Strong like Margaret

When I was pregnant with Emma, I had to climb 100 stairs back to our apartment from the basement laundry facilities.  I had bulky laundry bags and one-year-old Braeden to tow along with me.  Toward the end of the pregnancy, I would contemplate those stairs and think of Margaret Gardner, my ancestor who crossed the plains.  She gave birth 9 days after reaching the Salt Lake Valley.  That bolstered my courage.  If Margaret could do that, then I could climb those stairs.  Her blood is in my veins.

Sunday night, I sent Mark to Nevada.  Solo.  Marianne and Robert generously hired him to work for them for several days.  I felt trepidation about the whole thing.  There was all of the don't drive too fast, watch out for deer, take care of all the diabetes stuff, but then there was also the anticipation that in a few weeks, we'll be sending him to college.  This is just a sampling of that.

I am not sure I am equal to the task.

I know they can't stay little forever, but why not?  I think of my two boys, moving away within two days of each other.  I wish I could have had these smirking faces for a little longer:

I remembered my grandma though, Margaret Dahl.  When they lived in Virginia, she put her sons, my uncles, on a bus for Nevada.  They were 9 and 11 years old.  That bolstered my courage.  If Margaret could do that, then I could send my boys on their way.  Her blood is in my veins.

This keeps rolling through my mind.