This Kind Hurts

I knew from the moment I got up this morning,

(10 am, thank you very much, my sweet, magnificent, angel of a husband for keeping the girls sequestered in the far northwestern corner of the house while they went about their incredibly loud, early morning shenanigans. I'll get you back once we have three on the outside, I promise.)

that it was going to be one of those days that I would look back on for the rest of my life. The feel of the pillowcase on my face as I luxuriated in bed while Sean put the girls down for a nap, the quality of the light pouring through the kitchen window as I helped myself to a small, but sinfully brilliant cup of coffee, and the sky. The sky outside bore the promise of a crisp, early autumn day. We had plans to drive to Salem for Jon and friends' Art Harvest. I knew that nap time would work itself out, that my pregnancy fatigue would stay at bay and that it was simply something that we had to do. And so I listened.

We gave the girls a piping hot lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches with decadent organic cheese left over from Grandma's visit and apples from our last trip to the Farmers Market, also with Grandma. After lunch

(and a very long shower for me, again, thank you Sean, you are approaching saint hood)

we hit the road, bound for GardenWorks Farm.

The girls chirped about pumpkins and planes on the drive, never fighting and defying the odds of needing a potty break or a diaper change, and the pig tails they both requested, would stay perfectly perched upon their silky heads until ten minutes into the drive home. Like I said, something about the day was destined to be Frank Capraeasque. We arrived at GardenWorks and the memories began to take shape as we pulled in the gravel drive.

The farm was beautiful and the girls approached it with a certain reverence, Briar actually asking Sean, "Daddy, can you turn the music off so I can hear the farm and not the music?" We spent the afternoon walking around and delighting in the beauty of the day and each other's company.





She's just so big and fearless I can't stand it.



Moments like this rock me, so grateful am I to know that they'll always have each other and these memories.



The only thing better than a fresh peanut butter cookie?
A fresh peanut butter cookie and fresh-picked-by-your-own-hand-raspberries.



If the pig tails don't get you, then the jeans will and if those don't, I defy you to not feel a little tightening in your chest from the squat. If you still aren't feeling it then you just might have ice in your veins.



"I like the biggest red ones, mom.

Taking these photos a lump took root in my throat and a dull throb seemed to moan from my soul, Catch this. Capture it and clutch it to your breast, you'll need it. And so I shall ever more, hold today and those shining pig tails in the sun, as close to my heart as I can, and I'll call to them when I think of my girls away at college. I know I'll need them.