Essay 4

This essay is patterned after the essays on the website www.thisibelieve.org only mine had to be a little longer to meet the English departments requirements and had to be written in academic style instead of journalistic style.


Time Heals My Heart

In my childhood, I remember listening to a cassette tape about Benjamin Franklin’s life. Franklin is famous for many quotes but one that has always stood out to me is, "Time is an herb that cures all diseases". As a child, I didn’t understand how time had anything to do with feeling better. I didn’t have the wisdom or maturity to fully understand the meaning behind this thought. Looking back, I can see that from a young age I was taught the importance of allowing time to heal. There were times after an argument with one of my siblings where my mother would say, “Go to bed. You will feel better in the morning,” or “Let some time pass. You will think clearly in a little while.” My mother was correct and with the passing of some time, I could see where I was wrong, and I was ready to apologize and heal the relationship. Little by little, my understanding of this idea, or perhaps the miscommunication of it has grown. Whether the situation is a minor disagreement or a severe tragedy, through certain experiences of my life I have witnessed the miracle of healing that occurs over time. I believe that time heals my heart.

As a young adult, I experienced a tragedy that allowed me the opportunity to watch time work its miracle of healing. Each year my cousins would come to stay with my grandparents for several weeks during the summer. Since I lived close to my grandparents my cousins spent most of their vacation at our house. During their summer vacation with me we slept outside under the stars, played in the sprinklers, made up games, and talked for hours. One day my innocent, carefree world changed forever. My cousin confided with me a history of sexual abuse where she had been the victim. Confiding her emotional and physical trauma with me set off a burdensome and sorrowful chain of events. By the end of that summer I knew my cousins would never be able to come back and visit us like they had for so many years. This time my mother’s consoling words were, “Only time will be strong enough to heal these wounds.” Things are still not like they once were, but feelings of hate and discontent have dwindled, lives have mended, and gradually, hearts have healed.

As anger, hurt, and disappointment come into my life, I struggle with the patience needed to properly heal from tragic situations. I want a cure all or an immediate remedy. We live in an era when there is medicine to cure everything. When my children are sick, I can take them to the doctor. Upon examination the doctor writes out a prescription, whereupon the child begins to recover from the ailment they were afflicted with. I can take over the counter medicines for less complex illnesses like a headache, indigestion, or a cough. While there are times that medicine aids in healing, I know that some wounds can only be healed with time. Time allows for me to have the opportunity to heal at a pace that is right for me. Every individual is different. While a short amount of time might be good for one person, others may need extended periods of time to heal. I believe that when the proper time for healing is allowed, most things work themselves out. Healing does not mean that the situation is erased completely from my life. If a body is damaged severely, the scars may be permanent. While the memories of a tragic experience may linger in my mind, time has the ability to repair my damaged heart to the point where I can cope and move forward in my life. As I am patient and adjust to the changes around me, I find that my perspective changes. I begin to experience personal growth, and gain an understanding of what is truly important in my life. As my beliefs change, my values are deepened and I find that personal healing begins to occur in my life, and in the lives of others around me.

Some of the most powerful examples of healing and survival are found in the insignificant details of my life. One of my favorite things to do with my children is to plant a garden. I love to watch their amazement as a tiny green plant grows up from a hardened seed. Each day is filled with excitement as they anxiously check each plant to see what changes occurred while they were away. We worry as the existence of each plant is tested through the rain that floods, the fertility of the ground where the roots lie, or the hot sun that scorches the fragile leaves. Day by day, the plants continue to survive. Their roots grow deep, their leaves grow strong, and they produce healthy fruit. Just like the plants, I too can survive the storms of life. Some situations will challenge the foundation upon which I build, and base my values. Other situations can damage my heart, my body, and my soul. By dealing with things day by day, one step at a time, I find the inner strength to survive and slowly my heart heals.

Recently my core beliefs were challenged again. This time my own young daughter was the victim of sexual abuse by a close relative. Because of one person’s self-interest, irreversible damage was done, and both emotional and physical scars run deep. As I have sat with my daughter through countless counseling sessions, held her as she cries uncontrollably, or calmed her irrational fears, I know that our lives will never be the same. As my heart aches for her I find myself turning to my past experiences, and I hold to the hope that tomorrow will be a better day. I have seen time heal the sting of a similar tragedy before, and I hold tightly to my belief that once again, time will work it’s miracle of healing within my family. I know that situations will continue to arise and my values and inner strength will be tested. Through my patience, I will develop maturity and perspective and I will survive because I believe that time will heal my broken heart.

Essay 2

This is the second essay I wrote for my english class this semester. I have some revisions to do to it before I submit it into my portfolio for a final grade but I got a pretty good grade on it the way it is right now.

Farm Girl

I step outside onto the freshly stained wooden deck. It is dusk, and the entire sky is decorated in brilliant colors of red, yellow, orange, and purple. The colors all representative of an Idaho harvest sunset. There is nothing for miles to block my view. The countryside is laid out in a patchwork of fields dotted with an occasional farm house. I close my eyes, and breathe in the smell of the harvested soil that has recently turned over, which scent lingers with others in the evening air. The crisp coolness of the air touches my skin sending a shiver throughout my body. I am reminded that the lazy days of summer have past, and winter will soon arrive. A few feet in front of me is a swing set built from recycled aluminum pipes, tires, and chains. I envision endless hours spent soaring through the sky, laughing and dreaming away my childhood. To my right lies a row of lilac trees that seem to have grown overnight. Each year we pick the purple blossoms, wrap the stems in wet paper towels, and take them to the graves of loved ones who have passed on. On my left stands a row of poplar trees. These faithful and erect soldiers provide shade, protection, and privacy to all who dwell here. These seventy-five foot tall giants can be seen for miles around. They are the last to wave goodbye and the first to welcome me back. I am overcome with sadness as I notice that some of these sixty year old trees are beginning to die. I watch in the distance as the cows mosey from the barn where they have just been milked headed out to graze on a pasture of green grass. I listen to the bawling cries of the baby calves. Their sound is a reminder that they have not yet been fed. Beyond the yard among piles of dirt and overgrown weeds lie discarded machines, broken calf huts, and a multitude of other abandoned farm equipment. This was my childhood playground where hours were spent foraging untamed wildernesses, conquering old rusty equipment, and discovering hidden treasures while trying to curb my wild imagination.

About 15 miles north of the little town of Rupert nestled among hundreds of acres of farm land is a small dairy farm owned by my parents. My parents bought the land, and built our home, the year I was born. My parents were both raised north of Rupert. The place they decided to call home was a prime location, because it allowed our grandparents to live close by. I was the first of the ten children my parents would eventually raise here. My dad farmed our land, but he was also required to do various jobs for other people in order to provide for our growing family. I was seven years old when he finally built our barn, started milking cows, and working full time from our own farm. Until I married this was the only home I had ever known. This small dairy farm in Southern Idaho provided a natural environment for me to grow up in, establish my core beliefs, and root my continual existence in.

To the casual observer this dairy farm may seem insignificant, but to those that depend upon its survival this ecosystem was a matter of subsistence. The farm and the dairy couldn’t survive without the hard work and dedication of our family. Likewise our family was dependent upon the dairy farm for financial and physical sustenance. My dad grew alfalfa and grain on the land, which was harvested and stored throughout the year to feed the cows. The milk obtained each day from the cows was sold daily. The money received was divided between the needs of the family, and the expenses of the dairy and farm. As more effort was put into working the land healthier crops were produced. By feeding the cows a nutrient rich diet, the quality of milk improved yielding in a higher financial return. As needed a cow was butchered. The meat was used to feed our family. We had access to all the milk our hearts desired. The farm also provided plenty of room to raise other foods that were necessary to feed our family. As we worked to milk, feed, and care for the animals on the dairy; and water, cultivate, and harvest the crops on our farm; the dairy and the farm worked in harmony to support and sustain our lives as well.

My dad often told us that he was not raising cows, nor crops, but children. There was always plenty of work to be done, and we learned that everyone must work together if there was to be organization in our home. I had six sisters and only three brothers. The girls were expected to work as hard as the boys in our family. I complained a lot as I performed tasks such as working in the fields, watering the crops, feeding the animals, and milking the cows. Through completing these assignments I learned that I was strong, and capable of anything I set my mind to. As a sprinkler head broke or other complications arose I realized the importance of thinking through challenges, and being creative with the resources available to me. I became aware of how to manage my time wisely, and recognized the importance of completing each assignment. I also learned that nearly all of my success was dependent upon my own attitude. I not only learned to fulfill my responsibilities, but I began to establish a foundation of strong personal values, which I have continued to build upon throughout my life.

I watched as a late frost in the spring killed an entire field of freshly planted seeds, a surprise hail storm knocked down a field of ripe grain, or an early snow storm wiped out an entire year of crops. Because it seemed that so many uncontrollable factors influenced the success of farming, I often wondered why my parents didn’t just move to the city. As I worked alongside my parents, I was able to glimpse into the splendor of the nature. I felt the delight of discovering newborn baby kittens warmly nestled in a bed of straw, and I cried as I watched a baby calf die from an illness. I watched in astonishment as a small seed grew into a field of ripened food ready to be harvested. I felt awed as the majesty of a hawk as it spread its wings, circling overhead. I gasped in horror as that beautiful creature swooped down, pouncing upon its unsuspecting prey. I paced the floors as a thunderstorm flooded the freshly planted fields, and stood awestruck by the beauty of a rainbow arched across the clear blue sky. I experienced exhaustion as I fell into bed each night after a long, hot day of setting water, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the final load of hay was stacked for the season. I was positive that my grease stained hands, dirt caked fingernails and blistered palms would serve as a permanent reminder of the sweat and tears I had sacrificed on the farm. I realized that “this farm is not just so many acres of dirt, easily exchanged for an equal amount elsewhere; it was a particular place, intimately known, worked on, dreamed over, cherished” (Sanders 210). While my hands currently show no evidence of growing up on a farm, my soul has been permanently changed as I witnessed firsthand the miracles of life.

The consistency of the mundane farm routines provided security in my life. I spent many summer nights, in the backyard, sleeping on the ground underneath the big open sky. My dad would spend hours helping me identify the planets and constellations. As I watched the galaxy full of stars revolve around the North Star in an organized and consistent order, I wondered about the mysteries of the universe. I fell asleep wishing on falling stars, and contemplating my own existence. After I had grown and moved far from home, I was homesick, and longed for the security and comfort I felt as a child. As I looked up into the night sky, I discovered that in that unfamiliar place were the same familiar stars I had dreamed on as a child. I remembered many summer nights spent gazing up at those exact stars, and I felt connected to my faraway home in Idaho. I understood what was meant by the quote, “I cannot have a spiritual center without having a geographical one; I cannot live a grounded life without being grounded in a place” (Sanders 213). I realized that even though my life would continue to change, I could ground my life in the consistency I felt during the years that I lived at home on the farm.

Since I moved from the farm 14 years ago, I have spent many of those years living in apartment buildings or in compact neighborhoods where privacy is not mine and my space is shared with complete strangers. The farm has become my place of escape and refuge. My children anxiously look for the same poplar trees to welcome them back. They explore the farm land, climb the old machinery, and feed the animals just as I did when I was a child. The little farm home now overflows with loved ones as my siblings also bring their families home to experience the love and security felt on the farm. While I don’t know what will happen to the property after my parents are gone, my life will always be rooted in the situations I experienced and the foundation of beliefs I acquired because I was raised on a farm.

Here we go again!

This will not come as a surprise to anyone but just for the record, we have mice again this winter in our garage. Yes, we are being held hostage. I'm not about to go into the garage and neither are the kids. When the kids get ready in the morning for school, they have to pack their own lunches. Most of the stuff they seem to need is out in the fridge in the garage. Usually their noises make me crazy in the morning but I always find it really funny when one of them heads into the garage, the door slams shut, super high-pitched screaming, the door slams opens and in flies my frightened ghost-white child.

One day my dad was here and we were discussing whether it would be worth storing things under my house. I told him my biggest hesitation was that I didn't know if we had mice under the house. He suggested we check it out. I pulled up the board in the closet that goes under the house and my dad jumped down in the hole. As he squatted and looked around, we noticed alot of mice poop. He also commented that there were alot of vents and cement things that would make it hard to store anything under there. I was standing up on the floor looking down at him as he looked around. Suddenly he moved his foot and there was a smashed mouse. With all the maturity that I have, I started to scream. My dad jumped, flew out of the four foot deep hole and we both looked down at the smashed, dead mouse he had been standing on. I quickly shut the door and put a whole bunch of things on top of it. Then I had to laugh. Meanwhile, my father thinks I'm a nut job. THE MOUSE WAS DEAD!!! Sorry Dad!!

So far I have seen no evidence that they are getting into my house so I don't think we will have to move...yet!!!

Boys will be boys?

Since Ken has been Elder's Quorum President and has to go to early morning Sunday meetings, I have not been able to get the kids to church on time yet. I'm not sure why not having him here makes any difference since he wasn't much help before but for some reason, I can't get out the door on time. This Sunday I was determined to not walk into Sacrement meeting late. We were on schedule. Forty five minutes before church started, Zach headed out to the car to turn it on and get it warmed up. Fifteen minutes later he returned and announced that the car would not start. I went out to check and sure enough, it was dead! I was very confused but quickly made some phone calls and got Zach a ride to church so he could do his calling before church and called Ken out of his meeting to come home and rescue us. By this point, I had lost my "wife of the day" award. (BUMMER! And I was doing so well.) He was not impressed by my helplessness.

Justyn and I pushed the big, dead suburban out into the street so that it would be easier to jump. That was fun! Me, in my dress and high heels, and my big strong 11 year old son. At least we provided comic relief for the neighbors!

So, after discussing a new battery, Justyn mentioned that the radio was working fine while Zach was listening to it but then it just died so he tried to start the car at that point and it was dead. Hum..... so, do you think that listening to the radio for 15 minutes when the weather 25 degrees outside is a smart idea? Maybe not!!!!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Two hours later, we are sitting in primary. I play the piano so I was at the piano. I was halfway daydreaming and not paying much attention. Suddenly I hear, "Justyn! You big jerk!" I look to the back of the room and there is a big hole next to Justyn. Then I see Justyn fly off his chair, chaos, a teacher jumps up, grabs the other boy and hauls him out to the hall and Justyn gracefully slips back into his chair, as if nothing happened at all. Meanwhile, the teacher teaching the sharing time is trying to move on with her lesson yet not sure what just happened, the kids are all staring at Justyn, and I'm now standing with my mouth hanging open!! What in the heck just happened?!!!

Here's the story: Justyn thought it would be funny to pull a chair out from under his friend. The boy hit the floor pretty hard, Justyn laughed, the boy yelled at Justyn, Justyn tried to help him up, the boy grabbed Justyn and pulled him to the floor and they had a brief, but very intense, wrestling match, the boys father (who is also their teacher) jumped up and grabbed his son and took him into the hall to calm down and Justyn slid back into his chair as if he was totally innocent with a smirk of complete satisfaction on his face. I motioned for him to come to me. He hung his head in shame and got to spend the rest of the meeting sitting next to his mommy. Who gets into a fight in Primary?

If you see my boys, could you let me know? I'm willing to swap these two out for the originals.

An overdue letter

I was looking through Shaelynne's art binder this morning before school. I had to sign that I had seen it. As I was turning the pages, I found this little note:

Dear Mom,
I love you! I noticed that I am not on your blog though. Why not?
Love,
Shaelynne

Well, I guess that the child that demands my attention, gets it.

So, here's my post just for Shaelynne.

Dear Shaelynne,
I love you very much. You are such a sweet girl. I love that you love to clean my kitchen. I think it's funny that you refuse to go to bed until the dishes are done. I love that a dirty room makes you crazy. It makes me crazy that you hide everything when you clean, so that the room looks wonderful, but the closets and corners are stuffed. I love that you always have your hair done to perfection. I think it's silly that you obsess so much over little frizz that no one ever notices but you.

I love to listen to you sing. You have a beautiful voice. I love to hear you laugh. Your happiness is contagious. I love to see you smile. You brighten my day. You will always have a special place in my heart. After two rowdy boys, you were my first daughter. From the time I was a little girl like you, I dream of the day that I would be a mother. I knew I would have a little girl. I knew she would be beautiful and that I would love her forever. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be your mother.

I have a lot to learn from you. You are strong and full of goodness. You hold me to a higher standard then I hold myself and I thank you for that. I make a lot of mistakes and some times we don't get along. I ask you to be patient with me. We are both stubborn, proud and very emotional. I also want you to remember that I have been a young lady before, just like you, and I have felt the same things you feel and experienced the same frustrations and joy that you do. As you grow, my role will continue to change. You won't need me to do as much for you because you will learn to do for yourself. I will become more of a guide and a friend. I want you to know that no matter what happens in your life, no matter what choices you make, no matter what path you decide to travel, I will always walk beside you. I am so proud of you! I will always love you...unconditionally...forever!
Love,
Mom

Bruised!

Yesterday I took Alexys to counseling. I ran over to the D.I to waste time while I waited. Henry was in the seat of the cart and Kate was standing in the cart. Henry suddenly decided to leap out of the cart. I saw him in time, and caught him and turned to put him on the floor. I was thinking I had just done a great thing and saved him from disaster. Suddenly the back of my leg was on fire. I turned to see what had just happened and Kate and the cart were lying on the floor behind me. I guess when Henry jumped, his weight threw the balance of the cart off and with Kate's weight making the cart heavy on one side, the cart tipped over. It hit my leg and then slid down my calf to the floor. She was in tears, and I quickly checked to see if she was hurt.

Meanwhile, Henry was free and managed to disappear. He was only gone for a minute but managed to get his arm caught in the sliding doors at the front of the store. I went to rescue him and Kate was mad because I wouldn't put her back in the cart so she ran away and hid. When she realized she was lost, she began to cry. I got Henry's arm out of the door, checked him for damage and then went to find Kate. A kind lady brought her to me, I graciously thanked her, and we all three left the store in tears.

I have 6 kids! I am not new to this mommy thing. I'm not sure which was bruised more; my leg or my ego!

Henry

Baby?

Or Big Boy?

You'll Always Be My Baby Boy!

The Closing of Another Chapter

Tomorrow is Alexys' last counseling session. It was 15 months ago yesterday that Alexys confided her abuse to me. I wrote this post that evening. I was so sad. I knew our lives would never be the same. I couldn't say much to anyone, especially here because Ken's family read my blog so I just kept it all inside. The last 15 months have been the hardest trial I have ever had to face as a mother. I felt so helpless and so angry! I felt so hurt and so sad. I blamed myself and I let Ken's family focus their hate towards me. I acted immaturely and irrational at times. Some relationships have been ruined, while others have been strengthened. Fifteen months later, I'm relieved to say, "WE SURVIVED!"

Alexys has overcome so much this last year. She has gone from having daily emotional breakdowns to only an occasional irrational outburst. Last year she missed so much school. We had to address riding the bus to school, riding the bus home from school, recess, boys, sleeping arrangements, unlocked windows, nightmares, hugs, affection of any kind, preparing for court, relationship boundaries, the list goes on and on and those are only the fears we could identify. Most times she just sat and cried for no explainable reason at all, and I sat and cried with her. When she was little, she was such an easy, happy baby. People have always naturally been drawn to her because she is just so sweet. It was hard to watch her go through this last year. I often wondered if I would ever hear her laugh again or give a hug without first hesitating. I missed her beautiful smile and that innocent twinkle in her eyes. I can honestly say that she is back. She is not the same, she never can be, but she is happy and she is strong! Time, along with alot of counseling and many, many prayers, has worked a miracle in our lives.

As a mother, I would do anything within my power to protect my child. I believed that mother's would just know everything and use their super hero powers to make everything all better. I learned this year that my powers are limited and I couldn't protect her from everything. I didn't know everything and I didn't have any super hero powers that could take her pain away and make the world all better. But I knew I was her mother and I would do what ever I could, even if it was just to hold her as we both cried together. As we were going through the investigation, I was told to not talk to her about anything. I was told that when she did come to me with something, I was not to show any type of reaction. I was not very obedient. When she would tell me details of her abuse or talk about her fears, when she would wake up crying from a bad dream or panic when she had to go to school, my heart would hurt so much and the only thing I knew to do was cry with her. I couldn't help it. I couldn't take away her pain, but I could share it with her. She wasn't alone. I felt so helpless and I wanted her to know that she had a mother who loved her so much. I would walk along side her every step of the way, no matter how long or hard this journey would be. I know I'll never be able to understand everything she has experienced or felt and I don't mean to minimize her situation by saying this is about me in any way. She is the one with the real super hero powers. She is my hero in a little 7 year old body.

You did it, Princess! You did it!

It's Monday!

Since my last two posts were a little gloomy, I wanted you to know that I really am doing okay. Today was my day in the school so Kate and Henry had to go to daycare. Today is the first day that Henry has NOT cried when I left him. He was nervous and whimpering a little bit but not huge fit like he has done every other time. It's amazing how much better that made my day go.

I took the advice of my 4 year old and wore my confidence through pretty clothes and lots of makeup; my my red sweater and high heeled boots. I flipped my hair out today and decided that I would fake my confidence and let someone else call my bluff. It worked!


(I promise, no more pictures of me for a while!! I just wanted to show you that I'm doing much better with life today. I still hate my bangs!!! and think you can see a little too much of my face but it was nice to not have it hanging in my eyes and when it gets too long I start to feel drug down so this is a good change for me. I know, get over it already, it's just hair! I am, not more hair posts!)

So, on to some other non-sense:

Here's a list of foods my kids refuse to eat:
Zach hates cheese!
Justyn hates eggs, tomatoes, and mushrooms!
Shaelynne hates bread!
Alexys hates chicken and other hard to chew meats!
Kathryn hates chocolate!
Henry prefers to not eat anything! He still only likes to have drinks!
Ken hates peas, watermelon, and artichokes!
I hate hot cereal and cooked apples!

I am mean and I don't cater to the likes and dislikes of my children. Can you see why? What would I cook? These are the meals that can be entirely devoured by one child alone.
Zach loves stroganoff with rice!
Justyn loves pizza!
Shaelynne loves chicken and rice!
Alexys loves hoagies!
Kathryn loves...I don't know!
Henry loves pancakes!
Ken loves ribs!
I love french fries!

At least there's enough of us that we can rotate the meals around so that each child gets totally full at least once a week.

Still grouchy!

It's now Sunday afternoon and I have not done a very good job at being the kind of mother I had psyched myself up to be this weekend. Friday night I did homework all night with the intention of having my weekend free for my kids. That meant that I shooed my kids away all night as I tried to remember this stupid math that I learned in 8th grade (and actually did well in)but can't remember any of it now. It's so frustrating and when my kids needed fed, taxied to play dates, read to, talked to, and just loved, I put them off with the excuse of "Just let me finish this and then I'll get to you." By the time I got to them, they were all asleep.

Saturday I woke up with a migraine and that set my day off bad. We were supposed to clean the church as a ward but Ken was called into work that morning so I was on my own. I got up, took some medicine and went right back to bed. I finally took the boys over to help for an hour while I came back home to try to pull my day together. My house was a mess and so I made the kids work the rest of the day. My house is really clean but what happened to all the great quality family time I had envisioned. As Ken took me out last night on our day-after-pay-day grocery shopping date, I told him that I couldn't do this anymore. I'm going to have to go back onto my depression medicine. I'm just not strong enough to pull it together on my own. I have to admit that I feel like I've failed!

To add to my grouchiness, I got my hair cut on Thursday and I feel scalped! This is the picture that keeps coming to my mind when I think about what my hair looks like. Okay, mine is a little longer than this but not much! I haven't had it this short in several years and I guess I just realized how vain and self-centered I really am. I really just like to hide behind my long hair. Shaelynne said to me, "Oh no! You are not my mom!" Kate said, "You just need to wear lots of make-up and pretty clothes so no one looks at your hair." Alexys said, "I guess family pictures are off!" Ken said, "Why is it that no one ever cuts your hair right?" I answer was, "Maybe it's not the hairstylists fault."

I had a friend once say that when we feel picked on or mistreated, we are probably picking on or mistreating someone else. My poor family! The thing that really disturbs me is that I can survive all the crap we have dealt with this last year with Ken's family but a silly hair cut flips me out.

Don't you just love self-portraits? Oh well, now you can see my problem.

This is not a sympathy post. I just hate realizing how self-centered I really am. The fact that I have behaved so badly to my children the last few days, just proves to me that I really am a brat!

Also, why do I always have headaches? GRRR!

Report Cards

Last week was parent-teacher conferences. I have some children that breeze through school and some that don't! Alexys and Justyn's teachers basically had nothing to talk about. They both have straight A's and have no behavior problems so we just talked about my classes. The teachers all know that I am in school pursuing an education degree because I get to spend time each week observing in their classes. I love it because I get to see my older kids and how they interact with their peers and teachers, I get to see the different teaching styles and I better understand their expectations for my children and I get to learn from their teaching techniques.

Shaelynne and Zachary's teachers had very different feedback for me. The common complaint was "I say something, they seem to get it, and then they turn in their homework and they have done it all wrong." "It appears to go in right but comes out scrambled." "We have no idea how to get through to them." Blah, Blah, Blah!

First, I really like all of the teachers. Like I said, I have spent time in each of their classrooms and they are all amazing teachers. Second, I know that my kids aren't perfect. Third, they try really hard! Fourth,I agree with the teachers, these two are not getting it. And Fifth, what am I supposed to do about it??????

So my mom instincts kick in here and I feel frustrated and defensive. I don't know how to help them understand what they are not getting. I've turn into a nagging mother constantly saying, "Is your homework done?" "Show me your homework!" "Get back to your homework!" The tension in our home is thick, especially between Zach and I. I had to sign a contract last night from the Principal that I would check his homework every night, feed him nutritious meals, put him to bed on time, have weekly contact with his teachers, read with him, and I can't remember what else. Funny thing is I already do all those things. Now I just do them with a really bad attitude.

I'm glad it's Friday. Hopefully, I can use the weekend to re-evaluate the needs of my children and do my part to make the few hours that my children are with me each day more pleasant. After I had finished lecturing Zach the other day, I put my arms around him and told him I loved him. He didn't say anything. I stepped back and looked in eyes and he had tears running down his face. I felt like scum. I hugged him again and kissed his cheek and apologized for not doing a better job at my mom job. Lately, I seem to do more things wrong then I do right. I only have him for 5 more years. I don't have much time left with him.

I know my kids are in the right place though. As I was visiting with the dance/p.e. teacher, we were discussing how different each of my children are. Then she became really emotional and told me that she had just bought hula-hoops for the first grade class to help them learn the waltz. I know very little about dance and so I had obviously had just missed something. I gave her a look of confusion. She smiled and said through her tears, "I know a little about Alexys from her teacher. I too was a victim of sexual abuse as a small child and I don't want her to feel uncomfortable dancing with a boy. I love her and I want her to know that my classroom is a safe place for her to be." Then she hugged me as we both cried. Later, I told Alexys about my conversation with her teacher. She gave me a hug and said, "I always wanted to grow up to be a teacher just like Mrs. J. Now I know that I can. I am going to be just like her. She is beautiful and strong, just like me!"

The Lord knows each of our individual needs, and he loves each one of us. Sometimes he sends his love to us through an angel, and sometimes he lets us be that angel in someone else's life.

Halloween Recap

I hate the effect that my homework has on my blog. I have no pictures from Halloween. I actually have no pictures of anything over the last couple of weeks. I take my camera with me, I just don't use it. I'm going to steal some pictures from my sisters blogs to update mine.

My mom had a Halloween party the weekend before Halloween. All of my siblings were there with their families except Lynnette, who lives in Indiana and Kami, whose on a mission in the Phillippines. My mom really knows how to throw a party! It was fun and the kids ate candy until they puked.

Kate as a princess!

Aly as a princess!

Henry as a puppy!

Ken as an uncle... :)

Most of the trick or treaters! You can see Justyn in his Harry Potter costume and Shaelynne was dressed up as Kelsi from High School musical. Zachary was dressed up as mature teenager and protested Halloween this year.

This is a glimpse into the chaos we lovingly call family! (I'm holding Henry in this picture).

On Halloween night, we invited my parents to come to my house. Since it was the first Halloween in years that the weather was somewhat decent (it only rained instead of snow and the weather was above freezing, very unusual for an Idaho Halloween) I let the older kids (just for the record, Zach only went as the adult chaperone) go trick or treating around the block. When they were wet, they came home and we had homemade chili, breadsticks, wassil,cheeseball and crackers and fruit pizza on chocolate chip dough. Then we watched the movie "Fly Boys" and Grandpa and Grandmp stayed the night with us for the first time ever. It was great! Thanks Mom and Dad!

Changes...

A few months ago our stake was split and we moved into the new South Stake. Our Bishop went into the Stake Presidency as a clerk so a couple weeks ago, we got a new bishop. One of the previous bishopric counselors was called as the bishop and he called the YM President to be one of his counselors, and the Elders Quorum President to be his other counselor. The High Priest group leader was called to the High Council, so that left alot change. It was hard for Zach to lose Brother J, and that change left him feeling unsure about things. As brother L was called as the new YM President, my boys are so excited about the new leaders. These leaders will play a very large role in the lives of my two older boys as they go through their teen years, and prepare for missions. As a mother, I can only do so much and then I pray for leaders who will love my boys, and meet the needs that I cannot fulfill. I have complete confidence that the leaders that the Bishop called will make this happen, and help my boys have a wonderful experience in both young men and scouting!

The other big change that our family experienced was having Ken called to serve as the Elders Quorum President. He was sustained and set apart on Sunday. I'm not sure what changes this means for our family but we know the Lord will bless us as Ken serves the brethren in his quorum. Ken has been on his knees a lot more lately.

Back to Normal

I took Zach into the chiropractor on Wednesday. He tried to work his muscles and Zach wouldn't hardly let him touch him. He finally decided that we needed to have x-rays taken. I had parent teacher conferences that afternoon and the imaging place is across the street from the school so I drug him with me. He sat in the car and was miserable while I visited with the other kids teachers. Then we went over and got his x-rays taken. They sent the films home with us but since Ken and I didn't have a clue what to look for, we had to wait until the doctor's office was open the next day to know what they showed.

Ken took the films to the doctor on Thursday. The radiologist had already sent his results over to the doctor, so after viewing the films, he told Ken that there was nothing wrong with Zach's back. Then he showed him this darky cloudy color that was all over the films. He asked Ken about Zach's bowel. Well....since Zach is 13, that is not really a question that Ken had an answer to. He called me and I honestly didn't have an answer either. I called Zach downstairs, asked him about his his history, embarrasssed him, and found out that he didn't really remember the last time either. I dug out some handy dandy medicine, and assigned him some homework!!

Problem solved! He's back to school today! I guess you could say he was just really full of it. :)