“You forgot the question mark” was the first thing he said when he saw it.
“No I didn’t. It’s more of a statement than a question.”
On Monday they spent the afternoon preparing our valentines – signing their names, over and over and over again, each one for a different friend.
For Family Home Evening we made sugar cookies, and decorated them with pink frosting. Each love frosted their own. Everett had patience for only one shmear and set about eating his. Olivia made sure the frosting covered all the cookie real estate in neat even strokes. And Calvin spread his thick, thick and globby.
The next morning, with Olivia at her kindergarten party, valentines autographed from the day before, a special treat for her teacher to boot, and Cal and eJo happy to play with Ila who came to visit, we set about making more cookies. Because who doesn’t need more cookies?
Chocolate chip to be exact, Wyatt’s favorite.
Later, Olivia, Calvin, Everett (and Ila) went to a neighborhood valentines party. More signed goodies, more treats coming home! During the break I took Wyatt a little gift of home made cookies. We promised no valentines – but home made definitely does not count. (And then he broke the treaty and brought me home tulips. Two Lips – it makes me smile).
And then the little loves finished their party, and home we went for a sugar crash. Daddy came home early to play, and with a little dinner in our tummies, we set out to give valentines to all the friends in the neighborhood we had missed.
And when it came bed time the kids went to sleep without a peep, happy and high on sugar, exhausted on activity.
tonight i am typing on my laptop – something i try to avoid ever since calvin got a hold of it last spring and busted some keys – including the all important ‘shift’ – there will be no capitalization tonight. i may go back later to try and fix it. then again, i may not.
ten years ago today wyatt and i were celebrating our first valentines together by getting on an airplane and flying off to china. salt lake city was the toast of the world, hosting the 2002 winter olympics, and we were leaving the glowing hulabaloo for an unknown adventure in the heart of asia.
that morning i handed wyatt a brown paper bag – my first valentine to him – a few of his favorite candy bars for the flight, and a baseball, signed by yours truly.
and we spent the rest of the day in the air – watching the map on the in flight navigator as we climbed northward along the pacific coast, over alaska, across the bering sea and down the asian side of the pacific. it was very boring.
which sidetracks me to a list:
seas traversed in one way or another:
the bering sea
the baltic sea
the red sea
the dead sea
the mediterenean sea
the sea of galilea
the adriadic sea
the caribbean sea
interesting.
well, there should be more to this story than there is. but really, all of our very first valentines day was spent on airplanes to beijing. how romantic is that?
oh, don’t you worry, there will be a post tomorrow about our tenth valentines. it’s much more interesting.
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 I was going to write a “Tales for Tuesday” for her, and publish it on Wednesday. But Wednesday I forgot, I was participating in an online protest.
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.
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.
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!!
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).
Last year I took a hiatus from personal growth. Bringing a baby into the world was all the physical, emotional, and spiritual effort I could muster. I had nothing in me to do anything else.
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.
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?
Because of everything going on I never have time to blog over Christmas -
But there’s so much I want to write about.
So I’m going write one big Christmas catch up post of the happenings at our house this season.
Calvin cut his own hair ... thus he has a buzz cut for Christmas.
Activities with the Kids –
The thing I was most excited about was Christmas break – two whole weeks with my kids home to play all day! Glory!! I don’t think Calvin and Olivia caught the awesomeness of the situation, but we’ve tried to have fun.
Looking at the Jelly Fish at the aquarium.
We went to the aquarium twice. Thanks to our friends Nicole & Emmett, we now have year long passes to the aquarium. I will admit, I went several years ago when it first opened and wasn’t too impressed, and haven’t been back. I’ve told my kids that “the aquarium” is the free fish tank displays at Cabela’s. But the real aquarium is now officially fantastic – with sting rays to pet and star fish to hold and penguins to feed, and a giant sea turtle and sharks and an octopus . . . it was great. And the kids loved it!
Looking at the fish at the aquarium.
We also were invited by our friends the Engh’s to go see the window displays at the Grand America hotel downtown. They have a bunch of “window displays” throughout the hotel (inside, so you don’t have to freeze your hiney off!) and then they have a little game where you look for hidden things in each window. Then when you’re done you take your card back to this amazing toy store they have inside the hotel, and they give you a sticker. Then you take the sticker to the bakery in the hotel and they give you a giant star cookie. Oh, so much fun!
Looking at the window displays.
We also invited friends over to play, and spent the week making cookies and treats.
Christmas Traditions -
I made Olivia a scripture cover.
Part of the reason I was too busy to blog is I spent my evenings wrapping presents (have I ever mentioned how particular I am about gift presentation?) and finishing up my one home made gift this year: a scripture cover for Olivia’s Book of Mormon that she got for Christmas. We gave her a big BOM, just like I had when I was a kid so as she learns to read she can see the print and follow along/read from her own scriptures. I think the cover turned out cute so I was pretty proud of myself.
Olivia's scripture cover and Book of Mormon
We also had our annual Christmas Eve Dinner. We invited Jared and his kids, but they didn’t make it, so it was just us this year. Our menu included:
Spiral honey ham
Butter sauted green beans with candied almonds
Butternut squash with a honey cinnamon glaze
Garlic mashed potatoes & gravy
Fruit salad a’la Melinda
Rolls
Martinelli’s apple sparkler
Cheesecake for desert
As usual I had a hard time cooking for just us, so we will have leftovers for a week!
Christmas Eve Dinner
Everett shows off his Christmas slippers.
We also opened one gift on Christmas Eve (Wyatt wanted to open them all, but I was a scrooge and said no). Usually we get the kids jammies for Christmas Eve, but we just replenished our jammie stash in October, so it seemed superfluous. So instead we got the kids slippers. I was afraid it would be an exceptionally boring gift for the loves, but they seemed very pleased. eJo just couldn’t show them off enough, and Olivia kept saying “I’ve always wanted some of these!”
We cuddled up on the bed for a Christmas Eve movie.
Hanging out on Christmas Eve
Wyatt and I took an over/under on the wake up time for Christmas morning. Wyatt said before 7 am, I said after.
A treat left for "Satna" by Olivia
At 5:50 when I was sending Everett back downstairs because “it wasn’t morning yet,” I knew I lost. We finally relented and got up at 6:53 to start the festivities.
It was a very successful Christmas. I think the kids were pleased with their loot, and it wasn’t too stressful or too much.
Today I will feature two Tales for Tuesday – because they’re both short.
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?
This is something I have been thinking about since mid October, when I saw Soleil Moon Frye (remember Punky Brewster?) pedaling her new book on some TV show – she was talking about motherhood, and how you have to “embrace the mess” and not worry about how life and the house gets messy, just enjoy it for what it is . . .
And then they showed pictures of her and her children “in their mess . . .” — it seriously looked like they were at a party, with colorful banners and things, and Soleil looking adoringly at her daughter. And it made me gag.
My mess doesn’t look like a party. My mess looks like a mess.
And I can’t hire someone to come clean it up for me.
Then a few days later I was blog surfing and came across a mommy blog where some woman was talking about the fun things she does with her kids. I can get on board with that. I talk about the fun thing I do with my kids all the time . . .
And then I read her sidebar. It said – and I quote:
“I am a fun mom. I don’t worry if the house gets dirty.”
And I stopped reading right there. I clicked the x at the top of the tab, and closed the blog never to return again.
Because really, does never worrying about your house make you a fun mom? And by fun, I mean, better than me?
I’ve heard women complain that mommy blogs make them feel like they have to “keep up” with the picture perfect reality portrayed on the internet. I’ve never really felt that about other blogs that I’ve read (excepting the one I mentioned above of course.)
But then I got on Pinterest -
My life would be so much better if I had blah blah blah . . .
Those moms must be AMAZING if they have time to make blah blah blah . . .
I wish I was blah blah blah . . .
Like a teenager being pushed to anorexia by the media’s portrayal of “ideal” – I somehow felt inferior by my very “fat” and ordinary life.
And so I did what any normal teenage girl who loves yummy food would do – I turned the media off. I got off Pinterest. I even stopped reading other blogs for a while.
“Did you see?” my friends would ask me.
“Nope.”
And then I remembered an afternoon long ago – it was just after I had graduated from college. Something happened – my life was in crisis. Not just “hey, you’re having a bad day” sort of stuff, but long term I’m going to be facing these challenges for years sort of stuff.
And I remember sitting at work, feeling like I was about to go postal with all the stress and sadness I felt.
And then the words came – “Count your Blessings.” (Complete with a tune!)
So I started a list. It’s still taped into my journal. It was 52 points long before my work shift was over. And they were real blessings too – not just things like “the sky is blue today” but real things that were long term blessings I have had in my life.
By the end of the day I felt so optimistic about my life. How could it get any better?!
And the same is true today. Even on the days when all I do is tackle that mountain of laundry that I swear was just done yesterday, or run errands that should only take a few hours but end up taking all day, or burn the dinner or read books to the kids or attend school Christmas programs or listen to Calvin tell me all about how he’s “hungry” – does life ever get any better than this?
I think not.
And so, I present you with my picture perfect reality.
Calvin made me a leaf bug. It sits in my kitchen window sill now.
Olivia and Calvin both had Christmas programs at their schools. LOVE.
Olivia frosted all the sugar cookies we made the other night all by herself.
Andrew has taken to chewing on his fingers (look at him sit up!)
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . (Wyatt and the kids LOVE fires in the evenings).
Went to McD’s for some happiness.
Baby’s got blue eyes, but they burn, so brightly for her (name that song.)
Best thing about this photo: We weren’t even posing – we were just sitting and reading when Carrie grabbed my camera and started snapping away! Look, even Daisy’s in on the gig.
Seriously, who doesn’t love a naked cowboy?
The best Friday nights are spent at the Home Depot looking at keys and tractors. (Well, Cal would probably think it would be better if we actually bought some too.)
The house in which I grew up, which was (and is) referred to as simply, “The Yellow House,” had a very steep roof. This was a simple fact of my childhood, confirmed into impressive reality when my brother-in-law, Lance, who roofed houses as a profession for a time, gave his considered opinion that the house was an 8-10 or maybe even a 9-10 pitch.
And a very steep roof is good for many things.
One of which was told to me in hilarious fashion by my brother Larry this past weekend as we were visiting him. We were recalling the miracle that we escaped our own childhoods with our lives, and even congratulating ourselves on our, for the most part, minor injuries when we recalled that a neighbor friend had very badly broken his wrist at our house.
Larry told the story:
They were playing on the pool house roof (which, it must be said, was not as steep as the rest of the roof), as the roof was being finished. There was tar paper on the bottom two feet of the structure, but above that only plywood covered by a giant tarp. As the workers were gone for the day, there seemed nothing more fun than to utilize the giant slip and slide that seemed to be made just for us.
And so Larry, so clever, grabbed the garden hose and hauled it up to the roofline, in tow with a giant bottle of dish soap. A perfect slippery mess was made, and each child enjoyed their ride down the slope, stopping themselves before the two foot edge and drop to the back yard below.
But then Josh, a childhood friend of Larry’s went very last, after the tarp was all slicked up real good. He was unable to stop himself, and fell the full ten feet to the yard below.
Surgery was required.
And of course, the story that lives in infamy in the Brock children annals happened in the snow storm of 1994. A great amount of snow accumulated – so much that school was closed for two days straight.
And when the plow came through our drive, shoving great piles several of snow several feet high up onto the flower beds, what was there to do, but to go sledding?
And so, out the upstairs bathroom we climbed, sledding tobogans tied to our wrists, as we built make shift stairs in the snow on the roof – up to the ridgeline we climbed. We walked the ridgeline to where we found a suitable launch site. The day was spent – down the roof, down the snow piles, down the driveway, down the hill to the middle front yard. Then back through the downstairs entry way, up the stairs to the bathroom, out the window, and back up the roof line.
That was great fun.
I wonder now at the water we must have tracked through the house in the form of melting snow, or the day spent with the window wide open during a snow storm.
EE & I in the freakin' ugly blanket on the Reservation.
Today is Emily Elmer’s Birthday (who is no longer Emily Elmer, but Emily Bowers instead).
And so I thought it would be good to write a story about living on the Indian Reservation.
While we lived on the Res. it behooved us to make friends with some of the local kids. Great kids that the world was trying hard to forget, they were amazing at inventing their own fun.
And so one night one of the boys we befriended decided a soccer game in the desert would be appropriate.
A tennis ball and an old sheet was all he needed. He stripped the sheet and wrapped and wrapped and wrapped that thing until a ball roughly the size of a soccer ball was made.
Then with four old tires and a five gallon can of gasoline, we headed out in the pick up truck to the darkest part of the desert.
We poured gasoline into the inside rims of the tires, set up on opposite sides of a makeshift field. Then the ball was soaked. Last item needed – a match. And the desert lit up like Disneyland . . .
The ball was a little heavy, and the boys got a little to into the fun, and kicked the ball without regard – it would go flying like a comet and everyone around would duck. But the night was spent laughing and ducking and chasing that flaming soccer ball across the dark sands.
When it finally died out, and the gas was gone, we turned our play to desert around. The giant dunes begging us to leave our footprints in them.
Up the dune we climbed, down the dune we slid. It was so cold in the desert at night, and there were at least a billion stars out, like I’ve never seen before or since.
I still have burn marks on my shoes that I wore during our game of flaming soccer, an eternal reminder of the fun and folly of youth.
This story is dedicated to Carrie, because she wanted me to write this one.
When I was probably about thirteen or so, we decided to have a grand adventure. Don’t ask me exactly who all “we” were – I remember my cousin Hazen was there because he whined about the experience all the rest of our growing up (Hazen, bless his heart, was notoriously wimpy when it came to grand adventures) (Sorry, Hazen, but it’s true).
So, there was me, and Hazen, and my sister Carrie because she told me so, although why I would have dragged her along is beyond me . . . she must have only been about seven or eight at the time. I must have been in a very good mood to let such a little thing tag along.
Other fellow adventureres? If I had to guess I would say probably Larry and my cousin Everett, and hmm, maybe Leslee?
So it was a hot, boring day. I remember sitting in the humid air of the pool house, lamenting the sterile conditions of an indoor swimming pool. Somehow either Larry or I knew about some “hidden lakes” – not first hand knowledge mind you, but legends, like secrets, told among fellow adventurers. The story was if you just followed the creek far enough . . .
And so we set off in our swim suits and flip flops – down the hill to where the creek crossed under the road, and then down to the creek bottom, rocky and cold. We went up the creek, against the current – the only way we ever went, though I’m not sure why.
Trouble was, we’d played at that waterway for as long as forever. We’d walked up the bed as far as children are ever willing to walk of their own accord; and we’d never seen any lakes.
But today we were determined. Even if it meant we’d walk all the way to the head waters.
And so we spent the afternoon shin deep in mountain runoff, meandering our way through the cottonwoods, the afternoon light dappled through their canopy. After a long while we passed the “farthest point” we had been too. Still, the heat of the day encouraged us to push on.
But after a certain point we became bored of our game, and wanted only to go home.
And that is always the worst part – the part where you realize that you just want to go home, but you have still that entire way to return!
Thinking we must not be too very far from home, and knowing that the creek wove in and out of familiar roads, we thought our quickest exit would simply be to climb the bank and berm and find the nearest road.
And so up the creekside we went, only to find a neatly trimmed hedge, clearly marking someone’s property. The hedge was only four feet high or so, no trouble to a capable kid. So we crossed right over to find:
A hidden lake sparkling in the afternoon sun! Like a dream there was a willow, her branches weeping into the water, ducks floated over the murky green, and across the way was a charming (humongous) house.
Still tired and hot from the afternoon, even the excitement of our discovery couldn’t sway us to stay. Perhaps the people in the house would know the quickest way home . . . perhaps they would even give us a ride.
We walked around the lake and to the side of the house, approaching the garage and front – when suddenly we heard the menacing clamor and bark of two very large dogs approaching. And then, around the corner of the house they shot – two doberman pinchers making their way, full speed straight at us.
“Run!” is all I remember yelling. And then it was every man for himself, as we all darted and dove, and ran in mad dash for cover. Hazen ran straight for the house, and actually took sanctuary inside. Larry and I made it back to the creek, although we were separated. Carrie, the true hero of the day, ran into the woods and fell down a four foot embankment where one of the dogs overtook her. But, as was reported later, the dog had no interest in eating her, but licking her instead.
Later, after we had our wits about us, Larry and I decided we must return to gather everyone up (at least what remained . . .) and so we timidly retraced our steps, looking for the others. We found everyone, Carrie very last. And then an old man in a golf cart appeared and asked what the heck we were doing. We explained ourselves, and he bemused that we were lucky the dogs didn’t find us. He loaded us up in his cart and shuttled us down his long, long drive to the road – the very back end of Walker Lane. Though we knew where we were in relation to home, it was going to be a long, long walk.
I returned to the Three Lakes (for later we found that there were three lakes, each one feeding into the next) only a handful of times over the coming years (always avoiding the house with the dogs). After that first visit we always came and went via the creek, and I don’t remember how to get there on the road. But I have this strange and ghostly memory of being there with Ashley, my best friend from Waterford. She lived at the top of Walker Lane, and the three lakes must have been in her ward boundaries. I shall have to ask her what she knows about them – where they are, who lives on them, and the sort of things grown ups like to know.
In writing this I think I shall also add “Walk the creek” to my list of things to do next summer. It would be great fun to revisit the setting of not only this, but many other childhood adventures.
When I’m a little old lady
Then I’ll live with my chidlren and bring them great joy
To repay all I’ve had from each girl and boy
I shall draw on the walls and scuff up the floors
Run in and out without closing the door.
I’ll hide frogs in the pantry, socks under my bed
Whenever they scold me, I’ll just hang my head.
I’ll run and I’ll romp, always fritter away
The time to be spent doing chores every day.
I’ll pester my children when they’re on the phone.
As long as they’re busy, won’t leave them alone.
Hide candy in closets, rocks in a drawer,
And never pick up my clothes from the floor.
Dash off to the movies and not wash a dish.
I’ll plead for allowance whenever I wish.
I’ll scuff up the plumbing and deluge the floor.
As soon as they’ve mopped it, I’ll flood it some more.
When they correct me, I’ll lie down and cry,
Kicking and screaming, not a tear in my eye.
I’ll take all their pencils and flashlights and then
When they buy new ones, I’ll take them again.
I’ll spill glasses of milk to complete every meal
Eat my banana and just drop the peel.
Put toys on the table, spill jam on the floor,
I’ll break lots of dishes as though I were four;
What fun I shall have, what joy it will be To live with my children like they lived with me.
I found this on my counter the other day. I have no idea where it came from, but I giggled and giggled when I read it. It’s nice to know that my children aren’t so far left from normal. I do so look forward to the day . . .
You are doing God’s work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you, and He will bless you, even — no, especially — when your days and your nights may be most challenging. Like the woman who anonymously, meekly, perhaps even with hesitation and some embarrassment, fought her way through the crowd just to touch the hem of the Master’s garment, so Christ will say to the women who worry and wonder and weep over their responsibility as mothers, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.’ And it will make your children whole as well — Jeffrey R. Holland
Artsy Fartsy
Now I’m on Instagram! {Even More Pictures to Take}
“You forgot the question mark” was the first thing he said when he saw it.
For Family Home Evening we made sugar cookies, and decorated them with pink frosting. Each love frosted their own. Everett had patience for only one shmear and set about eating his. Olivia made sure the frosting covered all the cookie real estate in neat even strokes. And Calvin spread his thick, thick and globby.
During the break I took Wyatt a little gift of home made cookies. We promised no valentines – but home made definitely does not count. (And then he broke the treaty and brought me home tulips. Two Lips – it makes me smile).
And then the little loves finished their party, and home we went for a sugar crash. Daddy came home early to play, and with a little dinner in our tummies, we set out to give valentines to all the friends in the neighborhood we had missed.
