A Blessing

George groaned at the suggestion of a walk, but come on, does it get any better than this, Papa?

Marko and his hot Mamma.
Chris and Angie braved Nevada and that miserble stretch of highway with their three young boys to be with us on Declan's special day. But hopefully moments like this made it worth it.

Breaking bread together. In attendance: cousins Craig, Cheryl, Lauren, and Ryan with friend Heather; George and Marsha; Chris and family; the McFarland family; Kim and Duane.; and my mother, of course. We wouldn't have eaten without my mother.
Mark's dearest and most beautiful friend, Duane, the only man Mark allows me to have a crush on. And my dearest friend, Kim, Duane's wife, the best woman I know. Heaven would be spending every day in the kitchen with this girl.

On Sunday, Declan was blessed in Church. Surrounded and supported by men we love and respect, Mark gave a blessing that no one could match in eloquence and sincerity. You can imagine, right? It was beautiful, as beautiful and big and bright as our hopes are for that little boy. Mark said Declan smiled up at them the entire duration of the blessing, smiled without distraction, except for a fleeting interest in Mark's orange tie, the one I got him for Father's Day, which dangled afterwards in sweet slobber.

Later, after discreetly stealing away from Sacrament meeting, everyone returned to our house for a celebratory lunch: Focaccia bread; Asian noodle salad; Tortellini salad with Arugula, Cranberries and Pecans; Grilled Calcutta Chicken; London Broil with Italian Salsa; Chocolate Mousse Pie; Fresh Peach Pie and Ice Cream Sandwich Cake for the kids. Recipes as demanded to come.

Occasions like this are usually bittersweet for me, tears hiding behind smiles, bright, colorful joy muted by the dull greys of sorrow and regret, because although I'm always overcome by how many wonderful people we have in our lives, I can't help but think of those that are missing; namely my own father. And so although our small, plum-colored house groaned under the weight of our past-occupancy guests and people were sitting on each others' laps to find room at the table, I still always felt like it wasn't enough, that someone was missing.

But honestly, there were moments on Sunday when I had to stop and admire the intensity of my own smile. My face is not accustomed to the great stretch of that grin. More than once I was aware of my own happiness. It was almost tangible, like someone was handing me a gift that I've always wanted. And although we were all there to bless my baby, that soft, perfect thing, the blessing was mine.