'No one is born a great cook,one learns by doing.' -Julia Child
Yesterday, I made a discovery. I need to stop cooking for my children. Instead, I need to cook with them. For possibly the 100th time, I'm making weekly dinner menus. This time, much more organized than before, with bigger hopes for success. I also had the boys each pick a day, when they can choose the dinner and be part of the process. Then I shared one of my childhood cookbooks with them- specifically, the stained, worn pages of blueberry cobbler. They were eager and excited; while making it, my oldest kept exclaiming "this is so awesome! I'm making this! this is so awesome!"...once the cobbler was in the oven, he started organizing our pots and pans, peeling carrots for the salad and setting the table. I think I'm on to something...and the cobbler was pretty tasty, too.
Remember when we (finally) began shoe-tying lessons, Ry. Probably a little late at 7.5, but suddenly realizing you haven't worn shoes that tie. 
Remember the swings you boys set-up with your dad, and the long night you spent on them immediately after; hours of swinging in the setting sun. 
Remember your fort and the walks you boys enjoyed, just to find treasures to add to it's exterior.
Remember that garden we all planted together, our first year taking on this project, with hopes that something grows. 
Remember the flower you picked Ry, and the little bud that blossomed after a day in water- you were amazed by it.
Remember your love for horses, cows and the barn, Ella, and of course, your pink unicorn.
Remember that little bit of spilled milk, Covey, where you found a heart. You always find hearts in random places.
Remember your first dance performance, Ry, when you worked so hard performing as a newsie.
Remember your love for making art, all three of you.