Memorial Day weekend was good. It was good on so many levels, for rest, for love, for no reason at all.
It did my heart some good.
We met up with family, we did nothing, we played, we lost count of cookies eaten. We caught up on life and watched cousins play. We forgot the things we wanted to forget about and we soaked in the present.
And I couldn't help but think, as each day and scene played out, of my favorite childhood book The Relatives Came.
A story of a family in Virginia, leaving their home to travel to see more family. Simple as that.
I think it's funny that this sweet, little story has such a special place in my heart. Maybe it's because I didn't grow up with lots of family, not knowing what a busy holiday packed full of cousins felt like. Not knowing the joy of being greeted by a herd of aunts and uncles ready with hugs and cheesy jokes.
Maybe because there's a simplicity and ease to the story, how the beautiful pages of this story warm my heart and make me smile.
And as I sat back and relished in this sweet weekend of memories with family, I smiled to myself and thought how similar these moments are to the pages of this sweet story.
We packed up our babies and drove to east Texas, all meeting up with Chris' brothers and families for a few days on a pond surround by pine trees.
And so begins our story of when the relatives came.
We quickly learned our girl has a deep, patient love of fishing. She was the first one out of the dock in the mornings and the last one inside as the sun slipped behind the trees.
The good stuff.
Just plain good for the soul.
And maybe I wanted to cry too.
Tonight we tucked in tired babies and kissed them goodnight, watching them drift off to sleep no doubt off to dreamy land of fishing and playing cards, being loved on until their tanks were full to the brim.
What a wonderful weekend, when the relatives came.