Wrinkles and Popular

Madison knows that she can get me to let her stay up later if she starts playing with my hair right around bedtime. Turns out this time together is also a good time to talk--well, more like it's a good time for me to listen--and find out what is going on with her.

Things like boys, and games they play to determine how many kids they are going to have, and who is popular.

Popular.

That word just made me cringe. How, at the age of eight and in the third grade, do children already know who is popular? I'm not going to lie, just thinking about the word, the feelings, the growing up--it  terrifies me.

I asked her what made people popular. She explained that popular people are athletic, smart, dress nicely, and have a lot of friends.

She also told me that they know when girls like boys when girls start caring about what they wear everyday.

Then she said that you can know if a girl is popular by the way she walks. Apparently, popular girls shake their bottoms when they walk.

I'm not kidding. Just writing it all down is making me feel sick to my stomach.

All of those popular qualities are great; there's nothing wrong with being athletic or being smart or having nice clothes. Hey--I wish I could shake my bum, that's for sure. I just hate that those things have to define us--define children.

I asked Madison what kind of a person she thought she was, and she quickly replied, "I'm a tomboy." She explained that she would rather wear t-shirts than dresses or skirts, she doesn't want to get her ears pierced, and she thought that she was too young to have crushes on boys. Put all of that together, and she's a tomboy.

It was a good conversation. Very eye-opening. And scary.

Madison also checked the lines on the wrist of my closed fist to see how many boys and girls I was going to have. Four--can you believe it? And as I watched her count, I noticed that my hands are getting wrinkled, the skin loose and lined, and I realized that I'm getting older. Somehow I made it through that growing up mess, and I'm not going to lie: it was hard. But I made it, I found myself somewhere along the way, and I figured out who I am.

I know she can make it through, too, but I don't know what I'm doing. It's scary, this mommy thing! I don't want to run out and buy expensive clothing or pressure her to be in every activity (that would make me crazy, actually), but I don't want her to think that she is less than anyone. I don't want her to be snobby, but I don't want her to feel left out, either. So I teach her the best that I can and listen to what she is willing to tell me, and I pray that somehow I will know how to help her, and that she will be confident and strong, because having nice clothes and "popular" friends are not the same thing as owning confidence. Confidence. If only I had the answer--I would share it with you for free.

oh what a night

Happy Valentine's Day.

I'm exhausted.

Here's why:

I have been having some irregular heart palpitations. Don't worry (I'm doing enough of that on my own), I went to the doctor this week to get an EKG and some blood work done. I am healthy. However, it's causing me some major anxiety, so I'm going to a cardiologist next week to see if they figure out what's going on and how to make it stop. 

Last night the palpitations started around 7:00 p.m., and when I started timing, they were occurring every 4-5 seconds. They aren't painful, really, they just aren't normal, and when it's your heart that isn't normal, it's a little disconcerting. I tried showering, walking, and finally I just sat down to watch t.v. to take my mind off of my wildly beating heart. I started feeling like I could maybe fall asleep despite the weirdness around 11:30, and happily, I think I fell asleep rather quickly.

Then, at 2:00 a.m. Ammon started sobbing about wanting his balloon that was downstairs. We told him he could get it in the morning and to go back to bed. He said "o.k."

At 2:30 he got up to poop.

The heart palpitations were still going strong at this point, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I didn't want to wake Joe up, so I went downstairs to get a drink of water and read for a while.

At 3:00 Ammon came downstairs looking for his balloon. I gave it to him and told him to go back to bed. 

At 3:30 Madison came down stairs. I told her to go back to bed.

Around 4:00 a.m. I noticed that the palpitations were getting further apart, and I was feeling sleepy again, so I decided try sleeping on the sofa. 

At 4:30 Logan came downstairs. I told him to go back to bed. 

At 5:45 I heard someone moving around. I thought it was Joe leaving for seminary, but it was Logan making his lunch in the kitchen. I asked him to make sure Joe was up. He wasn't. I told the kids to wake him up and finish their lunches while I slept on the sofa. 

Needless to say, I did not get up in time to make the kids the yummy Valentine's breakfast I had planned.

And I'm completely wiped out. A little emotional, too. 

At least my heart is beating normally right now.

I feel a little guilty about missing the kids' school parties afternoon, but I just can't do it right now. We can still make it a fun day when they get home. Right? 

ice cream for lunch

A few weeks ago we made Valentines for our extended family members. Since Valentine's Day is on Friday, I decided I should hurry and send them today.

I went to the post office.

This is huge, people! Last year I went to the post office once--a week before Christmas. I'm feeling pretty good about making it to the post office already in 2014. So let me say it again:

I went to the post office.

Unlike the Christmas expedition, we only had to wait for one person. Ammon was looking pretty cute with his batman cape over his puffy winter jacket, so the man in front of us gave him a $5.00 bill and said, "Batman, you should take your mom out for ice cream."

I asked Ammon what he wanted to do when we got in the car, and of course he said, "Let's go get ice cream!" I explained that it was pretty cold to eat ice cream and he said, "Weeelll, I have my warm jacket on."

We decided to get a 1/2 gallon of ice cream to share with the other kids, who were at home. Ammon chose Death by Chocolate (no kidding, that's the one he pointed to, but I'm not complaining!). He even paid for it himself with his $5.00 bill.

As soon as he got home he ran up the stairs to tell the others what he got, and they ran down the stairs to confirm his story.

And that is why we ate ice cream for lunch.

shoe's on the wrong feet

oh yeah, they ate a grilled cheese sandwich with jam first. 

super hero cape on the ground

p.p.s. Don't try swirling in peanut butter with your death by chocolate. 

the end is in sight!

Over the past six months, I have been sneaking little moments, usually while the kids are sleeping, to complete this personal history class. It has been wonderful, perhaps the best class I have ever taken, as I have been able to recall my history and put it all down in words. Who will read it? Well, you have read parts of rough drafts. Someday I hope that my kids will read it; they've already read some, and they've heard Joe and I reminiscing about the past, and they always want more. More details, more stories. I've also filled up a journal with my thoughts and feelings. I love to flip through the pages and see the different sizes of my font, some days more legible than others, probably depending on my mood that day.

I have ONE assignment left. Yippee! Then my final, which is actually just all of my edited papers all bound together, for a total of over 50 pages that I will submit. I have more written that I will add later, and the goal, of course, is to continue to add more on my own.

My last assignment is to write a final chapter, or a conclusion, to my life so far. It has been an interesting thought process, because I know there is so much more ahead (hopefully!). Just for fun, I am going to add a rough draft here. Lucky you?

I get hooked on something, and I know I start pushing my agenda on others. Like, move to Texas, y'all!  But really, this has been such a rewarding experience, and I really would encourage anyone to take the class (if you need motivation, that's the way to go) or to just start writing down your personal history. Send me a message if you are interested in finding out more about it--do it soon while I'm still in the hype, because the excitement will probably wear off when I step away from it.

I still need a working title, so if you have any ideas, let me know. :)

These days we’ve gotten into somewhat of a comfortable routine. I get ready for the day at 5:30 a.m. when Joe leaves to teach early morning seminary, and the next 90 minutes are a blur of preparing the kids for eight hours away from home. Then I start a day, a week, a lifetime, full of household chores (never to be completed), playtime with Ammon, grocery shopping, playgroups, a slew of errands, volunteering at school, service, and if there's time, maybe a power nap. The kids return at 3:00, where I greet them at the door, and the busyness peaks: snacks, homework, piano, scouts, district choir, tae kwon do, soccer, making and eating dinner. If they are lucky, the kids will get some time to play in the backyard with neighborhood friends. We rush everyone to bed, ready for the evening to be over, and if I’m lucky I will get a few quiet moments with my husband, and then tomorrow is another day.

It is easy to feel dull from the mundane repetitiveness of life, and at the same time I can feel completely overwhelmed by the never-ending work that needs to be done, often without recognition or appreciation. Helen Keller explains it best when she said, “I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.” Some have accused me of having no ambition because I do not want to commit to taking on the world; instead, I want to commit to taking on today and really living and enjoying each moment.

My biggest fear is wasting time and looking back with longing or regret. I don’t have time for regret, only time to learn and to do better. I want my skin to memorize the feel of Ammon in my arms while he still enjoys snuggling with me. I want to remember the sound of his footsteps following me around the house, his little voice, “Mom, I want to help you,” said 100 times a day. I want to capture the moments with Grant reading to me, each day his reading skills improving without either of us realizing it. I want to remember his enthusiasm as he surprises me by making his brothers’ beds, later informing me that he didn’t do it to be nice, but for “parent points.” I want to memorize every note that I get from Madison—always an entertaining read, most often about why she’s mad at me and why I should be sorry, although sometimes they are notes of appreciation, and maybe even an occasional apology. I want to celebrate the patience I have gained over the years to be able to successfully feign interest as Logan tells me about his latest Pokémon trade. I feel satisfaction when I see them accomplish hard things, or when a teacher approaches me with praise for my child. 

Always, though, there is the goal to keep being me. I find joy as I play the piano, read literature that engages my mind, and as I push my body on the treadmill. Although a social introvert, I am happier when I make time to get together with friends, sometimes over lunch, definitely at book club, even a play date at the park will do. Thank goodness for a thoughtful husband who knows that sometimes this mama needs a break. Joe has taken over the date planning, and I love those nights that I get to dress up and feel desirable, more than just the cleaner of toilets and the referee of siblings.

I look forward to becoming a homeowner. It is time, and I want badly to scratch this itch that is deep in my being. I’m so ready, and yearning, to settle down and grow some roots, and to have a place to make mine. But always, I’m trying to push the desire down and enjoy what I have today. 

The kids will get older and more capable, their personalities will bloom, and their independence will be thrilling and frightening, all at the same time. More than anything, I pray that I will be good enough. That despite my faults, they will become competent and caring adults, a source of good in the world and in their communities, that they will become parents who raise another generation of moral citizens.

All of this and more, I feel, but I choose to focus on this day, this moment, to play with my family, to memorize their faces, and to love them unconditionally. It is enough.

             

the ugly truck

My mother and I disagree as to when the truck was purchased; however, my memory conveniently connects events with what was going on around the time in question, so I am confident that I am right, and that the truck was purchased during the winter of my junior year of high school—December 1997. I had my driver's license, and Ben would soon have his, and though our parents insisted that there were no designated teen cars, they were actively seeking a family pickup truck that the teenagers would end up driving. We were visiting family in Phoenix, Arizona that Christmas, and Mom and Dad found a newspaper advertisement listed for a truck that was listed significantly below Kelly Blue Book value—somewhere in the price range of $1,500—meaning that they could pay for it in cash, and a deal that seemed too good to be true.

            

They brought the truck back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house and we all saw exactly why they got it so cheap. That truck had been stolen and recovered—after it had been painted over in a salmon latex house paint. It was ugly, but the owner promised a sleek black paint job underneath. The plan was to use a high-powered water sprayer to get that paint off. It took a lot more time and muscle than anyone bargained for, only to find out that underneath the latex paint someone had first tried to spray paint the truck red.

           

So imagine it: a small pickup truck with red spray paint lines and flecks of salmon randomly splattered over the black metal. It was horrific, and all of a sudden—I did not think the teenagers needed their own vehicle. I did not want to drive that truck, let alone to be seen with it in the high school parking lot. Ben, on the other hand, was happy to have something to drive.

            

The truck ended up being a money pit; it was always in need of repairs, and eventually the pedometer stopped working and the oil started leaking. When Ben and I drove across the country to Ricks College during the summer of 2000, he would purchase and refill the oil each time we stopped for gas. He happily parked the truck at his apartment, and I was happy to call him if I needed a ride; that way, none of my roommates had to know about the truck unless I let them in on the secret.

            

Unfortunately for me (and the truck), Ben made plans to finish his education at Edinboro University, but didn’t tell anyone until he had already returned home right before school started in the fall . . . meaning that the truck and I were stuck with each other. At this point, I was slightly more confident and my roommates had learned to love the ugly truck (or they at least enjoyed having access to a vehicle). My roommate and friend, Kathleen, and I spent a few summer weeks at her grandmother’s house, and had made a little bit money by collecting and selling worms. We decided to spend it all at the Idaho Falls mall, so we hopped into the ugly truck and set off, neither of us knowing exactly where we were going. About halfway there, the truck stopped. It just quit! We didn’t know what to do, and there were no cell phones back then—at least no cell phones for us. I honestly don’t know what we did, but somehow we gained access to a phone (did we walk to a house?) and called her grandma to come pick us up, and we left the ugly truck sitting on the side of the road.

I called my parents and let them deal with the truck 1,500 miles across the country. As it turns out, without Ben to care for the truck, I had destroyed the engine because it had run out of oil (remember that oil leak?). Mom and dad got a few dollars for that pitiful thing when it was dropped off at a salvage yard, and we continue to laugh about the ugliest truck that ever existed. Good riddance! 

2013: out with a bang, in with the new!

We are gearing up for a fun-filled family party. Everyone got to pick out one treat for tonight, but when we went to the store to pick up said choices, we ended up with much, much more. If you don't have any plans for tonight--stop on by. There will be plenty!!

Joe chose barbecued sausage, I chose fruit and veggies, Logan chose shrimp, Madison meat/cheese/crackers, Grant chose desserts, and Ammon chose pizza. We also came home with cheese balls, chips and dip, nacho makings, and at the last minute Grant asked to make pigs in a blanket. We are going to get fat with a bang!

We made muddy buddies and some cake pops that look nothing like the picture on the box. Grant said something to the effect of, "It's fun getting ready for the New Year." What he meant was, "It's fun spending time doing things together as a family."

We have silly string and those popper things and light sticks and loud confetti. I might ask myself what I was thinking at 12:01 a.m.

All of this brought me back to our first New Year's Eve as a married couple.

We had just returned from a semester in China, and we drove from Pennsylvania to Rexburg, Idaho, where we enlisted the help of his boss and our Chinese teacher to move a few boxes, a table, bed, and sofa (that's all we owned) into our third story apartment.

We were wiped out, so we put the mattress on the living room floor and set the alarm to wake up at 11:50 p.m.

I woke up at 2 or 3 a.m. and realized we had completely missed our first New Year celebration together. I cried about how unmemorable it was, never dreaming that every year we would tell this story and have a good laugh.

I should probably go take a nap. Right now.

Happy New Year! May we all be healthy and strong, happy, and better tomorrow than we were today!

another year comes to an end

This is just an old-fashioned, boring, journal-like post for posterity. Sorry. :)

This year has been... interesting. A good, year, but hard (although I know it could've been much, much harder). It started out with a few months of physical unwell-ness (for me), with the flu, strep, and then 8 weeks of trying to recover from a second degree muscle strain in my back/right shoulder--and let's face it, when mom's down, everyone suffers. For years, I have felt that I have done ok at keeping my anxiety under control, but it has been a bigger struggle this year, and at times, almost debilitating. Because of that, it's also been a year of learning about my limitations, acknowledging that it's ok to be imperfect, and in general, a year of getting back to the basics. Like--we didn't get a family picture this year--the first year we have missed ever. I didn't send out cards, or even do a blog card! Maybe I will get around to all of that when the kids are back in school and the Christmas decorations are all packed up. Oh well.

So Christmas came again, and we tried to keep everything basic and simple. Early in our marriage, we decided that Christmas Eve we would eat Mexican food and do a nativity play that my family did with my grandparents when I was younger (grandma sent me the scripts and the nativity scene that she made--I feel so special to have it!). We invited friends over for dinner and to act out the nativity and for some singing.

Madison's picture of Jesus

Logan's

Grant's

This might seem silly, but I feel embarrassed if there are a lot of presents under the tree! I felt like we balanced the presents aspect of Christmas pretty well with thoughtful, meaningful gifts, and everyone was happy with what they gave and received.

I got Joe a gift certificate for a 2 hour shooting class by his office and some books on emergency wilderness survival.

He got me a gift certificate to go to a murder mystery dinner--something I've been wanting to do for years! (I also got several books from my to-read list.) We were also gifted a new wheat grinder--which I am SO excited about because my old one blows out ground wheat and is difficult to clean). 

Logan got an ipod alarm clock/speaker dock and electric circuits.

Madison got money to save for an ipod touch, but her favorite present was probably the Frozen soundtrack, and we have all been enjoying it with her; in fact, I am listening to it as I write!

Grant got 12 inch Star Wars characters, and he's been playing with them non-stop.

Ammon got a Super Man sleeping bag and a car race ramp.

We also got the kids some shared gifts: a WWII book for kids, family games, Gilligan's Island season 2 (they love Gilligan), and some poles for building forts--something I might regret in the near future, but so far it has been fun to see their forts and to hear the kids playing happily together.

The kids drew names for people in the family, and they all did a terrific job with their $10 gift limit.

Madison got Joe a huge container of Nestle chocolate powder mix and a Duck Dynasty cup. That was probably the winner of the day, and the one all of the kids were most excited to see someone open. In case you didn't know, Joe is especially fond of chocolate milk.

Logan drew my name and bought me a book by an author he knew I liked about a some men who tried to rob Lincoln's grave. I'm excited to read it!

Grant got Ammon, and he got him two big balls, a play sword, and gummy worms. The older kids got a big laugh when I told Ammon to smile so I could take a picture of his balls. When did my kids get that vocabulary?!

Joe bought Madison some perfume and hair things, and now we can tell whenever Madison has walked through a room. 

I got Grant a child Anakin Skywalker, another play sword, and some army men.

Ammon got Logan a game called Pictureka and a book about gross facts. 

The other memorable item was Grant's gift to Joe. He came home from school with a folder full of this semester's artwork, and after we finished looking through it, he asked me if he could wrap it for Dad. What a thoughtful gift! 

We ate a wonderful Christmas lunch and then set out for Joe's parents in Salado, TX with the leftovers. Except we left the uneaten pies sitting on the stovetop!! We ate dinner and then exchanged gifts with them. The kids were amazed that Lola knew exactly what they wanted! (A Percy Jackson book and movie for Logan, doll clothes for Madison, Spidermen web shooters for Grant, and a talking Woody for Ammon.) 

Christmas morning!

Joe will be embarrassed about this picture, but I love it

On Thursday we went on a fabulous hike just a few miles away from my in-law's home. It is the second time we have been there, and I hope we get to spend a few hours exploring the area every time we go to visit. It is really the BEST place I have found to hike here in Texas. 

They loved climbing up the "mountain"

The suspension bridge was a winner

Here's the part where I talk about my plans and goals for next year. It's been on my mind a lot!  I sat down to make a personal goal list; here's the sneak peek: sleep!, scripture study, and exercise (especially strengthening my upper body/back). I know. Nothing amazing or out of the ordinary. Going to bed earlier will be the hardest goal ever, but if I can do it--I know that it will be easier to be the person I want to be and to achieve the things I want to do every day and throughout the year. 

So--that's it! We are ready for another year, and hope that you are, too! 

Procrastination

I haven't submitted anything for my class for almost a month!! My next assignment is 10 pages on my parents--and I just haven't been able to figure out how to tell my story about them. I would start, and then start again, and then I just stopped. I mean--how do you start? Where do you start? How can I possibly get down in words the wonderfullness of my parents? The feelings of waking up, toasty under the covers in a cold room, to the smells of bacon cooking and pancakes and maple syrup? Who knew that you can relate bacon smells to parental love?  Everything I wrote seemed bland and listed and boring compared to that! (Ironically, I talked about this very subject with my dad a few weeks ago, and he said that scientific studies do show that bacon smells actually are a very good way to wake people up!)

 Ammon wanted to eat lunch at 10:30 this morning, and then he went down for his nap early, so I am finding myself with extra time. I decided to stop procrastinating and started another rough draft. So that's what you are getting today. My parents are amazing. This is not. But it's a start; a work in progress, and not finished. If you want to smell the bacon and feel the warmth of a farm home in the winter--you might just have to go there and visit. They love visitors, and they would invite you in, and then you'll know why I've been procrastinating.

This is the first picture I found with them. 

Connie and Doug, Mom and Dad

The first words she said to him were, “Ya big flirt,” as she walked by the tall, thin man with the bike leaning against a dorm window, talking to the girls inside. They would end up in the same Family Home Evening group at BYU. Later, he would define them both as “social retards.” Their relationship grew as most relationships do; they became friends, then confidants, and finally, deeper feelings emerged and commitments were made.

Connie Goss was smart, athletic, and as the third of nine children (seven living)—she was in control of her destiny. She graduated with an associate’s degree from Ricks College, and then went to BYU to graduate with a Bachelor’s in Elementary Education, with a minor in Bilingual Education. She got through school with a full tuition at both schools, and worked as a part-time, early-morning janitor.

Doug Foster was a science-loving runner. He ran track at Cobleskill College, and counted on his running prowess to get him into a 4-year university; however, he over-trained for the big meet, and because of an injury, was unable to place high enough to catch a scout’s eye. His coach reassured him: he was friends with the track coach at BYU, and could get Doug onto the BYU track team. He warned him, “Watch out for those Mormons, though; they’ll try to convert you.” Doug signed the honor code, shaved off his facial hair, cut his curly shoulder-length locks (he says he looked like Napoleon Dynamite—and he kind of did), and promised to stop drinking alcohol and coffee. He says the only thing that was really hard to give up was the coffee.

His first week at BYU, someone from Doug’s dorm offered to help him find a Lutheran church to attend, but since he had never been active in the Lutheran church, Doug declined the offer and instead decided to accompany his roommates to their LDS services that first Sunday. During the second week of school, the Sunday School President called to ask him to give a 3-minute talk. Doug said yes! He had taken one week of the mandatory Book of Mormon religion class, and they had covered the first few chapters of 1 Nephi; Doug gave a short talk on the relationship between Nephi and Lehi, and the importance of listening to your parents. He was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints a few months later, in March of 1978. I have always wondered what Dad’s Cobleskill track coach thought of that!

One of my favorite stories is Mom and Dad’s engagement. They chaperoned a youth church dance, and afterwards went to get something to eat. They were sitting in a booth when Doug said, “So what are we going to do?” Connie said, “Do what?” He said, “You know, how are we going to make it?” She thought, “Did I just get engaged?” Luckily, 33 years of marriage has improved their communication skills!

They were poor and in love. He melted down his class ring and made it into two matching wedding bands and a thin engagement ring with a pearl. They are beautiful, formed from loving sacrifice, and there aren’t any other rings in the world like them.

They were married on April 22, 1980 in Mesa, AZ temple, and I was born less than 13 months later, on Mom’s 22^nd birthday—after nine very sick months for Mom. Ben surprised them 15 months after that, and Dennis, Rene, and Brent were to follow over the next twelve years, until finally, our family of seven was complete in 1993.

I did not grow up in a traditional LDS home. Dad was doing janitorial work in the early morning, teaching school all day as a biology teacher, and then coaching track in the evening—and still, his paycheck was barely covering their small trailer mortgage and other small living expenses. At one point, they did not have enough money to fix the car, and Dad snow-shoed the two miles to work during the freezing Idaho winter months. They decided that the best thing for the family would be for Mom to enter the workforce, and for as long as I can remember, Mom worked either part or full-time teaching.

 Mornings worked like this: Mom helped get kids dressed and got the girls’ hair done, Dad made breakfast and packed lunches. After school, chores and household duties were split pretty evenly (and as kids got older, we contributed). Dad did a lot of the cooking and cleaning. We like to tease Mom about not knowing how to use a vacuum cleaner that had been purchased many months previously. My future husband had a lot to live up to my Dad’s example!

Mom has always been the rock—the listener, the patient, the one that wouldn’t get mad. And I would try! On my 18^th birthday I told her I was going to go buy a pack of cigarettes, just because I could show my I.D. She said, “Well, if that’s how you want to spend your money—go for it.” I didn’t. I did show my I.D. at a jewelry store for a second ear piercing that I knew she wasn’t thrilled with, and when I showed her my new holes she just smiled.

Ironically, my favorite memory is the one time I remember Mom losing her temper. She wishes I would forget it—or at least never bring it up again. She and I had been disagreeing about something—the topic, I actually did manage to forget! We must have started our conversation in the kitchen and moved into the living room, because she was holding a recipe box filled with 3x5 cards. Her volume increased slightly, and I looked at her and said something to further rankle her—and she threw the recipe box down, scattering cards all over the living room floor. I looked at her with surprise, and looked back a me, silent for a few seconds, and then she started laughing, “Well, that was a dumb thing to do. Help me pick them up, please?” I think I started laughing, too, and we picked up the cards together, our argument forgotten. I love this moment because it showed me that she was human—but then she was quick to laugh it off and make things better. Classic Mom.

Not only do I share Dad’s physical features, but I also have more of his personality than Mom’s calm. We are pessimistic (I like to say realistic), easily stressed, and we don’t like to sit still. Dad recently said he has mellowed out over the years, and he has. He was the one with the quick-temper, and I knew not to make him upset. He is also very humble. Once, in Phoenix, he asked me to lift the garage door so that he could carry a box in. In those days (or at least those days for us), you had to manually lift the garage door. I was probably seven, and was unable to lift it high enough to clear my dad’s 6’3” frame. He walked right into the garage door—and because he walks briskly and with purpose, it was probably not a soft bonk to the head. He was unhappy with me, and I went away crying and confused—after all, I had tried to be obedient. That evening, I returned from a baptism and found on my dresser a vase full of flowers and a card with a nice apology on it. This experience, and many throughout my life, taught me that even when we make mistakes, we can admit to them, apologize, and then set out to do better.

I don’t remember Mom and Dad fighting. Ever. It still amazes me, even though I know that they must have had their disagreements; they either worked them out quietly or waited for privacy. I asked Dad about it a few years ago, and he said that early in their marriage he decided that in most cases, it was just easier to do what Mom wanted then to spend the time and emotional energy arguing about it. This concept, while true, is not very easy to actually put into practice! 

Grant's letter to Sister Bradley

Grant's primary teacher at church passed away yesterday. She started out as his Sunbeam teacher, and she moved up with his class to CTR 4--so she has been teaching him for a while. We found out at the ward Christmas party, but decided not to tell him until later; however, our Bishop shared the news and encouraged us to pray for her family and to help them, and Grant ran back to ask us what he meant. I explained, and his face got all twisted as he started to cry, and the rest of the evening he was crying off and on. Some of the statements he made included, "No one told me she was going to die; I didn't get to say goodbye."

Last night, after we got home, we sat down to talk to him, and he told us all about why she was a good teacher. He brought us a little clay manger, baby Jesus, and Mary that he had made with her, and said, "Jesus is broken. Now how is she going to help me fix him?" We decided that today we would sit down and write a letter to Sister Bradley, to tell her thank you for being a good primary teacher, and to record some of his memories so that he would have them always.

Here is what we wrote. We changed from "you" to "she" pretty fast, because it was hard for Grant to understand why we would write to her if she would never be able to read it. Also, these are his words (like--he really wanted to make sure I wrote the date down).

Saturday December 14, 2013

Dear Sister Bradley,

I am sad that you died yesterday, Friday, December 13, 2013. Sister Bradley was my Sunbeam and CTR 4 teacher. You were very nice because you brought us food that we liked. She taught me how to play Angry Birds with a bean bag and pictures. If we  didn't know how to draw the pictures, she would help us. She taught us how to be good. Last year we had a Christmas party at her house. I made a baby Jesus and a Mary. She helped us on the clay, and when we were done and washed our hands, she let us play with her doggies. She would always say we were good. If you were good in class, she'd tell your parents you were good. If you were bad, she would tell your parents that you were good.

For my birthday, she gave me a letter "G" with red paint to paint it. She gave me a card that said, "I love (heart) you, Grant." She always gave me pictures of my friends.

She was just really, really nice. She really did love me. I loved her, too, because she was a nice teacher.

She would tell us that the way to have a lot of money was to not buy things, and to save my money.

I love Sisdr Bradley!

I will miss you,

Love,
GRANT

Rainy Cold Days Make Me

Happy. Rainy, cold, miserable days make me happy and motivated and energized.

I know, it's backwards. Maybe if it were weeks upon weeks of cloudy, gray, freezing cold days I might feel depressed, but right now I'm loving it.

The kids are out of school for the week, and I'm loving that, too. Today I slept in (well, until 6:30, but it felt amazing). We made sopapillas for breakfast and Madison and Logan took turns shaking the fried dough in powdered sugar. We spent the rest of the day playing outside, then inside, then outside. We spent over two hours putting a 300 piece puzzle together (Madison and Grant gave up after about 30 minutes). I canned 9 pints of chicken and Madison and I canned 14 quarts of potatoes. We made butternut squash soup for dinner. And we washed lots and lots of dishes. What a perfect way to spend the day!

Yesterday, Sunday, I taught Sharing Time in our primary at church, and we learned about taking care of the gifts we are given. I brought in a few gifts I found around the house--and one of them was a teapot that my Chinese "boyfriend" gave me. I have given or thrown away every other thing that was given to me by a boy other than Joe except for this teapot! Probably because there's not really a lot of sentimental value, so I feel that it's ok. And I like the teapot. The kids thought there was a genie living inside!

Well, there is a great story behind it.

As you know, I lived in Wuxi, China during the winter/spring of 2000 (before I met Joe). We lived about an hour's train ride from a city called Suzhou. We loved going to Suzhou because there was a lot of good shopping, it was beautiful and clean, and there was a Pizza Hut there!

One evening, as we were leaving Suzhou and returning to Wuxi, my friends and I were sitting on train talking. I pointed out that there was a taller, good-looking Chinese man sitting kitty-corner from us. We were laughing and talking about how one didn't see tall, handsome (we probably said "hot") guys in China that often. The cute guy and his friend were laughing and having a good time, too.

I was feeling pretty brave, apparently, so I went over to the good-looking guy and using made-up sign language said, "Will you (point to him) take a picture (pantomime a camera clicking) of us (point to our group)."

He said, "Sure."

Holy what? My cheeks probably got pretty red as I realized, "Wait, do you speak English?"

"Yeah. I study it at the university."

Crap! He understood all my brazen talk about how hot he was! That's why they were laughing!

Well, what was there to do but to introduce myself, give him the school's address, and get a picture taken to prove that I had a Chinese boyfriend named David (no clue what his real name is)?

(Sorry, I simply do not know how to turn the picture. It's not my best picture, and I think I have another one somewhere, but I don't know where. I still say he looks cute and....very young.)

So he started coming over to the school to visit me once in a while (the security guards were not impressed that I gave a stranger my address) and the day before I returned to the U.S. he brought me a teapot. 

I have a few letters from him, and we exchanged emails for about a year. The last email I sent to him I explained that I was getting married and he wrote back chastising me for getting married so young.

Now it's just a fun story to tell, partly because it's so unlike anything I have ever done before, and partly because I can say that I had a Chinese boyfriend. 

We Are Truly Grateful

The kids have been singing this around the house and I finally asked their music teacher for the words because I love it so much. Here's a picture of her copy. Too bad you can't hear the kids' lovely voices as they sing it.

I'm feeling really grateful today. Grateful for the rain and the cold, Thanksgiving-appropriate weather. Grateful that I got all of my visiting teaching done this month! Grateful for good parents, good kids, good husband. Grateful for Duck Dynesty. Seriously, so good.

It all started when I walked into the boys' room and felt really ungrateful that the three of them were squished in there and ungrateful for the resulting clutter. Then I walked into the playroom and saw the 6 loads of laundry I had been folding spread out all over the floor. And on top of that (well, really in front of the clothes), Grant decided to build a fort and had pulled out tables and chairs and tunnels and blankets and teepee poles. It was truly a disaster zone!

My first thought was, "I can't wait until we buy a bigger house. I hope it happens soon! And I hope that somehow we can find what we really want!"

Then I checked that thought with, "Stop complaining, woman! Look at all of this glorious evidence of a glorious life! So many clothes that you can spread them out all over the floor! A washer and dryer that allows you to do it all in one day (if you really wanted to, anyway). Three boys who get to spend a lot of time together because they share a room! That fort--remember how excited Grant was about his creation? Sure, a bigger house would be nice, but this is what you have right now and it is awesome!" 

I knelt on the floor by my bed and thanked my Heavenly Father for all that He has blessed us with, and said that whatever was store for my family would be perfect.

And then Ammon climbed up on my bed, got close to my ear, and started yelling, "Mom! Wake UP! Time to play!"

Seriously, Truly, Grateful.

sometimes you just have to laugh

Joe is entering into his busiest work months as his clients are trying to close everything up by the new year, and he ended up going into his office this morning. We decided to fit all of our family time after he got home, at four. (Boo to work on Saturdays, by the way.)

Before I continue, let me explain--Ammon did not get a nap today.

So Joe got home at four and we left immediately to go to the church and set up the primary room for church tomorrow. Then we went to Texas Roadhouse for dinner.

We never--seriously, very rarely--go out to eat. Especially not with everyone. It's a money/time/health issue, and I always feel like the food is nasty. But we decided a few days ago that it would be a fun family experience, so we went.

We get to the restaurant, and I look over and see my long-haired, mismatched, sweaty kids (it was 80 degrees today and they played hard outside) and I thought to myself, "boy do we look rough." Luckily, the lighting was low and they sat us in a corner, so I told myself that we were less conspicuous. Then they passed out five coloring books with three crayons each and two roll bowls, and within seconds, the table was looking pretty rough, too.

We order. And then we wait. It probably wasn't any longer than usual, but Grant was sitting by Logan and they kept poking each other and squealing, and Ammon was crying, "I want juice!" (remember, he's tired). We give him his water cup and straw and pretty soon I simultaneously hear and feel ice water crashing to the floor. He had poked a hole through the styrofoam. So he's soaking wet and crying and I'm trying to soak it up with a napkin (thank goodness they are cloth and more absorbent), and we have to lay the cup sideways on a plate to keep the rest of the water contained. The waiter came and all I could do was laugh while I handed him the holey cup.

Joe starts loudly telling the boys to stop being so loud, and Madison starts asking me knock-knock jokes. I look around to see who can hear the crazy clan.

We rush through dinner as fast as possible and almost run to the car. Whew! Now I remember why we  don't go out to eat; and I promise myself that we can try again in a few years. Not at Texas Roadhouse, though. Gag.

We head over to Sam's club, where we just got a membership (thanks Groupon). We stand in a short line that takes a long time, only to find out that we printed the wrong thing. They send us over to a computer and printer, where we print off the right thing, and stand in a short-long line again. Joe suggests I start shopping. Fiveish minutes later he calls and says, "they want you to take a picture. Get over here asap." I'm on the other side of the store! So I rush back with all the kids, who are doing annoying kids-at-the-store things, and I get an ugly squish face picture taken.

I tell Joe that I need a few minutes by myself and leave him with the cart and four kids while I speed walk around Sam's Club. Finally, I call and say, "meet me at the cheese." Right then I see them walking towards me, Madison trailing behind, frowning. Joe explains, "Madison just set off an alarm. She was trying to steal an iPad." She explains, "I wasn't trying to steal it! I just picked it up!" The rest of the evening we joke around about her stealing habits and she pouts and says, "It's not funny."

Right before we get home at 7:00, we give the kids the schedule: Madison is to hop in the shower while the boys get their hair cut, Ammon first.

Ammon does the crazy cry when we get out of the van because he doesn't get to help carry the item of his choice in (bulk cheese, which he could barely pick up). And then, because he's closing his eyes crying, he face plants right as he walks into the living room (at least it's carpeted), and I think the crazy cry might never end.

I feel like I'm missing something funny. Maybe you didn't think it was funny. But all night I was thinking I better just laugh, because if I don't, I might cry.