Blessings

To say this was an interesting weekend is a major understatement.   Any time we take our (not so little) family and spend the weekend with lots of extended family, there's bound to be lot of both laughter and tears.  Add in some relatives you know, some you barely know, and some that you've never seen before in your life, and you've got a downright rocking party.  Throw in a drive to middle of nowhere Idaho, (and no, I'm not just talking about Boise here,) and you can see why I'm just now starting to resume real life. 

In all seriousness, this weekend was a wonderful juxtaposition of family, friends, grief and celebration.  It was an honor to sit at my Grandma's funeral, celebrating the life of an amazing woman who touched so many lives. There were lots of tears, a little bit of laughter, and unlike most sacrament meetings, we didn't have to chase Max to the podium even once.  (That's a miracle in and of itself!) 

You know what was most fascinating and intriguing?  The group of women, occupying three rows on the side near the back, wearing bright red, showy hats and purple shirts and dresses.  I remember reading something about the red hat society a long time ago, and realized that these women knew and loved my grandma in a way that I never did.  Growing up, you think your grandma is and has always been old.  Seeing red hats and purple boas reminded me that Grandma had friends, interests, goals and ambitions that I probably never knew about.

We buried her on Saturday, in what has to be one of the most middle-of-nowhere-est places in Idaho.  Great Grandma and Grandpa Harrison owned and worked a farm ouside of the bustling metropolis of Bancroft, ID, population 327.  The cemetery was small, quiet and deserted.  My dad told me they had to pay the town an extra $125 so that they would plow the lane leading to the cemetery.  The wind whipped through us, making a joke of the few pine trees that were planted as a wind break.  I zipped the baby into the coat with me, and watched Max kick the snow while we said our last goodbyes.  While Max's antics got a glare or two from the aformentioned relatives we've never met before, I think Grandma would have gotten a good chuckle out of it.

And then Sunday we blessed our baby.  At first, we thought we should postpone, deferring to the funeral.  My mom asked us to continue with our plans, telling us that we needed some joy to mix in with the sorrow.  So we spent Sunday celebrating our new little boy. 

Events like this feel like paydays for me.  You know, the reward for nights spent walking the floors with a crying baby, for the spit up and the poop, for the tears, (mine and his!) and all the worry and grief.  There is something so precious about seeing my husband bless our son.

And can I just say that Ian needs to slow down?  I think it's completely unfair that the last few months of pregnancy are so long, and then the first few months of infancy fly by before you can even figure out what happened.  My tiny little newborn is now a round cheeked, fat and happy baby boy who shocked himself by rolling over the other night, and who has so many ripples in his thighs that he could be mistaken for a minature Sumo wrestler.  Did I mention he was a solid 12 lbs 14 oz when I took him for a two month checkup? Yes, the 0-3 months clothes have been packed away for the next tiny baby, who most certainly won't be coming from this house!  I'm not sure I'm okay with Ian getting so big, but I'm just as sure that there's not a darn thing I can do about it.