shared past

Amongst a hoard of boy cousins - in the midst of all the deer hunting, snowmobiling, four-wheeling, baseball watching, cigarette smoking, and coarse joking - three little girls forged a cousinhood of Barbie dolls, mudpies, and french braids.

And ten years after our last reunion, we three were finally together again at my brother's wedding last week. You would have taken us for drunk people the way we laughed. You would have thought we were best friends, or long-time colleagues...certainly not three women who haven't been in the same place at the same time in over a decade.

But that's how it is with cousins. That's how it is with family. A shared past is the strongest, thickest glue of all.

Little Apartment in the Far East

I loved going over to the Rizner's house to play when I was a kid, and not just because violin music floated up from the basement where Mrs. Rizner constantly taught Suzuki. I loved going there because Caitlyn Rizner had everything we needed to play Little House on the Prairie - bonnets, aprons, and all the rest. I always wanted to be Laura in her grown years, teaching in a one room school house.

And now I have a one room school house of my own.

Funny how our childhood games have a way of becoming reality.

Vows

Don't hate me, but I snuck in and out of America last week without telling you I was there.

Low down and dirty of me, I know.

But I had to. You see, there was this handsome country boy getting married (who happens to be my big brother) and I only had six days to help him with the wedding, catch up with my dad, giggle with my mom, cuddle with my nephew and niece, have coffee with Lou, meet with my agent, and go fishing on my little brother's boat. I didn't even have time to eat at Olive Garden!

(Shout out to Daniel, who held down the fort while I flew halfway around the world and back again in the time it takes for leftovers to go bad)

But I tell you, the wedding was a down home blast. Horseshoes scattered among the centerpieces, chickens roasted over a pit, taxidermy in the reception hall and the groom in cowboy boots.

The thing I love about weddings is that no two are the same, just as no two marriages are the same. My new sister-in-law Carrie, for example, ain't gonna be tide down by no apron strings. She's a visionary and a go-getter, a real take-the-reigns kind of girl (literally and figuratively). When it comes to horses, she jumps and rides, shows and knows, and seems to live life in much the same way. I'm not going to go so far as to say that she will wear the pants in the family, but she will definitely be wearing pants.

My brother, on the other hand, is more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. He's more than happy to shovel crap out of the stalls day after day, enjoying the early morning sky and the breath from a horse, lingering warm and sweet in the dusty air of a cold barn. He's got pants on too, but they're not quite as cute as Carrie's, and he likes it that way.

Me, I'm more like my brother, while Daniel is more like Carrie. That's what so beautiful about marriage. I heard a quote from Downtown Abbey, "There is more than one kind of good mother." How true is that! Similarly, I think, there is more than one kind of good marriage.

I met a guy on the plane from Abu Dhabi to Chengdu the other day, a 42-year-old teacher from northern England who doesn't believe in marriage. He doesn't see the point. He was with the same woman for 23 years and it was "so easy to split up" 18 months ago when she left him for his best friend. She moved out, he moved to China. It was that simple.

Sounds lovely, doesn't it.

That's when I want to say to him, "Buddy, what a waste of 23 years." It's like renting a house for 23 years and then moving out. All that money down the drain. Nothing gained, everything lost. Buy the house, buddy. Invest. How is she supposed to feel treasured by you if you are only in it on a month by month basis?

I saw the movie The Vow. If you didn't see it, you should. I cried, of course, but I watched it on the plane and my mom says the reason we all cry during airplane movies is because of the altitude. But anyway, what I LOVE about the movie is that Channing Tatum (bless him) took a vow and he intended to keep it.

Gosh, if only everybody saw it that way.

Parents of the groom. Still married after all these years.

The groom. Took a vow, and intends to keep it.

Ain't nobody got time for that

Who has time to blog in the summertime? Who has time to read blogs in the summertime? Who wants to sit inside on these beautiful days? Who wants their hands on computer keys when they could have their hands on their kids - sweet kids in dress up clothes offering milk mustache kisses and begging for help with bake sales?

Not me.

We have one more week of summer vacation before Rupp Academy starts up. (Starting a little early this year because of our home-leave next summer!) That means just one more week to visit the science museum, swim in our questionable convenient neighborhood pool, binge on popsicles, and play board games in our pjs until noon.

new cord, new chapter

Turns out our internet has been spotty and finally gave out completely because George Fuzzy, our 2-year-old long-haired lop-eared overgrown bunny, was chewing the cord from his favorite hiding place under the entertainment center.

The internet repair man found the chewed cord today and replaced it, so I can FINALLY post the pictures from Jubilee's Wyldstyle birthday.

presents at breakfast, a Rupp tradition

one cute birthday girl

A Wyldstyle cake. Neon food coloring, BTW, gives kids "wyld" colored poo...

celebrating in the evening in our pjs with dear friends (pardon the low quality of the pic; we need to use our real camera instead of our phone)

And now our youngest is 5, which makes us officially old. Or at least we are officially starting a new chapter of our lives, in which all of our kids are "school age." Wow, time absolutely flies.

Mama's behind the wheel!

My kids didn't believe I could actually drive (though I assured them it was so) until yesterday when I FINALLY received my local driver's license. It took many months, three medical exams, countless hours of memorizing poorly-translated and utterly pointless multiple choice questions, a renewed American drivers license through the mail (oversight on our part), and a renewed visa. Then I took a nail-biting 45-minute test, on which I scored 94%, and was finally handed my prize.

Why are ID pics so hideous? I look a lot like my late grandmother here, actually, which redeems it some.

But only the kids were around to congratulate me. Daniel is out of the country attending some on-campus classes, where he is soaking up the sun and eating at places like this:

And this:

Steak Gorgonzola, anyone? In my dreams.

I know why the weaned child rests

Our dear "Miss Candle" sent us a care package recently, and in it was Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts devotional. I loved the book, and now I am loving the devotional. Each day is like a word-danish to go along with my coffee; a poem-arrow pointing me to God. (Voskamp uses lots of made up hyphenated words so I thought I'd do the same).

I especially loved one particular entry around Psalm 131:2 which reads, "Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; like a weaned child rests against his mother, my soul is like a weaned child within me."

I love this verse, though I have only ever eye-brushed it before. This week I stared at it, long and hard, looking into the world of its implications. A weaned child longs for breast milk as I long for the audible voice of God. As I long for His physical hand stroking my hair, and for the complete absence of pain that His absolute presence would surely bring.

And yet a weaned child finally comes to the point when he can rest his head on his mother's milk-scented breast, denied the thing he wants, but allowed access forever to the person he needs.

Missing our man this month, as he is out of the country for a PhD course. XOXO