My favorite piece of furniture, my cedar chest

I had written about it on my college application essay, about all the things it contained—my personal history, my life, really--all housed inside that wooden box. I can’t remember why I had asked for said piece of furniture, but it was my very first piece of furniture I ever owned and it’s still my favorite piece to this day.

My mom and dad gave it to me for Christmas one year. I was teenager and had loads of diaries and journals and photos that needed a dark home where they wouldn’t be so exposed. My parents got it at an antique shop. I adore its daisies and etched fans. I adore the scratches on its wooden veneer because it has a life and a history. Its history began long before I existed, but now it contains my history. It's me in a box.

I was just thinking the other day that I need to get Bianca a cedar chest of her own, somewhere she can store all her little stories, pictures, and musical compositions. All the things that are her. Maybe I’ll make it a tradition, like getting your ears pierced at age 10. Maybe my girls will get cedar chests when they turn nine. Now, to find the perfect one. . .

Portia wants an audience

I caught Portia dancing for this audience this morning and thought I'd share:

Step Rock Run

Bianca's been training for the mile race. After she and I stopped running together, she said she was still running laps at school and she said she ran a mile at least every day. I recently learned that her school was doing a "Run to Disneyland" project where they had to track the amount they were running after math in the afternoons, and she was really running a mile every day. I found out on Thursday night when she and I ran a mile together to make sure she was ready for the Step Rock Run, which is the race Herriman City does every year. Bianca ran it last year and got a silver medal. Well, Bianca was definitely ready. I had a hard time keeping up with her, and I run four miles every other morning.

So Saturday morning, we got up and went to the park where the race starts. It's always a little terrifying for me because the 5K and 10K start at the same time, so I always worry my little girl is going to get trampled. I asked her if she wanted me to run with her, but she wanted to do it on her own. Thankfully, Bianca noticed a friend of hers who was also racing in the mile and they stood together to start.



I headed back to the finish line so I could be at the end when Bianca finished. I was so proud of her when I saw her coming around the corner. The rest was downhill from there and I yelled for her to sprint, if she wanted. She wanted.



Her time was a little over eight minutes, which was half a minute improvement from last year. She got second in the women's category and got another silver medal. I am so proud of her!

In light of Father's Day yesterday

I'm not sure what my problem was this year. I always start running in the spring. But this year, I waited and waited and waited. Maybe it was the weather that was unseasonably cold or maybe it was my laziness--probably both. It wasn't until Bianca said she wanted to go running that I finally said yes. Then we started running together in the morning, the two of us, but I found myself always correcting her (relax your hands, breath in your nose, stop whining--why can't I just leave her alone?) and I realized I can't run with her. So I politely told her she should focus on getting ready in the mornings instead of running. I hope I don't regret this in the long run because I think exercise is so important--especially developing habits as children. But really, I'm a solo runner. I prefer it that way. Then I'm not feeling so much pressure to either keep up or slow down to run with a buddy; I can set my own pace. Plus, I hate talking while running (just ask my poor sister who loves to discuss all of life while running).

But there is one thing I do say while I'm running. Every time I pass another runner or biker or walker. It's "Morning." My dad used to say it when we would run together. He'd say it to every person who went by whether it was the first time or the twelfth. Some people are friendly back, some not. But I don't let it bother me; I'm too busy breathing in and out, in and out, willing my tired legs to just keep going. It's one small way I can keep the spirit of my father alive, keep him running, keep a running buddy by my side without having to worry about slowing anyone down.

Meet Jillyboo

Jillyboo is our new cat. We got her on Friday at the Humane Society adoption center at Petco. She's part Siamese and part Himalayan and she has light blue eyes. She's really a sweet, docile little cat who will sit in your lap for an hour. She also likes to be carted around in a basket. She hid the first couple days, but is starting to get used to us (although Portia is still not allowed to hold her after I caught her swinging the poor kitty by the head).


One of our favorite things is when Jillyboo hides under the dishwasher. I swear she thinks we can't see her, but we've started calling it our "furry-pawed" dishwasher.



I'm so glad to have a cat in the house again and so are the girls. But I don't know about Tigger. Here they are, about as close as I've seen them to each other.