Christmas 2008

The kids had their Christmas concert last night. Since we were all looking festive, we took advantage of the opportunity to take some pictures.

A long semester

After a studying really hard for a final and trying to finish up my English portfolio, Ken brought me home flowers. They were beautiful. I say "were" because the next day Henry was picking the pretty flowers, he likes to use them as swords, and he knocked the whole arrangement upside down onto the floor. Most of the flowers broke off, the arrangement was ruined. It was beautiful. Thanks Ken for thinking of me and loving me.

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