Saturday, July 23, 2011

My Mountains

I happen to be one lucky mama.
My cute nephew, Justin is my personal mountain trail tour guide.
Every Tuesday morning we meet in some obscure (usually gravel) parking lot and he hauls (quite literally) me and my 5 children up some gorgeous mountain trail.
Sometimes it's just too much for the 3 year old.

We end up overlooking the valley that we call home.
One of those tiny dots down below is actually my house.
We drag along anyone else who is brave enough to join the throng.

I've learned a thing or two about myself during these sweaty excursions.
I grew up in California (well, that I already knew).
The nearest mountains to our home looked like tiny pencil drawings on the horizon.
Some days you could not see them at all through the smog.
It literally took hours to drive to them.
While we visited them a few times in the winter to play in the snow, I did not spend much time in their majesty.
As a young single adult, I told myself I'd never live in Utah.

I loved my California sun.
Plus, I figured there were plenty of Mormons in Utah, I was better off where I was.
And I was happy about my decision.
Until I wasn't.

I moved to Utah in the Spring of 2000, supposedly for college.
The first time I walked out the front door and saw the huge looming mountains just overhead, I was stunned and it was love at first sight.
For weeks I could not help being in awe of their beauty every time I stepped outside.
I had no intentions of staying in Utah forever, however.
Until I met Mr Bird.
One of the first things we did after we were married was to go up in the mountains on a camping trip where we canoed to the back of some unheard of place, packed our stuff into a deserted spot and slept under the stars all by ourselves.
Not a hiker or a camper to be seen.
It was beautiful.
My love for these mountains has only gotten stronger each Summer season I spend in them.
They are part of me now.
They are part of my children and my family and my home.

I love to look out the kitchen window and see the mountains ablaze in the setting sun.
I love to hear my children's laughter with their cousins as we plug along another beautiful mountain hike.
I love to take off my hot, stinky shoes and dip my toes in the cool mountain streams.
I love to watch the sun come up behind the tallest peak.
I love to look below and for just a moment take a break from the worries and stresses of this thing called life, and just breath.

I love spending time with so many awesome family members and friends.
I love how the leaves on the aspens twinkle in the early morning light.
I love saving our yummy snacks to eat at the very tippy top.
I love the exercise we get from climbing nature's stair master.
I love the first hike of the season, when the winter snow has melted and the world is just turning green again.
When we finally reach the top, I love the soothing spray of the waterfall on my hot face.

I love the millions and millions of wild flowers.
Their beauty and wonder is etched into my heart.
I have learned that I need these mountains.
They keep me focused.
They help me to know my creator as I see his hand in their majesty.
I've learned that this place is my home.
These mountains are my mountains.
I've learned that no matter how hard the climb, it's always worth it once you get to the top.
I've learned that when I'm breathing the air up there, it feels like I'm finally home.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Ninja Warrior Think

"BEANO! It's time for morning jobs!"
"BEANO! Beano! Has anyone seen Beano?!?"
"Mom, he's in the kitchen."
Upon entering the kitchen this is what I see.
Again I try to tell him it's time to start our morning jobs.
Again, I am met with silence.
I run and find the camera, turn it on, dead batteries.
I go find new batteries, hurry and put them in the slot, making sure they're not upside down.
I run back into the kitchen worried he has broken his concentration and is on to some other mischief (anything but morning jobs).
But nope, I hurry and turn the camera on and snap a picture of my little Dalai Lama.
Still he sits in perfect silence, unfazed by the click of the camera.
I think, maybe I should enjoy the silence and not be so quick to hurry him along.
He is, after all, meditating. That can't be bad, right?
After a few more moments he suddenly looks up at me with those amazing blue eyes.
"What were you doing, kiddo?"
"I was just doing the Ninja warrior think. Braden told me that's how Ninja warriors think."
Then I start thinking, oh great, all I need in this house is a Ninja Warrior...


Friday, July 1, 2011

The Pit of My Stomach

A few years ago Mr Bird got a motorcycle.
I honestly can not tell you how many years it's been now, they all seem to just blur together lately.
Could be 3, could be 6, it's all the same to me.
Right around the time he got the thing we took out a massive life insurance policy for him.
We had been meaning to do it for some time, but for some reason getting the bike pushed that item of business to the top of our priority list.
When I was younger my best friend's dad had a motorcycle and he would take turns giving us rides on the back of his bike.
It was fun when I was a kid.
Now that I have 5 little people who rely on me for practically their every breath, I don't enjoy it so much anymore.
Plus a few years ago I saw a motorcycle wreck on the freeway just behind our house.
Needless to say I have become a Nervous Nelly.
At least as far as Mr Bird and his chopper are concerned.
He has a 40 mile commute to work in Salt Lake and the days when he rides his motorcycle in I am a bundle of nerves until I know he's safe at his desk.
Earlier this week was no different.
He left for work at his usual time, it was a bright sunny day, perfect for the bike.
He hopped on and our kids waved to him from the living room window until he was out of sight, like they always do.
About 30 minutes later my cell rang.
I glanced at the clock and quickly realized Mr Bird would be in the middle of his commute.
I looked at the number on my cell and it was not one that I knew.
Immediately my heart started to beat faster.
I flipped my phone open and said a shaky, "hello..."
The voice on the other end was deep as he asked, "Is this the residence of Jay Weaver?"
Now my heart was beating at triple speed, I just wanted to know how bad the accident had been.
I could barely manage a half hearted, "yes" while leaving the room so the kids would not have to hear the conversation.
My stomach dropped and I suddenly felt nauseous.
The man on the other end of the line continued to say he was calling for the heating and air conditioning company and was confirming our appointment for our AC tune up later that day.
Suddenly I noticed my whole face was smiling.
Yes, of course, the air conditioner.
We finished our conversation and I hung up the phone to realize I was shaky and sweaty and sick to my stomach and I could not sit down.
I had enough nervous energy to power all the lights on Las Vegas Boulevard pumping through my veins.
My heart felt like I had consumed about a million cups of coffee, I could not get it to stop racing.
It was quite some time before I could stomach the rest of my breakfast.
A few minutes later I called Mr Birds phone, I caught him just as he had stopped his bike at work.
He had arrived safe and sound, like he always does.
*knock on wood*