Dimples! Dimples! Hot off the Presses!

I have a lot of unpacking to do because we got home from our 7-day vacation in Minnesota last night. But Brooklyn has such a ready smile, and I was pretty sure she'd smile for the camera if I took a picture of her...and she did...so I need to stop everything and post her dimples. You get the before and after:). The smiling occured less than 3 minutes ago:).

I love this little girl. She cried for less than a minute during the entire 15 hour drive from Minnesota to Idaho. She epitomized the "angel baby" third child. We're proud of her and love her.

Also, as a house update, the ants and mice seem to be completely gone, hallelujah! I've been working on making our house look pretty and I'll probably post pictures of the house on Thursday, since we're having friends over for dinner then (and will therefore clean the house:)).

We're buying a year-long gym membership tomorrow, in the name of fitness and sanity. I'm not crazy about spending a lot of money, but I'm excited about our future date nights at the gym! Also, we live in an area where the weather is terrible 9 months of the year, so I feel like the gym membership is more justifiable than if I lived in an enviable climate like you Austinites.

There is so much on the horizon--preschool for Isaac, potty training Lucy, finishing all the unpacking, school starting again next month, and being reunited with my family in September, when BYU honors my dad by letting him into the hall of fame. For now, I can revel in the memories of magical Minnesota.

I wrote this poem about Minnesota when I was in my Master's program 5 years ago. Since then, Fergus Falls decided to drain the lake. Now, we have a new cabin maybe twenty yards away from the shore line. Minnesota is still magical for me. Enjoy the poem:

Distance in Fergus Falls, Minnesota

In a banana-yellow bathing suit

I sprinted from our cabin

down the lawn

past the beach

to our dock—

plunked myself in Pebble Lake.

Became a mermaid.

Platinum blonde neighbors, bikini-clad, baked their bodies

silently, the sun polka-dotting their oiled skin.

Mulletted men came back from fishing around noon,

proudly showed off their five-pounders before lunch,

let me hold their bass with both hands for Polaroids,

tickled my cheek with their mustache kisses.

But then the lake started drinking our land.

Grandpa had to move the dock closer to the cabin each year—

the lake took

the beach

the yard

our home.

There’s talk of building a new cabin

200 yards behind where our old one was,

but that’s 200 yards away.

If I wanted the distance

I’d look at old photos.