When the summer comes again, and I am eating ice cream and laughing with friends beneath the glittering canopy of kerr lanterns, his wife will be a widow, bearing the cross that no mortal hand can lift.

And when I am taking my babies to the rodeo, to watch the cowboys ride and the cowgirls wave, he will be beyond the veil, with knowledge and understanding of those things you always wonder about, but can never bear to fully contemplate.

Today he bore his final testimony before us, the stake he has served so faithfully. His words were of optimism, and of joy. He spoke of the things he has tried to teach us over the years. His most emphatic point: “We are going to make it.”

He assured us that the good lives we are living will seal us to our Father as if we have our election made sure. He told us “we are made of the good stuff.”

He bore his testimony of the witness through the Spirit that he had of the Savior. He assured us that he is a defender of the faith.

And all I could think about was the journey he is about to take – the joy and the bitterness all in the same moment. When my baby is 50, with children and maybe grandchildren of his own, President Petersen will be a faded memory to the world, with few recalling that he ever did live.

But I imagine the Savior won’t forget, and I imagine his testimony will seal the work of his life and open the gates of exaltation to him and his posterity.

And I think that is the reason I felt so honored to be a part of our meetings today.

So today she shall have her story.

When Andi and I were eleven or twelve years old we would on occasion walk ourselves a mile down the road to the old Cottonwood Mall, where we would have lunch at TGI Fridays – chicken fingers, french fries and raspberry apple sauce. It felt very independent and very mature to be going to lunch by ourselves.

And the walk wasn’t so bad. There was water culvert to splash in on the hot days. There was a horse pasture where we could stop and pet an admiring Equine or two. And there was the Holiday cemetery – we never went in, but could entertain each other with stories as we walked trepidly past.

And on one such occasion we were about half way there – just past the pasture, coming up on the cemetery – when we passed by a giant raspberry bush, full and laden with the biggest, the reddest, the ripest raspberries you ever did see. They were just begging to be eaten – the hot sun reflecting on each perfect bubble of red deliciousness.

And so we helped ourselves. That bush was so full. I had never seen so many giant berries before or since, and have often wondered what particular species they were, they were so big.

We ate some. And then we ate some more. We sat down on the hot asphalt to make ourselves comfortable as we ate even more. And then, when we were sure we couldn’t eat any more raspberries, we decided to use our t-shirts as baskets, filling them with the remaining berries, picking that bush clean dry. We ate the rest as we walked home, abandoning our desires for any other lunch.

We ruined our shirts that day with big red splashy stains, convicting us of our guilt.

But of course no one knew a crime had been committed.

It wasn’t until years later — years and years – like just last year, that it occurred to me that those bushes probably actually belonged to someone.

So there they were, off on their way to work, or errands or where ever the wind was taking them that day, and they knew their bush was full and ready for them to come home and pick – ready to reap their harvest.

But when they returned not a berry was in sight!

And raspberries have been my favorite fruit ever since.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

Check out that bedhead, and that “I just woke up, get that camera out of my face” scowl. Ah, Everett, will I ever grow accustomed to you adorable-ness?

Roo got to eat his first foods – oh so exciting, if only he could figure out how to get his tongue to work so it doesn’t just push the food out and away. We’ll keep practicing.

I found this “CTR” on the top of the piano the other day when cleaning. Olivia made it out of waxed string. (And yes, that is post-christmas glitter, still littering my pianotop).

We’ve had such an unusual January – the other day we went outside to ride scooters (coats weren’t really even necessary, but felt important by me nonetheless).

Yes, Olivia poses now when ever I take a picture of her. She’s got it down, wouldn’t you say?

After a mildly stressful week we decided to have a low key Saturday – jammies all day! Wyatt played legos with the boys!

Wyatt impressed all with his car building ability.

Everett made a nice stack.

And Cal made a house (and windmill, not shown here).

And Roo played happily on the floor – out of reach of any legos that he might try to consume. We didn’t need to add an Emergency Room trip to our day.

Olivia confided that she wanted a canopy over her bed – like a canopy bed with posts, but I told her I had something better! (Ta Da!) Upstairs in the closet I had this old net that I made for Olivia’s baby room. It hung over her crib, but has been in storage for a few years. I’m so glad it’s getting used again! (We had to rearrange her flower poufs, which she was quite concerned about, but in the end I think she was rather pleased). (Click on the picture to see a detail of her room).

After that Olivia wanted to play in her room all day. So we played Barbies. Here are all her dolls, dressed modestly and ready to go. (Mostly modestly).

“Why do they even make those dresses?” Olivia asked me about her immodest Barbie dresses. I was stumped. Why do they even make those dresses?

Our group with friends from Estonia, on the shores of the Baltic Sea.

When I was nineteen I spent a semester living in Moscow, teaching English as a second language to ten year olds.

But that’s another story.

While there we went on a trip where we visited Helsinki, Stockholm, and Tallinn, Estonia.

And it’s at the port in Tallinn where this story begins.

We had left Moscow a week earlier, sharing the news with a Russian LDS kid of our plans . . . well, that Russian kid knew a Finnish girl from Youth Conference, and her mother knew an Estonian woman via the internet, and that Estonian woman knew some “Mormons” – and those Mormons were sure to let us stay with them.

Get it?

Russian Boy –> Finnish Girl –> Finnish Mother –> Internet –> Estonian Woman –> Mormon Family

Only trouble was, this was all hearsay when we loaded the ship to cross the Baltic sea from Stockholm to Tallinn. When we arrived at the port we weren’t really sure what was to happen, never having actually made contact with these supposed Mormons.

But when we arrived there was a teenage girl, about fifteen, and her dad standing behind her, holding a sign that read “LDS Friends.”

We figured it was for us.

Kristi, the teenage girl, had taken the day off school, and her father the day off work, because they didn’t know what time their “LDS friends” would arrive in port. All they knew was that we would come on Friday. They had been standing there all morning with their sign, watching as each ship came to port, waiting for us, their “LDS Friends” to arrive. Kristi was the only one in the family to speak English, and her father was the only one who could drive, so they were both imperative to getting us where we needed to be.

Now, to appreciate this story you have to understand a little bit about the recent history of Estonia. It was a part of the former Soviet Union, and only gained complete independence in 1994, just five years prior to this trip. As part of the post-soviet landscape, the economy was particularly hard hit, and most Estonians struggled to provide basic necessities for their families. The Mormon father who met us at the dock provided for his family by using his van in running a taxi service.

But he took the entire weekend off work that particular weekend to cart the ten of us Americans (okay, one British, and one Canuk was with us), around Tallinn for our touristy pleasure.

He also called the entire branch and arranged for housing accommodations for all of us.

But I was lucky, Lyndsi & I got to stay with this gentleman, his daughter (Kristi) and his entire family of nine children. Apparently generosity didn’t end at the American tourists. He and his wife had adopted two children from the local orphanages because they had severe health conditions (one needed a heart transplant!) and would otherwise die in the impoverished state run institutions.

That night he, and the entire branch, took us all out to see “Bolshoy Pappa” — in America it’s called “Big Daddy.” To this day it’s the only Adam Sandler movie that I like, and it’s only because of my memories of this weekend.

Anyway, he wouldn’t let us pay for our own tickets. Believe me, we tried. When was the last time you paid for ten extra people at the movie theater?

The next day we needed to run some errands to the embassy and Russian embassy for visas and what not. Then he carted us around to all the beautiful and amazing sights the city had to offer. Tallinn really is the best kept secret in Europe in my opinion. It was such a beautiful city.

Well, it turned out we chose the VERY BEST WEEKEND to visit Estonia, because that Sunday they were dedicating the very first chapel in all of the Baltic States! So that Saturday night there was an open house at the chapel and a dance. It was so much fun to spend an evening with the Saints and missionaries from all over Tallinn as they celebrated their new building.

That night Kristi and her dad drove everyone home (oh yeah, Kristi’s dad also gave everyone rides to church each week – picking up branch members from all over the city because he was one of the few who owned his own vehicle).

And then he took us home, but on our way he stopped at a gas station by the sea, and got us each hot dogs. Gas station hot dogs are the best, even in Estonia. So we sat by the sea, and watched the stars and ate hot dogs, and it might have been the best night ever.

The next day was the dedication of the chapel. As the intermittent hymn we sang “The Spirit of God” and man, oh man the spirit was strong when three languages (Finnish, English and Estonian) each sang the hymn and then all came together for the “Hosanna.”

That afternoon we had to board our train back to Moscow. We set our bags out and gave hugs to our unbelievable hosts. Our Estonian mother gave Lyndsi and I a bag of food to share with the others on the train. In the bag was enough food to last the ten of us a week! As she gave us our final hugs she handed each of us a little glass jar. In it was her own home-grown honey from her own bees she kept behind her house. With tears in her eyes she told us that she hoped to someday be able to go to the temple, though she couldn’t imagine how. I couldn’t either, but I hoped.

A year later or so President Hinkley announced that a temple would be built in Helsinki, and my heart flew with happiness. Helsinki was just a short boat trip across the sea and surely my Estonian mother would be able to go to the temple as she wished.

These days life is very busy. Life is very full. Wyatt and I each comment at times that though we’ve had our own adventures in our youth, they dim in our memories in comparison the the adventures of today. But when ever I pull out a new bottle of honey, I always think of my Estonian family, of the sacrifices they made for me, a complete stranger. I think about how I will never be able to repay them. I think about how my testimony grew on the other side of the world where the gospel was new and young and tender. I think about the stars, shining over the Baltic, reflecting in the sea, and eating hot dogs with a family who would forever be in my heart.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

For New Years we had the Smiths, Fergs, Fletchers, Enghs, & Soris over to party! Kellie brought “Just Dance 2″ for the Wii, and it was a real riot as even the guys took off their “too cool” hats, and jumped up to dance.

A night of dancing and games and then ringing in the new year with pops firecrackers – a great way to kick off 2012!!

PS- Hopefully more videos coming soon!

It’s hard to make chicken noodle soup for yourself when you’re sick. There should be a “dial some soup” hot line for mammas when they’re sick – make a call and a big homemade pot gets delivered half an hour later.

But then I remembered this.

At five thirty I had just set the oven to preheat – we only eat freezer meals, remember? – and no sooner had I pushed the button than a knock came at the door. I made my way to the door – still in my PJ’s, hair unbrushed, teeth unbrushed, but whatever.

And there was my neighbor Tiana, with rolls and cookies and even pudding and Jello for Calvin. A few minutes later Nicole arrived with homemade chicken noodle soup. Because they had seen/read on Facebook about little super Cal and had plotted together to bring us dinner.

And I wanted to cry.

And I was even so overcome by loveliness of it all that I ate my own bowl of soup. (Which is the first time I’ve eaten after 5:00 in two months).

–From this post

Maybe I should make a GIANT pot and then call around the neighborhood and see who else is sick.

And now I have four little loves, and my body is (as much as it ever is as mother) my own. I’m ready to get back to becoming the person I wish I was.

Goals and Improvements of 2012

• read my scriptures and say my personal prayers each day.
• lose 15 pounds.
• create one new painting a month.
• live a more quiet life.

So, about ten days before Christmas or so, we received a knock & run at the door. Outside was a treat and a basket with a stable (see picture) and two notes.

One told us that we were being Secret Santa’d and would receive one piece of the nativity each night, the other one told the significant of the stable.

Then each night we received a new treat and gift and note.

And it wasn’t just little gifts, they were lovely BIG treats like you might expect as a one-time-only sort of gift, not night after night.

Each night we put our basket out, and the kids had so much fun checking to see if we’d received our piece of the nativity — okay, so I really have a hard time with curiosity. I so wanted to know who my secret santa was, and one night I went out to try to see who it was, and after that they stopped knocking on the door, they just left the gift – so after that we’d just go out and check throughout the evening.

We never did figure out who it was. (Bummer). But it was SO MUCH FUN to get a piece of the nativity each night. It really gave our house a buzz of excitement and a shot of Christmas Spirit as we talked about the pieces and watched the nativity come together.

So THANK YOU Secret Santa, who ever you are, for bringing Christ’s birth to the forefront of our Christmas! Merry Christmas!!

PS – Isn’t this nativity perfect for little hands who want to play?

One:

The Time I was Smooshed By a Large Lady while Crash Landing in a Hot Air Balloon

When I was in third, maybe fourth grade, I went on a trip to Palm Springs, California, where we took a hot air balloon ride. I’m not exactly sure what happened (adult stuff I wasn’t privy too), but for some reason the pilot of the vessel decided to take us on a real ride, rather than just tethering us to the ground.

So, off we went across the California dessert . . . until we ran out of fuel. And then there was trouble. We started loosing altitude. We were so far out, and this was the days before cell phones or what not. There must have been a radio or walkie talkie or something, but all I know is we were far enough out into the desert that we weren’t going to make it back to the hotel. So instead, we braced for a crash landing.

And we crashed.

And the large lady fell on top of me and smooshed me, which was the scariest part of it all.

Then we had to wander around in the desert until we found a trailer house and borrowed their phone and then waited for an hour for someone to come pick us up. Good times.

Two:

In which I was Featured in A Norwegian Newspaper During the 1994 Winter Olympics.

When I was in 8th grade we went to Norway to watch the Winter Olympics, which were being held in Oslo. Oslo is a beautiful city, and the events were so exciting. But the greatest fun was the activities after the events. One such activity was when we went dog sledding across the Norwegian country side.

Each person rode with the driver, meaning you went by yourself on a little loop through the woods and open fields before returned back to the group where the next person got their turn.

As we came around the bend back to the group all I saw was  bunch a people with cameras around their necks. So I blurted out (without thinking, which, unfortunately is just like me):

“Feel free to take my picture now!”

And it turns out one of the photographers worked for an Oslo newspaper, and my picture appeared the next day.

Oh, didn’t you know I’m an international super star?

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.