And then you find yourself

The other day Ben and I were talking about where we would like to live when all of this is said and done. We could both agree that we wanted to be somewhere closer to "home" to which Heber added, "we are home."

This got me thinking a little about what it means to be HOME. Ben and I call Idaho home. Ohio is the only home Heber has ever known.

We miss the mountains, and blue sky, and dry heat. We miss the sound of the train running through town several times throughout the day and night. We miss a good ride on the 4-wheeler or a day on north beach.

Home however, is more than the familiar walls you grow up in; more than the climate and the landscape around you. Home is being with the people you love.

We miss our family the most. I often find myself feeling bad that Heber can't play with his cousins every day or go to grandpas house for a popcicle or to the drug store to visit grandma. But then I watch his eyes light up as he spots his buddies on the way to primary. I see one of the older men in the ward get down and give him a handshake and a "how are you today buddy." I feel a warm arm wrap around my shoulders and see the smiling faces of those around me, and I realize that Heber is right, we are home. For right now, we are home.

"My best friends"

Tyler, Heber, and Kaleb

Massillon Ward Campout 2009

The day we pulled out of Bear Lake in the U-haul Ben promised me we wouldn't go any further east than Missouri. I was not surprised 2-years later when we loaded up and moved to Ohio.

I am sure we would have had a great experience and made great friends in any place we decided to venture to. I am grateful however that he did not keep that promise to me. This has been a great place to call HOME.

Hey Batter Batter

Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd.

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don't know if I never get back

Let me root, root, root for the BLUE JAYS (don't know how they ended up with green shirts)

if they don't win its a shame. For its one, two, three strikes you're out at the Old Ball Game.

When the coach first put the helmet on his head we thought he looked like

chicken little...it amazed us to see how small he is next to the majority of his team.

You should have seen all the little green shirts scrambling for the ball each time it was hit off the tee....it looked a little bit more like a wrestling match then a baseball game. Heber watched for the first few hits but he caught on soon enough. After a few catches himself, he pouted and tattled on the kid who caught the ball if it wasn't him. Way to be a good sport Hebe

I was one proud mamma to say the least. Since the time we found out we were having a boy I have been looking forward to this day.

Daddy seemed to enjoy it as well, even if "baseball is lame."

As I was pushing Heber on the swing in the back yard after the game he said to me,

"I had a great time mom.......I did a great job huh"

Yes babe, you did!