew reflecting that early sunlight catches my eye and leaves me breathless at times.  And the green the water creates, leaves and grasses and vines, I knew that simply looking at these things made me happy.  "I think we should really focus on finding a place with water."

So how in the heck did I end up holding a signed contract binding us to Vegas!?

Yep.
Las Vegas...
the very same one you're thinking of.
In the desert.

------------

People have one of two reactions when I tell them I'm moving my family to Vegas... the most common one among LDS families is one of, "Oh!  I know someone who lives in Vegas and they absolutely love it there!"  The most common reaction among others is, "Oh... ... Really?"  I can see the confusion play out on their faces as they imagine our four small children setting up tents to live among the strippers and slot machines, wearing gas masks to protect their tiny lungs from the second-hand smoke.

But, I promise, we will not live on the strip (are there even houses on the strip?).  Actually, even being one of the most famous party streets in the world it is, after all, only a street.  One street in one area of a large city flanked by smaller cities, all full of neighborhoods and landscaped parks and schools and church-houses and, even, a temple.  In fact, in driving around the neighborhoods of the city the most overwhelming feeling I got was, "This looks like a fantastic place to raise a family."  Which is rather important to me at this stage in my life.

More important, turns out, than lots of water.

 Entertaining the baby on the flight - people were almost drooling over this little guy.  Fun to have such a cutie.

-------------

Our trip down there for the interview was good.  The bitterness of leaving the lush east coast was twisting like a dagger in my heart, but the promise of future and close family painted over the pain with a coat of happiness and a trace of excitement.  My parents drove down to Vegas to meet us there (drove down!  Just for a couple of days!  That's how close!) and took care of Timothy for us while the interviewing practice took Brian and me out to dinner.  

And then watched him again when we went to see our dear friends, the Wellings, at their son's baseball game.

I was blown away by the people in the practice.  For the first time in Brian's career I was looked at as a human being.  They called me Lindsay.  They asked what I thought about Vegas and what my concerns were in bringing my young family to the city.  After being 'Brian's wife' for ten years, this was a welcome change and at the end of the night I made sure to thank them for it.  Thank you for recognizing that I am a very important piece of this decision and for caring about what I think.  They were warm, friendly, ethical and generous.  Plus the topics around the dinner table stayed far away from ophthalmology... another thing I'm not used to as I've sat through many dinners completely unable to participate because I don't understand the language of eye surgery (and, frankly, don't want to hear about their gross eyeball stories, anyway *shudder*).  They were so family oriented and almost all (all?) of them have children of their own, they even organize their work hours around their families.

Brian was also quite struck with the practice itself.  Before we went we knew it was a well known practice, but when he spent a day working side-by-side with them he was most struck with the ease of conversation and camaraderie the partners had with each other (and him), with the patient/doctor relationships he witnessed, and with the ethical way they practiced their medicine.  He and I both left dinner that night feeling like it would not be possible to find a better practice, and that we would fit perfectly with them.  (We!  As in, all of us.)  And we left the city of Vegas feeling like it would be a great place to raise a family.

Even so.

It's been an emotional decision.  One with many sleepless nights and fervent prayers.  Turns out choosing a place to live forever carries a lot more pressure than choosing, say, which medical school or residency to attend. 

 1:49 and wide, wide awake

Once the decision was made I still felt scared.  I still felt like living in the desert would be hard for me... and, sometimes I still get concerned.  But the longer I think about it, the more excited I become.  I will miss this east coast deeply (so (so) deeply), but how lucky we've been to be able to have spent ten years of our lives here... and I will always be profoundly thankful for these years and these people and the experiences we've had.  Why not try something new?  And... as I stare at this ocean out my window, I can't think of anything more 'new' than the desert.

This struggle of a decision has taught me one thing, though.  I think the thing that is most important to me after all is not water.

It's family.

My kids will have a great life with plenty of options for good friends and chances to stand up for themselves.  My husband will have a great life with this practice that seems to understand the delicate balance between family life and work life.  And I will have a great life, too.  Maybe one not filled with the beauty water creates, but filled with happiness from people I love - friends, family, children, husband - being so near.

If a flower can bloom in the desert, then so can I.

 Source for picture - in my dreams could I ever take or edit a picture like this!

Bring on the lotion and chapstick!

While Daddy's Away

"We only have 7 months left here," he said.  His tone was the same as if he'd been saying he only had 7 more hip surgeries before he could walk again.  Overwhelmed, but ever looking forward to that end goal with a We Can Do This attitude.   "We only have 7 months left here," I repeated.  Though I said it as one might say she only has 7 more days left to live.

And, that about sums up our experiences in living in Miami so far.  Brian is enclosed in crowds of entitled people, and narrow traffic lanes clogged with battered cars and hot-headed drivers, in long work hours and work-a-holic peers, in searching for parking around our building every. single. night (and sometimes in walking the blocks home after finding one), in deciphering accents and dealing with people who can say little more in his native tongue than 'no English'.  The heat of the days seep under his white coat and make him sticky with sweat as he treats numerous fungal eye infections that fester in the humidity of this environment.

And me?  I'm enclosed in sand and sun, in ocean waves and pool days, in soothing breezes and cool showers... it makes sense why we feel differently about this halfway mark approaching.

The golden lining in all of this is that Brian is learning so much more about how to treat gross-looking eyeballs.  And the kids and I are working hard to have fun even while he's away.  It's hard sometimes because he really brings an infectious energy into the home that always makes things a lot more fun.  But once in a while I can get the kids enjoying a slide as much as they enjoy their dad.

Timbo watching the older kids, wishing he could play...

You're getting close, buddy... keep working on crawling, first.

And once the fun of the playground wears off...

We can fill the daddy-void with some cold sugar cereal for dinner. 

See?  I know how to keep it fun. 
After dinner we sometimes head back out to the beach to play away the sun.  (Well, we used to be able to do that before the combination of winter and daylight savings created a 5:30 sunset... so sad to lose those after dinner sunlight hours.)

This guy is starting to love the sand.

See how much?

He also loves eating things.  All things.  Blankets included.

And then when daddy finally makes it home, we celebrate by staring at each other for the rest of the night.

Face Plant in the Sand

I've been thinking a bit about 'bad days' recently.  Maybe because I've had some lately and I keep telling myself that, really, I should not be having bad days when everything around me is screaming of beauty and life.  And yet.  Turns out that even on the beach days can feel drippy and heavy sometimes.

Making decisions has never been one of my strong points.  If you don't like shopping, DO NOT go with me.  Seriously.  It takes me forever to make decisions on everything from a new pair of jeans to peanut butter.  (Which is probably why I never go shopping for a new pair of jeans, and why you'll always find the exact same kind of peanut butter in my cupboards because I already agonized over and made that decision years ago and I'm not about to go there again.)  In addition to making decisions, change has never been one of my strong points either.  There's a famous family story involving the kitchen cupboards in my childhood kitchen that sent me spiraling into waves of tears when my parents removed them. As a child I would also cry if my dad got a new car (especially once when his new car had a taillight configuration that made it look incredibly sad), about shaving my legs and piercing my ears (because I was growing up), and always at the beginning and end of school years (which is rather normal, I think).  So, when these two weak things in my life get thrown together and I am forced to make a decision on a major change in my life it creates a perfect storm, so to speak, for a disastrous emotional roller coaster.

I'm all better now and, truthfully, I have nothing really insightful to say about these so called 'bad days' other than they must all be part of the great plan.  Opposition in all things, you know?

And, the bad days have given birth to wonderful things.  Hard decisions have been made and our future is starting to take the form of something wonderful.  It's not all the way formed yet, but I feel like it's moving in a good direction and that most of the hardest decisions have been made. I'm sure you'll hear more details as things unfold a bit more concretely, but for now I'm happy to be back!  Back to blogging, back to this dreamlike year we're living, back to my happy place.

Subtle Changes - The Wife's View

 
August.
I see it at the top of my calendar.
August.
And I know what they say.
August.
Eight months, they say.  Eight months after December.
And still I don't believe.  No matter how many ways I bend my brain, I cannot make sense of the reality that it's been eight months since I stood alone, gripping a friend's phone in that emergency room, watching doctors and nurses frantically work to save the life of my husband.
To be cliche, It Feels Like Yesterday.
Well...
Maybe not yesterday.
But certainly not eight months ago.

In March, a friend asked me over the phone if I felt like Brian's heart attack had changed me; if it had helped me realize the gift that Every Day is; if it reminded me to live fully in each moment.  I thought for a minute and then answered as honestly as I could.
"I wanted it to.  I thought it would."
But life still felt hard.  Our house wasn't selling (wasn't showing) and we had a newborn baby to care for.  Brian's energy was low and our stress levels were high.  Little things still irritated me sometimes and, darn it all, the kids still needed to eat every couple of hours.

More time passed and the stress of selling and moving and leaving grew.  And grew some more.  But my pregnancy related hormones started leveling out and Timothy started giving us longer stretches of sleep through the nights.  The aftershocks of the heart attack itself started subsiding and I found myself feeling a little more in control of the chaos that had become our lives.  And one night, I noticed that a small shift in service had taken place during the months.  Instead of asking Brian to finish the dishes for me, I had been doing them myself.  Instead of waiting for Brian to go get our late-night ice cream snack, I had preempted it and made my way to the freezer.  I pulled the sheets tighter when I made the bed in the mornings because I know that Brian does it for himself every night. And I thought, maybe I have changed a little after all.

The first Sunday in April, Brian stood in sacrament meeting and walked our little baby to the front of the room.  With a circle of men he stood and surrounded Timothy with the power of the priesthood and, in that setting, cradled our son in his hands to give him a blessing.  As he spoke I was overwhelmed by the simple fact that he. was. there.  I thought of the moments we'd shared that had been sandwiched between the heart attack and that minute of Timothy's blessing and felt the warmth of all the long hugs, the joy of all the laughs, the sweetness of all the tender conversations and even the sting of all the tears.  It was hearing Brian's voice blessing our child that made that moment even more special and even more cherished than it otherwise would have been.  And in appreciating that moment so deeply I thought, maybe I have changed a little bit after all. 

I have noticed that there is a substantial increase in the number of times I shrug my shoulders and genuinely mean it when I say, "Eh, it doesn't matter that much." In small things such as not being able to find time in the day to get dinner started, to personal things such as feeling a little too squishy in my bathing suit, to big things such as the thousands of dollars lost on our home.  I see that it is my faith that matters.  It is my husband that matters.  It is my children that matter.  It is relationships and love and trust and companionship and friendship and doing good for others and seeking the most delectable brand of chocolate ice cream that matters.  So, maybe I have changed a little bit after all.

This man... this incredible man holds a much deeper place in my heart today than ever before.  I can see that we have built our lives in, around, and through each other to an extent I still can't quite grasp.  Through the past eight months as I've contemplated just how close I came to losing him, I have started to see all the ways that he is literally a part of me.  I would not be who I am today without his influences on me, and I would not like to try to be me without him by my side.  I need him.  And despite what critics might say, I believe this is how God intended love to be... whole and completely encompassing.  Independent, yet so dependent.  I sometimes get scared to love him this deeply, but my faith reminds me that, should God call him away from me on this earth, we would continue in this love through the eternities.  In this new and more dependent depth of love, I see I have changed after all. 

It's just that I had expected the changes to be drastic, I suppose.  But I should know by now that change in myself doesn't happen drastically.  In fact, change happens so slowly that sometimes I wonder if it's even happening at all; so to have expected myself to never again feel irritated at a glass of spilled milk on the carpet, or shoes left (again) in the middle of the floor, was, simply, to be unfair.  But now I see that, maybe I have become a bit more thankful.  A bit more humble in the knowledge of our mortality.  A bit better at focusing on the eternal perspective of my life and a bit farther away from getting so distracted in the details of things that simply don't matter.

But as far as the day to day life goes, things feel... remarkably the same.  I've gotten used to hearing the sound of pill bottles being rattled in the mornings and evenings.  It just reminds me to be so thankful for all the medical miracles.  And I've gotten used to the slight discomfort I feel every. time. he. lifts something/walks quickly/goes for a run/looks stressed/wrestles with the kids.  It just means that I love him.

So I guess the heart attack has changed our lives.  Not drastically, and not outwardly, but significantly.  It's given us hard things to work through, wonderful things to cherish.  And oh, how lucky I feel to be living this day with him.  And if the wind makes my hair look like dandelion poof?  Well, that's just the small stuff.

Happy 11th anniversary, my love.  I pray that God has many, many more years planned for us. 

Settling in to Heaven

I do not bounce out of bed in the mornings.  I've tried to change this about myself ohsomany times, but it seems to be a hard and fast, unbreakable law for me.  As strong a law as gravity... I do not bounce out of bed, just as sunblock dropped from the tenth floor will fall and eventually crash onto the pool deck (and explode, in case you're wondering (and scare you to death if you happen to be swimming down there with your kids)).  But a miracle has happened...  Ever since we moved into this new place of ours, I bounce!  Out of bed!  At 6:30 in the morning!  I love it because at around 6:45, this happens:

Quite an amazing start to the day, in my opinion.  And it happens every. single. morning.

Our first few days here were spent unpacking.  Living out of suitcases (or boxes in this case) has a tendency to turn me into a savage animal, so the unpacking process was intense, all-consuming, and then finished within four days (largely finished within two).  Our unpacking process was a little bit difficult because it became apparent very early on that, if we wanted to be able to spend any amount of time in our apartment, all of the stuff we brought was not going to fit.  So, we rented a storage unit and went through all of our things (again) to decide what we really needed, and what could be stored for a year.  While I was busy with the boxes, I realized yet again what an awesome thing it is to have this girl as my first-born.  She kept everyone else happy and pulled out the peanut butter when things got really bad.

Here are five other reasons we love this place (notice, I didn't say the top five reasons... because that list would look like this - #1 Ocean  #2 Ocean  #3 Ocean  #4 Ocean  #5 Ocean - which would make this post quite short, and relatively uninteresting.  Especially since I haven't really taken my camera down to the ocean much, so I wouldn't even have any good pictures to sparkle it up with.):

#1 - We found out about $.99 pizza night

and the kids were happily surprised to see the slices were bigger than their faces.

We had a little bit of excitement when an old lady fainted on the sidewalk.  Brian jumped to action and helped out until the ambulance arrived, and I taught the kids about the manners they should practice of 'not being nosy', while hypocritically snapping a picture from my hip.

#2 - Jumping in the teeny-tiny pool

Brian feels accomplished because he can lie flat in the water and touch one side of the pool with his fingertips and the other side with his toes.  I feel accomplished because I can sit on the side, read a book and keep an eye on the entire pool all at the same time.  (Though, I spend a healthy amount of time playing tag in the water as well (the it-man changes almost as frequently as blinking because there really is no room to run away).)
 
#3 - The beautiful, clear water of the ocean

The water here is in.cred.i.ble.  And, surprisingly different from day to day.  Yesterday, for example, there was seaweed surfing the giant waves and getting trapped up on the bank.  Today the ocean looks like a crystal clear lake, hardly moving at all.   Sometimes the water looks green, other days blue, some days yellow.  It's been fun to get to know the different personalities of the ocean.  But, the greatest thing, in my opinion, is being able to see through the water to the sandy bottom below.  We've seen tiny fish and big fish, a manatee (!) and some sort of something that terrified the snot out of me because everyone panicked and rushed out of the water (and screamed for everyone else to do the same).  It looked like a pack of three small sharks to me, but when I went online to see if I could find out what they were, I had to stop because all the pictures of sharks welled up a deep and intense fear that I've been trying to suppress since I've been here... okay, let's actually back up a bit and end with: and a manatee!

#4 -  Storms

We learned early on that, if a storm blows in on you while you're playing on the beach, just hunker down and sit it out.  So far, the storms have a fun pattern of coming in, hitting hard, sticking around for about five minutes, and then moving along their way.  Carson stood in the storm he's in above for all of 2.7 seconds before the wind literally scared him back inside the house.  He was afraid of being blown away and would not go back out.  That, and the rain was pelting him so hard it felt like little needles.  You can kind of tell how fast the wind is blowing by seeing the streaks of rain travel across his shirt.  My shutter speed was 1/200.

#5 - Fireworks from our balcony

 Not the best picture, but I love the kids in this one.  Carson could. not. stop. jumping for the entire show... he loved it. And Brian and I kept turning to each other with gaping mouths that, had they been articulate at the moment might have said something like, 'how the heck did we get so lucky?!'  (Because that, apparently, is what I come up with when I have time to think about being articulate... ahem... Anyway) It was a fantastic Welcome To The Beach.  The whole day was fun...

We started out watching our relatively quiet beach fill with people.

And then, we stood mesmerized the whole day watching them.  I've always enjoyed people-watching, but this took it to a whole new level!  We could hear their laughter and smell the cook-outs, we watched the pelicans soar back and forth with the wind and spent hours watching the parasailers do flips and tricks off of the waves.

We watched a movie together and were happy to find out that Timothy enjoys television as much as the other kids.

After the show, we played Pictionary out on the balcony.

And laughed big belly laughs at the wind.

(Carson said, 'Kenz... you look like... like a big woman'.)

Eventually, the sun set and we waited anxiously for the city fireworks to begin.  Right. Outside. Our. Window.

So far, this living-on-the-beach thing has been way more than we'd ever hoped it would be...