Just That Nice Kind of Quiet

We've had rain storms on repeat for weeks now.

June usually feels like full summer, but this year, spring is making a statement.  

I've loved it so much.

Tonight as I mowed the lawn, the bright slant of evening light illuminated everything so beautifully and made me reflective enough to want to write something down.

A few weeks ago, Lucy turned fourteen.  We went to see Matilda the Musical.  It seemed like a fitting choice for our little bookworm.  

I was totally unfamiliar with the music and couldn't help crying over a few refrains, given the context of the evening.

"This little girl...

"...this miracle."

I drove her to the stake center at 6:00am this morning.  She was clad in apron, skirt, and bloomers, all ready for a three day pioneer trek.  We cued up with the other vehicles and I scrolled through iTunes to find National Tribute Band's "Crack of a Whip" song, thinking it would be an appropriate choice while we waited.  

"Load up, captain of fifty

Tears fall down, drip drip

Goodbye, sweet Nauvoo

At the break of dawn 

And the crack of a whip"

I had to turn it off after three seconds.

"I can't do it!!"  I said, laughing and crying, both.

My mind's eye had turned the line of cars in front of us into covered wagons, and I was punched with the thought of real families leaving real homes on a real exodus.  Lucy laughed with me over the sudden rush of emotion, but it was a tender break-of-dawn moment to share before waving her off.

Then I rushed to get ready for the first day of teacher post service.  I thought a little more about pioneers as I drove to Draper, but spent the remainder of the day mired in Kindergarten data.  And the test scores are all important.  And the discussions are all needed.  But in my heart, the measure of a year's success looks more like this:

(I actually can't tell if that one note says, "I will never forget you" or "I will never forgive you" Ha!)

I do, in fact, love teaching those darling children.

And I do, in fact, love seeing my own children learn from beloved teachers.  

Spencer's carefully handwritten notebook page letter to Mr. Turco at the end of the year was front and back-sided, and replete with phrases like, "I really admire that about you," and "You are such a wonderful person."

Mr. Turco gave my boy an incredible 4th grade year.  

My eyes were not dry as Spence and his friends sang Taps to close their end of year program.

"Thanks and praise, for our days

'Neath the sun, 'neath the stars, 'neath the sky;

As we go, this we know, God is nigh."

Since I have teacher meetings, Spencer is spending his first week of summer with Grandpa Packer.  It's become a tradition, of sorts, over the past couple of years.  They go to tennis first thing in the morning, come home for reading and a little school work, and then the day is free for swimming, and parks, and playing with all the beloved neighbors on Grandpa's street.

When I called the boys tonight, they were eating salmon and pasta for dinner, and both of them sounded so sincerely happy.  The echo of Dad's cheerful voice saying, "Love you, honey," before hanging up lingered in my heart long after ending the call. 

Spencer will love when Lucy is home to share in all the summer fun too, but it's clear he's relishing his private vacation for the time being.  Dad and Spud will likely go to see Aladdin.  Lucy told them not to wait for her since she has plans to go next Saturday with some friends.

She's growing into that kind of teenage life.  She also had a wonderful school year, capstoned with lots of academic recognition and an epic game of capture the flag at the creek with some best friends.

It's wonderful to applaud the kids in all of their end of year successes and to enjoy their recitals and programs, their field days and friend gatherings, but combined with all the end-of-year teacher tasks, it all adds up to May being something of a hurricane.

A sinus infection for the last two weeks of school didn't help.

But tonight, after reading a few chapters of Isaiah in the Book of Mormon, after mowing the lawn and drinking in that 70 degree sunset,

"Everything is quiet.

Like silence, 

But not really silent.

Just that still sort of quiet.
Like the sound of a page being turned in a book.

Or a pause in a walk in the woods.

Quiet.

Just that nice kind of quiet.
Like the sound when you lie upside down in your bed.
Just the sound of your heart in your head.

And it is quiet.

And I am warm.

Like I've sailed into the eye of the storm."

-Matilda the Musical

Addendum (since I wrote, but never actually posted the above):

Lucy is back from trek.
She had a wonderful time, minus the mosquitoes.

And I'm done with teacher meetings.

And the temperature has remained mild.
And at home, we have floors to mop, and closets to clean out, and y a r d  w o r k.
But while the kids finish tennis this week, we're at Dad's.
And there has been time for dragonfly wings.

And for sidewalk chalk.

And for neighbors.

These four don't call or text to arrange playtime. They just dog-bark once or twice whenever they're in the backyard.  If there's an answering bark from across the fence, then soon, a face or two appears to go with it.

Sometimes there's just a few minutes of visiting over the fence.
Sometimes there is an exchange of goods - a mini loaf of banana bread or a lego creation.
Sometimes they all disappear to one side or the other, for swimming, or a movie, or fort building.

And it's all so ordinary.
And so beautiful.
And as I watch it, I feel so grateful for the ebb and flow of life.
For quiet after loud.
And for the love that makes music of both.