I suck at keeping a blog.
Easter began the night before, as we partook in a tradition in which millions of families all across America participated: dying eggs, of course. It was a first for our little family of four. River would have found it slightly interesting last Easter, but I was pregnant and puking, so I wasn't really in the mood for anything other than lying around all day. This year, being the do-everything age of two-and-a-half, he absolutely loved coloring the eggs almost as much as he loved licking the vinegar water off the spoon. Yeah, I don't know. That's my kid for you.
On Sunday morning, River enjoyed searching for the painted eggs hidden (er, placed in obvious locations so as to be easily spotted by a toddler) around the living room while Daddy recorded on the video camera. In his first-ever Easter basket was John's little Easter bunny from childhood, a like-new copy of Corduroy I picked up from Goodwill, some egg-shaped sidewalk chalk, a couple of gardening tools for digging in the dirt, and a chocolate bunny. Since Brother got a basket, Austen received one as well, with one of my childhood Easter bunnies and a book called Babies, just like one I had when I was little (I am a sucker for the children's book section at thrift stores). I had fun putting these simple baskets together for them. Every holiday, I have this idea of making beautiful things. I wanted to plant real grass in the baskets instead of using paper grass, hot-glue flowers to the outside and fill them with delicious home-made treats like carrot muffins and adorable wheat-cereal bird nests, but it didn't happen. I am just not organized or crafty enough. Maybe someday, but simple things aren't bad. His basket was appreciated, and it makes me feel all fuzzy and warm to see my baby boy happy.
Dressed in Easter best (with Austen looking the most dashing of us all, in her pink princess dress Grandpa bought for her), we headed to church for the first time in about a month. It was the first service of a new church called The Roots, and we were so, so ready to go. We have searched and searched for a church here in Olympia, and not one struck our hearts and really felt like "the one." We had a few really great church families in Texas, and it is tough not to compare and wish for the familiarity. Not that there was anything wrong with the churches we've visited. We just didn't really feel like we "fit." During the service at The Roots, I felt very much like I belonged. I truly feel like we were led here and that we are finally going to connect with some fellow Christians and you know, make some friends. Friends are nice. I haven't hung out with a friend in five months. Oy.
Despite terribly missing the friends and family we left behind, and actually, missing Texas itself, the longer I am here, the more I feel like God wants us to be here. It feels right. I missed my family so much. But not only that, things have just really fallen into place. John has a great job, and for the first time, we are not struggling. I feel like we are steadying ourselves and are more secure. It feels good. Our marriage is better than it has been in a long time (two babies in three years of marriage really takes its toll). I am striving to be a better, sweeter, more organized mommy and I think having my own (very organized) mom here is helping me with that. I'm not a girl with a "best friend" -- but my mom is the definition of a best friend to me. Having her near is nice -- no, better than nice.
I feel blessed by God, because of these simple things. I have everything I need. My beautiful, healthy children. My hard-working, sweet husband, providing for us so that I can stay home with the beautiful, healthy children. My amazing family, who is two miles down the road. Sure, I don't have a couch or a bed, but whatever man, I feel lucky. All I can say is thank you, Jesus. Now, if we could just work on those friends...