Weekend in Oregon

First thing's first. Baby Everest is even more precious and more beautiful than I had imagined, and I had imagined him as pretty darn precious. He came out big, but he's still so, so small. I loved everything about him and am so jealous that my sister has this perfect baby who doesn't even spit up. If I ever have a child, I just know he'll be ugly (because I was an incredibly ugly baby) and puke all over everything.



Second, my family is hilarious. We laugh a lot. Part of it is we are simply funny. There's a fair amount of witty/sarcastic/clever/story-teller in all of us, so we are never in want of entertainment, and even "classic" stories from years past can have us rolling on the floor when we bring them up again. This weekend was special because we presented my grandparents with a book we put together of memories and stories and pictures of the time we've spent at their house over the years. This summer marks the 40th anniversary of them building the house, and it has served as our gathering place ever since. The book turned out wonderfully, and almost as satisfying as reading it was watching everyone reading it. Pouring over it. Laughing and reading favorite sections aloud to each other. What a wonderful thing family is.

Third, the fourth of July always chokes me up. Because for anyone who has any amount of feeling, it's an emotional holiday. I got all misty right along with the man at the church flag raising announcing the names of all the people who had served or were currently serving our country. Because how can you look a soldier in the eye and not want to cry with him for the rest of your life? And I almost lost it again while sitting at the riverbank watching the fireworks, the grand finale so phenomenal that I couldn't help the swelling of gratitude that I'm sure would have bursted just as colorfully if that were possible.