My Uncle R. sent me this photo. He is the family historian I’ve mentioned before. And he has a great deal of patience to find and deliver pieces of history. Like this one.

This is my big brother. See how he’s cute? Yeah, still. But more old. And hairy. Just saying.

See how he’s probably got food in his mouth? Yeah, still. The man knows good food. It’s one of his best talents.

See how he’s the funny one? Yeah, still. And yeah, he still laughs at his own comedy. But he should. It’s funny.

See how I’m kind of reveling in the “I’m so proud of my big brother?” Yeah, still. He’s pretty awesome.

See how I’ve always struggled with clothing issues and awkward hair? Yeah — I’m working on it. “The Seventies” are no longer a valid excuse. Darn it.

See how I just might be planning something? Yeah. Still. That happens sometimes. It’s no longer quite so cute. But it does still happen.

See how we’re snuggled together in a large leather chair, with perfect lighting and an aura of happy childhood? That’s not exactly where we are anymore. I don’t have white furniture, because I’m not a white furniture kind of a girl. Neither does he. He has two boys and a dog, all right? And really? We’re full-sized humans. We don’t share chairs. But do you know what? I love to sit down with him. I love to get a good laugh on. I love that we can talk over the life parts and laugh about the laughable parts and breathe through the un-laughable parts and Be There, beside each other for all the parts. Even if we live many states away (which we sometimes do, but not right now). He grew up to be a clever guy, a terrific husband, a great dad, a hard worker, a willing and eager server, and a good all-around support. He Deals. With a great many things which are not my stories to tell, but include exciting parts and funny parts and really, really hard parts. And he does it with his own kind of joy. That kind, see above. The kind that makes you laugh your heart out with your mouth full of something delicious.

Then she figured out a cute way to answer him [2]. And she’s so glad.

And at the precise moment that she was answering this boy (who does not share his name with a conveniently purchased product), another boy left another cute thing on the porch of our house.

Ahem.

What? Who gets asked twice?

Um, Kid 1 does. (Did I mention that this is her first official date-dance? Because she just turned 16, and I am some kind of Nazi mother who doesn’t allow dating before that magic birthday? Well it is. And she did. And I am. And I don’t.)

She’s a wreck. Because. She has to say no. To another cute friend. And there’s some concern about the jerkiness of saying, “Oh, shoot. You’re too late. Maybe next time, huh?” But she handled it (quickly and openly) — in a cute way [3].

She may have said, about the guilt/happy-sad/troubled feeling, “this sucks.” I may have looked over at her with my disapproval eyebrows, since that word is Not Ladylike. Then I may have said, “indeed, it does suck, and welcome to popularity.” To which she may have said, “pass, thanks anyway.”

Because, people, what I’m telling you is that My Kid 1 is, above all the things that make her great, Genuinely Kind. She doesn’t want to hurt feelings or offend or any of that Unkindness. And that is a rough road. But I’m glad she’s on it.

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[1] So there happens to be a bottled-water brand that is my Kid 1′s name. So he froze his name inside a bottle of “her” water, and she melted it to discover who was asking. We’re so proud of our little Dasani Wilhite. (Just kidding. Aquafina Wilhite wouldn’t think that was funny at all. Oh, come on, Arrowhead Wilhite. I’m only kidding.)

[2] Husband finds my lack of cleverness disturbing, but I am not a huge fan of the cute ask-and-answer. Alas, it is How We Do Things around here.

[3] Beef Jerky ,anyone?

Go ahead. Guess.

He’s eating it up.

This week, he picked up Brandon Mull’s FABLEHAVEN and read. The whole book. (Remember that he’s seven years old?) He’s averaging 2 hours each morning. Now he’s in Book 2.

And then, after the reading, he practices the piano without being reminded.

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Yes. I DO in fact know how lucky I am. Thanks for asking.

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Sunday morning, my parents met with their bishop  and he said, “This comes as a surprise to me, but I’m authorized to extend you a call to serve in the Nauvoo Temple Mission. You leave in April.” (It came as a surprise to me, too.)

If you didn’t understand any of that, I will be happy to explain. A bishop is a pastor. People of our faith (LDS, Mormons, Really Nice People) sometimes serve missions. You’ve likely seen the 19 and 20-year-old variety biking or walking around your town. There’s a white-haired contingent, too, and my parents are going to join them. In Nauoo, which is in Illinois, exactly 4.25 hours from everything.  Except the Mississippi River, which in floody seasons, actually covers part of the town. Once upon a 1840s time, there was a Mormon temple in Nauvoo, but when the Mormons got kicked out, the temple was destroyed. Which is terrible. Tragic, really. But the temple was rebuilt, and is a beautiful house of worship once again. (This photo, above, Husband took, and I just hold my face up to the computer screen and breathe easier with all those trees.)

The town is great – full of gorgeous restored brick houses with chimneys (did you know I love a brick house with chimneys?). And there are lots of fun things to do there, to play and to learn about historic Mormon-ness. Like in all these photos I took (except the really good ones, which, natch, Husband took) of my kids playing there many years ago (5 years ago, if I remember correctly):

Here’s Kid 1, back in the day.

And Kid 2, with the glasses of cute-itude.

And Kid 3 on the totally authentic Pioneer stilts.

I know, right? Give me that time machine and let me live in that day, forever. Kid 4 on the cutest sheep anywhere.

And not only that, but this place has the best trees in the known world. Like this one:

Breathe with me.

And my parents are going to go there. To live, and work, and get bit by many, many bugs. (That last part? That’s a bonus. Not really what they signed up for, but they’re going to get it anyway. I know this. I’ve been there. Many times.)

So, yea for them. This is huge fun for my family, and we’re completely excited for Grandpa Brent and Grandma Mimi to have this grand adventure.

Here are seven ways you’ve changed my life:

1. We bought a minivan to herald your arrival. I have never become emotionally attached, but I am grateful for it. That is a surprising attitude change. CLARIFICATION: I never resented you. Just maybe the van.

2. You’re not a girl. Up until you arrived, I was feeling like I had a handle on the parenting-of-daughters business. This boy thing is a nice change in our lives. NOTE: If  my brothers read this, they are all equally likely to comment thusly – “Hey, Bec, remember when you said your first daughter would be your last child?” Answer – yes. I remember. I was wrong. And I’m happy to be wrong.

3. You are my only child who ever said (in my hearing) “I hate you, Mom.” You were two. You really, really needed to run through the Wal-Mart parking lot all by yourself. I stifled your creative energy. And forced you bodily into your buckles.  You sat in your car-seat muttering two-year-old curses and kicking the back of my chair. I cried real tears when I heard those words. But the change? The change is that I somehow learned to hear what you meant as opposed to what you said. And that has been tremendously helpful to me. (What you meant was, “Hey, Mom? That place is not good for me. Let’s not go there anymore.” We’re still doing our best to stay away.)

4. You are a seven year old boy, and you still hold my hand in public and choose to sit on my lap in church (and not only when I have mints in my pocket). You hug like a koala. Remember when we used to rent out your hugs? Like when Mary was doing chemo and she needed a fix every now and then, and we’d go over and you’d hug her? I hope you remember that. Those hugs were worth more than gold. More than chocolate. More than anything. And they’re still good.

5. You’ve showed me that you can (almost) have it all. You are * handsome * smart * athletic * interesting * kind * funny * musical * gentle * generous. Also you keep your room cleaner than any of your sisters keep theirs. (I’m not saying “Favorite.” I’m just saying “cleaner.” Geez, girls. Lighten up.)

6. You gave me permission – even the commission – to find your wife. Remember? I tried to get out of it. I told you that would be your job. But you said, no. I want your help, Mom. You pick her. Well, all right. If you insist.

7. You multiplied my heart (again) and filled it right up.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. I hope it’s magical. Like you.

The masks are a perfect touch.

If you don’t mind, next time, come fifteen minutes earlier. Kid 1 was a tiny bit crazy that she’d already taken out the contacts and put on the PJs.

Also, her dad is a comic. When you came to the door and said, “We’re  bringing cookies to the Sick and the Beautiful,” and he said, “Um, Kid 1 isn’t sick. (pause) Ohhhh.” Okay, that was a joke. Get used to it.

And really, thanks. That was adorable, and you made her day.

Here’s how it went down. My sister who is NOT Betsy in BBM has a daughter who turned 16 this weekend, so for a surprise, she arranged for us to meet half way between our houses (in exotic and fabulous Boise, Idaho) for a girls’ night/day out. Kid 1 and I left in the middle of her last class (choir, anyone? Let’s go.) and drove with one small suitcase and a whole lot of car snacks.* We were all sneaky checking into the hotel (which was very lovely), telling the cute hostess that this was a top-secret check-in and under no circumstances should she tell our cousin that there was anyone else in the room. She was awesome about it, even though the room was reserved in my sister’s name, and that might not have been entirely legal to let us check in. But hey, we look as honest as the day is long, right?**

So we hid our bags and went out in search of balloons. Which we found. Note: 8 well-filled helium balloons is about the limit for the back seat of Husband’s Mini Cooper. Not sixteen. Just eight. We also hit a bookstore, where I schmoozed up the adorable workers and signed the store’s stock (but only of my books – not anyone else’s). We’d had a top-secret text telling us that they were another hour away, so we got sandwiches and kicked back in the now-decorous hotel room. Then we got the phone call.

Sister: I blew it!

Me: What?

Sister: We’re an hour away, and I told her!

Me: Bozo.***

Sister: (Funny description of the telling, which is inappropriate for polite audiences, which you all are.)

Niece in the background: They’re really there? Meeting us? (*squeals of teenage joy*)

An hour later, we squealed some more, and hugged, and giggled, and stayed up way too late talking and squealing and giggling. When it came, it was a nice quiet sleep, until some annoying alarm started honking. I thought it was a car alarm, except every 8 honks was longer. I dragged my body out of bed and crashed into my sister, who was also seeking the source. Which she found. In her purse. Phone alarm. Fie. (I couldn’t go back to sleep, because I’m trained like that, even after staying up WAY too late.) But everyone else managed to go back to sleep, so I waited politely until I was too excited to wait anymore. After I showered and dried and applied at least 2 beauty products, I woke them all up and channeled a scout master (“We’re burning daylight, people!”) and we started some more fun.

We ate omelettes. Yumminess. We went to the mall, because teenage girls enjoy malls, as a general truth. We tried on clothes. Some of us more successfully than others. We ate smoothies. Good ones. We got pedicures. This was my second time trying that game. I like it. I should find reasons to sit in a massage chair while someone beautifies my feet, just a little more often. Want to see the cousins’ toes? Sorry. I tried. But the wordpress security monkey won’t let me upload the file. So you can take my word for it – the toes are adorable. All forty of them.

In the early afternoon, we had to bust out of there, so they could make the slightly longer drive before too late, and so I could get home before dark. Did you know I hate, hate, hate to drive in the dark? But I love, love, love to drive with my Kid 1. We listened to many musicals, including music from “The Drowsy Chaperone,” “Promises, Promises,” “Evita,” “Newsies,” “Hairspray,” “Legally Blonde,” and “The Scarlet Pimpernel.” We may be nerds, but we’re nerds who can carry a tune.

So, to sum it all up, it was a lovely weekend-night-day full of good food and fun conversation and pretty toes. And very little patience required. Thanks to the Husbands (both mine and hers, we each only have one) for making it happen, and Happy Birthday, sweet Niece!

*Here’s what keeps Kid 1 and me happy in the car: Bugles (original), homemade oreos, drinkable yogurt (just me), red vines, carrot sticks and celery, black grapes, those yummy multi-grain crackers (Breton, I think), and Gardetto’s deli-style mustard pretzel mix. Also Lemonheads. And salami.
**I’m referring to mid-June, long, long days. Natch.
***I didn’t really call her that.

You can call him “Agent P.”

I know. It’s almost unfair cuteness. You can visit more unintentional unfairness any time at Husband’s photo blog.