Growing Up in Virginia

Sweet Emma Grace opened a can full of memories for me the other night when she asked me to tell her stories about when I was her age.  Ooh, to be in 4th, 5th, and 6th grade again!  

My happiest childhood memories of friends and adventures happened when we lived on Morning Dew Court in Springfield Virginia.  Or rather, I should say, I remember so much about life in this blue house- walking to the nearby community pool, chasing down the ice cream truck so we could buy candy, playing Capture the Flag and Cops and Robbers after dark, adventuring in the woods behind our house, catching crayfish in the creek, riding bikes to the bigger creek that was sometimes overflowing with spring runoff, my first babysitting job, playing Barbies at my frenemy Meredith's house, making plans to meet at the 'green box' after school, bus patrol, proudly singing the Newington Forest fight song, finding out that I was selected to be in the gifted and talented program in 4th and 5th, but not 6th grade (oh, the embarrassment of having to walk back to class!).  

I remember telling my 5th grade class that in Mali people eat peanuts with the shells on- we were supposed to bring a food from the country (back in the day when the only way you learned anything about anything was by going to the library and reading up on it.  There was no Googling Mali cuisine back then and I brought in a major export from the African country only to find out that we were supposed to bring in an actual dish and I make up this ridiculous story instead).  Another time I presented a commercial about string cheese, and another time I told my mom a night or two before that I had signed up to bring baklava to culture day (again, no Googling recipes back then!  I can only imagine what cookbook she had on hand that happened to have a recipe for baklava in it), dressing up for colonial day (the 13 original colonies are a really big deal when you live in one of them!), growing and releasing butterflies in 4th grade, all of my teachers and assemblies and class plays and feeling real school pride as a Newington Forest Knight.  This was a great place to grow up!

I remember playing in the cul-de-sac and in all of the backyards on this street.  One time I didn't go home when I supposed to, and my mom had left and locked me out of the house!  I learned to always go home on time after that.  Another time I wanted to make stilts out of wood and I wasn't happy when my dad (who worked in the Pentagon and probably would classify this as the most stressful stint of his Army career) said not right now so I pulled out a saw and proceeded to cut my thumb instead of the wood.  It was in this house that I snooped around for presents and then had to act extra excited about the strap-on roller blades that I received on Christmas morning. 

This neighborhood holds my only trick-or-treating memories, and I could probably still point out the jackpot house that had the full-sized candy bars.  This was the neighborhood where I sold Valentines Day cakes to neighbors, and then asked my mom how I could fulfill the orders. 

Look closely at my fifth grade class picture- no not at the feathery bangs, check out that golden lizard pin on my shirt!

Thanks to Grandpa Mark for holding on to this treasure of a clay creation from my childhood- this was originally supposed to be George Washington, but somehow it morphed into Mr. Holderbaum, the principal at my elementary school. 

Grandpa also had the Morning Dew Court poem that Bob wrote for all of the kids on the street- it must have been a magical place for everyone who lived there. "On a wonderful street with the name Morning Dew live many dear children, more than a few.... It's really amazing, amazing but true.  This street is blessed, our street Morning Dew". 

There really were a lot of kids on this street!

In some ways, the Morning Dew Court era marked the end of my early childhood.  I was in a standard K-6 elementary school here, and halfway through my 6th grade year in Mrs. Banks' classroom our family moved to upstate New York, where I started attending a 6-12 junior/high school along with Aaron and Heather.  There were no more pods and playgrounds and class plays and field day, suddenly I was surrounded by lockers and marching band and puberty and moustaches and science labs and a pregnant senior on my bus... That shocking contrast might be part of the reason that I am trying so hard to preserve childhood in this house for just as long as I can.  Yep, my kids are growing up to be the  beautiful people they are meant to be, and we still have lots of Legos and moon sand and trampoline jumping and snuggles and G and PG movies and happy days and nights at home around here.  I like to think we're easing out of childhood here.  For better or for worse I can't really recreate that dive into the deep end of growing up that I experienced when we moved from Virginia to New York anymore than we can recreate the one-childhood, one-house experience that Jason had growing up.

So when I think of my happy childhood, I think of growing up in Virginia! and Rhode Island and Alabama and Washington too.  :) 

In lots of ways this era reminds me of our family's time on 31st Street.  Lots of friends to choose from, a great school and awesome pool nearby, block parties and night games and ice cream trucks and discoveries at the pond and adventures that shaped up to equal a very happy childhood!

The Parable of the Soggy Dollars

One windy and cold Sunday we drove to church in our usual hurry.  Sunday for now is always just the five of us, so Leah and Adam take turns sitting in the front seat next to me.  This Sunday Leah had a small pile of dollar bills on her lap, ready to pay her tithing once we got to the chapel. 

We parked and the kids all hopped out and scurried into the building, eager to claim a bench before the meeting started.  All of them except Leah, who paused at the front end of the car and bent over.  I immediately knew why.  The dollar bills that she had carefully placed on her lap had been forgotten, and blown away by the relentless Iowa wind as soon as she hopped out of the car.

I told everyone to head inside and came around to see what the situation was.  

"The dollars flew under the car next to us and they're stuck in a puddle!" was Leah's report.  

So, two ladies in dresses ducked down in the parking lot to see what we could do about it.  It was a tricky situation because snow was melting all over the parking lot, rendering it impossible to simply kneel down and reach the dollars without getting soaking wet.  

But I still tried!

"Mommy!" Leah exclaimed.  "People are driving by and they can see you bending over!" 

"Well then come stand behind me," I replied.

But to no avail.  The dollars were perfectly positioned directly under the middle of the sedan.  

We needed to extend our reach.  

What would do the trick?  A stick?  A broom from the church kitchen?   We opted for the most easily accessible tool- the ice scraper from my trunk, and to assist with the kneeling down and bending over and reaching under, a bag of clothes waiting to be donated.  

I knelt down on the bag, stretched under the car and heard, "Mommy!  It's only a few dollars.  Just leave it!" 

"No way!" I replied.  "This is God's money and you're going to give it to Him!" 

After what seemed like an eternity, I eventually scraped each dollar out of the puddle it was immersed in and handed it, muddy and dripping wet, to Leah.

"Do you know what you're going to remember about this, Leah?," I asked. 

"That you're a little bit crazy?" she said with a laugh.

"No, you're going to remember that your mother has a testimony of paying tithing, and that she's willing to do what it takes to do what the Lord has asked us to do." 

And with that we headed inside, brushing off our knees and smoothing down our hair, me to the bench and Leah to the bathroom to dry off the soggy dollars that she then used to pay her tithing.

On Telling the Truth

 When I was a little girl in third grade we lived in Rhode Island for just nine months, just long enough for all of us kids to attend one year of school and my dad to attend the Naval War College.  

We lived in military housing there, in a duplex of sorts where two three bedroom houses shared a wall and the street was filled with young families like ours.  We all walked to school and my teacher's name was Mrs. Paranzino.  She taught us how to stick cloves in oranges to make a delicious smelling Christmas decoration and she instilled in me a love of reading and writing.  When I was in third grade I was awarded the Rhode Island Young Authors award for my brilliant story The Key That Opened Any Door.  My mom and my dad attended a celebration and ceremony with me and I remember feeling pretty special about that. 

My best friend on that street full of kids was Jennifer Williams.  She was an only child and she thought it was pretty amazing that I had a sister AND two brothers to play with all the time (Auntie Allison wasn't born yet).  I thought it was amazing that she had a quiet house with no brothers and no sisters to bug her all the time.  We got along pretty great!

And since we were nine years old my mom thought we were responsible enough to go to the grocery store across the street behind our neighborhood to get her a block of cream cheese one day.  By my memory, the story went something like this. 

My mom gave me a five dollar bill and me and Jennifer were so excited to get to walk over to the grocery store all by ourselves!  This was long before the time of cell phones or GPS tracker watches or even the good old family 1-800 number.  It was just me and my friend and what felt like all the money in the world.  

My mom told us to go straight into the store, buy the cream cheese and come straight home.  And we did go straight into the store and we did get the cream cheese, which was probably about 80 cents.   But then we saw some of those delicious Hostess cupcakes that are filled with cream and we knew we would have enough money for both, so we bought the cream cheese and the cupcakes and then we left the store.  Just me and her and what still looked like a whole lot of money, plus some crumbs on our lips. 

Next door to the grocery store was an arcade, and with all that money in our pocket we thought it would be okay if we slipped in and just played one or two of our favorite games.  Ski ball has always been my favorite arcade game, and it was such a treat to get to play a few rounds of it with my belly full of cupcake and my pockets now empty of any sort of change for my mom.  But we had the cream cheese so eventually we decided to head home to deliver it to her. 

I don't know how long we were actually gone, or how worried my mom really was (I don't recall Newport, Rhode Island being an overwhelmingly busy city) but I do know that she wasn't very happy when we finally strolled in, warm cream cheese in hand, crumbs on our lips and not nearly as much money leftover as we should have had.  

And of course, when she asked us where we had been and what on earth took us so long to get home, I don't think that the whole truth came out.  It might have taken a few days of not getting to play with my best friend Jennifer to decide that I was going to tell the whole story. 

Lately we've been talking a lot in our family about what to do when we make poor choices.  Not IF, when.  Because the whole point of this earthly experience is to make choices, good and bad, and learn from the consequences, good and bad.  And to understand the role of the Atonement and forgiveness and God's mercy in all of it.  And hopefully come away from each experience a little wiser than we were before.  I'm pretty sure that my kids are making their own 'when I was a little girl' stories to share with their kids, but in the meantime, lucky for them, I've always got a plenty long queue of naughty little mommy stories that I am always happy to share!

A Tractor in a Tree

When I was a little girl, I drove my grandpa's tractor up a tree.

And here's the proof.

That looks pretty scary!

This is one of the kids favorite stories about what a naughty little girl I was. 

Aaron was in charge of the steering wheel, I was in charge of the brake, but it turned out that the ancient pine tree we failed to maneuver around was the real boss of this adventure!

As soon as the tractor started driving up the tree we both bailed off of it and went running while my grandpa's new riding tractor was crumpled and resting in a tree!  

I knew my life was officially over.  I don't know where Aaron went but I ran down to the "doll room" (my mom's once childhood bedroom, I believe), stuffed myself into the cedar-lined closet amongst my grandmother's real fur coats and her fanciest dresses and hats that were carefully contained in hat boxes from decades gone by and told my sister Heather to bring me some grapes and a slice of bread to eat because there was no way I was ever coming out of that closet again!

Despite my plan, I was eventually discovered and guided out to the shed, where my Grandpa Gardner was pounding out the crumpled hood of the tractor.  It wasn't ruined or permanently broken after all, it just needed a little bit of fixing.  

So Aaron and I stood there while the wind blew and and the doors of the shed tried to bang closed on us and the farm dust swirled up and around the ramp that led into the shed.  Grandpa probably let us swing the rubber mallet a time or two, but for the most part we just had to stand there and suffer in silence while he took care of our mistake.  

And that feels a lot like repentance.  We can try our best to do our best, but we are going to mess up a time or two (dozen... every day) but the important thing is that we correct our mistakes when they do come.  That we own them, and that we keep trying a little harder to be a little better when the next time comes... not that Grandpa ever let us drive his tractor again!  

Cucumber Boats

When I was a little girl we carved boats out of cucumbers from my grandma's garden and spent the afternoon sailing them in the little pond water feature that was tucked in the back corner of her farmhouse.  It was a fun and simple tradition, and one that we've recreated before.  Thanks to the beauty and accountability of the blog, the kids requested that we make cucumber boats again this summer.  So we did!

First we carved, 

then we headed to Des Moines

except... the water wasn't flowing in the city creek we had chosen for our boat races.  Oops.

  We found a bit of running water, but nothing strong enough to really get the boats going.  

 And boy was it hot!  So we switched to Plan B- the stone park that Noah had also discovered via a blog book and wanted to explore.  Twenty minutes in the wrong direction and we were eventually there!

 Except there wasn't any moving water there, either.  Boy, my memory was failing me!  Still, we tried to give our cucumber boats a ride in the fountains.

  And even though our boat racing efforts failed, it didn't stop us from having fun!

 And neither did the heat!

 The girls tried to stay dry, 

 The boys, not so much.   

  Eventually everyone was soaked and cooled off and happy.  

Despite the failed cucumber efforts, we still had fun! 

Here's to another shot at recreating cucumber boat memories...kind of!

The Worst Job I Never Had

One Saturday last summer Jason wanted to bring the kids to his work to show everyone where he works and what he does and to get a few extra helping hands to get some corn sorted for a tight deadline he was trying to meet.  I'm sure he had rosy visions of how it would go, and the kids were mostly quite helpful and had a great time sporting work gloves and pushing each other around on office chairs and musing about how much money one should be paid when working a job like this, which led to the telling of The Worst Jobs We Never Had.

Jason's story went something like this-

When I was in high school a buddy of mine told me about a job that he had packing up houses after school every day from 3 to 8 PM for $10 an hour.  That's $50 a day, and that was pretty good money back then (back in the 1900s, as we like to say around here). 

I went with my buddy after school one day and met his boss.  He said it was a good job and that I could try out the job for one day, and if I liked it and if I was a hard worker I could have the job. 

So everyone piled into the back of a big van that didn't have any seats in the back of it.  There were about 10 guys sitting back there, and the boss said that the time went by a lot quicker if you were high (which means using marijuana, which is a kind of drug that makes your brain not work quite right and is really bad for you). 

My buddy said that he didn't smoke with the other guys, but that he just sat there and did his work and made the money and it was all good.  But I didn't think so!  I didn't care how much money I might make, I didn't want to spend any time in a van full of smoke and drugs.  So I turned down the job and found a better one that didn't put me in a place that I didn't want to be!

*****

And this is mine- hands down one of the best stories I've got- 

After I finished my associates degree at BYU-Idaho, I didn't know what I wanted to do next.  I wasn't sure what bachelors degree I wanted and it didn't really make sense to keep going to school and paying tuition without a plan, so I decided to take a break from school for a bit (which was mostly okay because I finished my two year degree in 18 months).  I moved from Rexburg down to Provo,  Utah because my sister lived there and I liked the idea of being closer to her, but I didn't have a job lined up.  Still, I found a really cute apartment and had enough money saved up to start living there and looking for a job.  

And I looked, and looked, and looked.  For four months!  I really liked the idea of being a secretary or administrative assistant of some kind, and I applied with Utah County to be considered for any secretary position they had in the whole county.

One day I got a phone call and set up an interview with the animal shelter.  It was run by the county and they in need of a new front desk person.  I didn't know what to expect- it certainly wasn't the environment I had been hoping for, but I was starting to get to the end of my funds and my optimism- I needed a job! 

So the next day I dressed up in my sharp black woolen suit and headed to the shelter with my resume in hand.  Only I had the wrong address, so I had to call and ask for directions, which made me late and made me even more nervous. 

I walked into the front door of the shelter and was hit- nearly knocked over- by the pungent animal smell.  And the noise.  There was barking and meowing and chirping and a general feeling of sadness and panic in the air.  There was a corkboard with 'Lost Dog!' signs plastered all over it.  This was clearly not a happy place. 

I was called back for my interview and was directed to sit on a couch that was covered with animal hair.  I shook hands with the interviewer and immediately started trying to discreetly pick hair off my suit.  It was a futile effort.

The questions I answered went something like this-

"We need you to type up a letter in response to an elementary school that is asking why the shelter euthanized so many animals every year.  With unlimited numbers of animals reproducing and limited space to keep the homeless ones, clearly euthanizing the bulk of them is the best option.  Could you just type that out real quick?"

"Sometimes the secretary needs to help out with the animals- hold down the dogs when they get their euthanizing shots or take them back to the kennels, and they can get real upset, maybe even bite at you or pee on you.  Are you okay with that?"

"What would you do if we euthanize a dog and it's owners come in the next day to claim it.  How would you deal with that?"

"And this here is Bud (in walks a 6 foot 6 man covered in tattoos and piercings and, by my horrified memory, handcuffs on each wrist).  He's part of the work-release program we have going on with the prison.  Are you comfortable working with convicted felons?"

(At this point I told the girls that "Bud" winked at me and said, "Hi there little lady", which made them both squeal with disgust and delight.)

"And now that you've got an idea of what the job includes, would you like a tour of the facilities?"

Of course, I did not want a tour, I just wanted to run far, far, away but I politely said yes and we proceeded down the hall toward the barking and the meowing and the panic-stricken animals. 

"Here's where we take care of the cats- if you really shove them in you can fit 25 or even 30 cats in one of these gas chambers... sometimes you'll have to help shove the door closed."

"And over here is where we do the dogs.  Can't fit as many of them in but they don't put up as much of a fuss."

And then I made the mistake of asking where the animals bodies went after they were euthanized, so I was taken out back, where there were three sheds filled with rubbermaid garbage bins.  Sticking out of the first one was an image I'll never forget- the stiff corpse of a beautiful golden retriever. 

"They just stay out here until they come collect the bodies.  All of them are incinerated on Thursdays.  Do you have any other questions?"

The only question I had was HOW I ended up there in the first place.  I quickly said no, thanked them for their time, and hurried back to my car to continue picking dog hair off of my skirt. 

And the next day, they offered me the job.  

Of course, they made it clear that I was second choice- their first pick for the job didn't pass the background check.  So the job was mine if I wanted it. 

What was I going to do?

I needed money.  I didn't have a plan.  I didn't have many other options. 

But I knew that there was no way on God's green earth that I would be able to get up and go to work every morning if that was my job. 

So I turned it down.

And then I went and got a job as a manager at American Eagle, where I worked for a quick six months before I decided that I was ready to finish college.  It might have seemed like an unnecessary detour in my education, but I needed that time to realize that I did NOT want to be a secretary for the animal shelter and I did NOT want to be a retail manager- I wanted to finish my education! 

And even if I don't use my sociology degree every day in my current life, I'm still so grateful that I have it, and so grateful that I had the sense of brain and the courage to not go down a road that I knew wasn't going to get me where I really wanted to be in life. 

And after I did graduate from college, I got a job as an administrative assistant not too far from the animal shelter.  For three years I did the rigamortis salute in remembrance of one of the best choices I ever made.

Rest in peace, puppy.

Boy did the kids enjoy hearing those stories.  And the ice cream was pretty delicious payment for the hard work, too.

Last Blog Standing

At dinner one night Leah lamented that it's only old people that have good stories to tell.

"I can't even remember most of what has happened in my life!" she wailed.

It's a good thing we've got this trusty blog to help jog her memory.

When I started the blog back in 2006, I didn't have any expectations for how often I would post, what I would post about, or how long I would keep it up.  I'm probably just as amazed as anyone that it has stuck around this long.

But I love the family history that I've recorded, one story, -ism, picture or memory at a time.  I love that the kids can look back and see snapshots of their younger selves.

I love stumbling upon an inspiring quote or having a meaningful experience and knowing where to put it so that it is preserved beyond my memory.

All of the kids love thumbing through any one of the blog books that we have printed out (we're finally up to date on printing!).  They are constantly off the shelf, and that makes me so happy.

So I keep blogging.

Genuine comments feel like a thing of the past.

Connecting with my real mom friends through blogs feels like a thing of the past.

Writing a blog because it's a family history- rather than a money-maker- feels like a thing of the past.

But this little piece of our family history is the best part of our past that I could share with our kids in the future.

It's not the whole picture.   There are plenty of days- good and bad- that will never make the pages of the blog, and that's okay.  Every memory that is preserved is worth the time that I've put into keeping the blog alive.

So I keep blogging.  It's all for you, babies!

Sticky Fingers

Stories shared around the dinner table- 

Jason- When I was a little boy my mom and my sisters and I would visit my Grandma Miller's house a lot.  We loved to go there when my dad, who was a firefighter, had to stay at the station overnight.  Then me and my mom and my sisters would stay at Grandma's house and have a sleepover with her.  It was always fun.  My grandma sold Avon makeup (lots of grandmas did back then!) and she always had a bunch of makeup in one of her bedrooms on the bed.  They were orders for people that had bought makeup that she needed to deliver to them, and me and my sisters always liked to look at the different kinds of make up and lotions and stuff there was.  The chapstick was my favorite, and one day there was a Tootsie Roll flavored chapstick on the bed.  We knew that we weren't supposed to touch or play with the stuff on the bed, but I just picked it up and smelled it really quick, then I put it back down.

Then I picked it up again and smelled it again, and decided I would like to keep the chapstick.  I asked my grandma if I could keep it and she said, "No, that belongs to someone else.  You need to put it back on the bed".  But I really wanted the chapstick- it smelled like candy!  So I kept it in my hand and when it was time to leave I stuck it in my pocket and we went home.  

And I didn't get caught!  

Until the next day when my grandma called and told my mom that the chapstick was missing from the order.  My mom asked me if I had taken it and I said, "Nope!" 

And a few hours later she asked again and I said, "Nope!" 

And then she sat me down and said, "That chapstick belongs to someone else.  I know that you were playing with it and I know that Grandma can't find it.  You were just baptized and when you were baptized you promised Heavenly Father that you would be honest and keep the commandments.  It's important that you tell the truth and be honest now that you have been baptized."

And then I realized that I had been lying, and that I didn't feel good about having the chapstick anymore, so I went and got it and gave it back to my mom. 

Melanie- When I was a little girl we lived in Alabama.  There was a drugstore nearby called Boozers drugstore that sometimes my big sister and my big brother and I would ride our bikes to so we could get some penny candy.  I don't remember if my mom went with us, she was probably home with the baby (Uncle Bubba (whose name is really Jared)).  My favorite thing to get at Boozers was a Sugar Daddy, which is a huge hard caramel rip-your-teeth-out treat on a stick.  I also loved to get Tootsie Rolls, and one time I didn't have enough to buy both, so I decided to put a few Tootsie Rolls in my pocket and just pay for my Sugar Daddy.  That wasn't such a good idea because I pulled one out of my pocket and starting eating it as soon as we got back on our bikes.  

My brother knew I had only paid for the Sugar Daddy, and he said, "What are you eating?  Where did you get that?"  and right away I knew I was caught.  I didn't have any more money, so I had to go home and tell my mom that I had taken some candy without paying for it, and she marched me back to the store with some money and stood with me while I explained what I had done and gave the cashier the money.  It was so scary that I never stole anything ever again (even when I was older and realized how easy it could be to just slip something in my purse).  The yucky feeling that came with stealing was not worth it.  

When I was a little bit older we lived in Rhode Island and my mom sent me on an errand to the store, which must have been just across a street or two from our house.  I was nine years old and that was old enough to go to the store by myself with my best friend Jennifer Williams.  My mom gave me a $5 bill and told us to go straight to the grocery store to buy one block of cream cheese and then come right back home.  

Well, when we got to the grocery store we realized that a block of cream cheese only cost $1, and that we had $4 leftover.  So we decided to buy some cupcakes!  Or maybe some pudding, but I don't know how we would have eaten that without spoons.  So we'll say it was cupcakes and that they were delicious!  

And after that we realized that we still had $3 leftover!  Either I forgot about going straight home or I didn't realize my mom wanted her change, but next to the grocery store was an arcade place that had my favorite arcade game- ski ball!  And with $3 we could play quite a few rounds!

So a little while later, once we were out of money and maybe realizing that we had been gone for a bit too long, we hurried home and gave my mom the block of cream cheese and no change.  I tried to tell her that it had cost the whole $5, but the truth came out pretty quickly.  

My mom said that she had trusted me to do a job for her, and that she had been counting on me to do that job well.  I felt really bad about what we had done, and after that I tried harder to do the things that people asked me to do to the best of my ability.  

Yet Another Good Kid

I got this story from one of the blog's number most faithful readers (hi, Dad!).  Let it be known that Grandpa Mark is a tricker and can't always be trusted to tell the whole truth...

I grew up as a Catholic. Attended Holy Rosary Parish and St Bernard’s parish and St Margaret’s school. Every morning we attended Mass from 8 to 9 and then went to school. It was like going to Sacrament meeting 6 days a week. 

I was 10 or so and pretty bored one morning sitting in church so I got out my pencil and started writing on the pew.  I drew a funny picture of the priest and showed it to my friend sitting next to me. He laughed and we started drawing more pictures. One of the nuns came up and told us to be quiet and saw the pictures. She was not happy, but didn’t do anything to disturb the Mass. 

After the service was over we trooped over to school and started class, but the nun came and got us and told us we were going to see the priest. We were scared. We went back over to the church and she sent me in to talk to the priest. As I was going in I told my friend "if it gets really bad I’ll come running out and we’ll meet under the bushes behind the church". 

Well it was bad. The priest looked at me and asked "Do you know where Jesus is?  (He knew we’d been disrespectful in the Church, which is where we are supposed to feel close to Jesus).  Do YOU KNOW WHERE JESUS IS?"  Well I didn’t, and I jumped up and ran out of the church. My buddy followed me and we met under the bushes. I said "Jesus is missing, and they’re blaming us!!"

Or something like that. 

A marginally good kid doing another bad thing. 

Lots of love!

Grandpa Mark

I'm pretty sure he was around this age when this story happened- Grandpa's the one standing on the far right with the fetching shorts and cheerful smile. 

Another Good Kid

Lest we all think Mommy is the only one with stories from childhood to share around here, Daddy has been telling lots of stories from lessons he learned as a "good kid who sometimes made bad choices".  Here are two, told in his words-

When I was in middle school, after lunch every day all of the students were sent outside.  We didn't have a playground and it wasn't recces, exactly, but everyone had to go outside to get some fresh air and exercise for about 20 minutes.  There was a big field and some tennis courts and some places to play, but mostly we just wandered around with nothing to do.

And when boys have nothing to do they start to look for trouble.

My friends and I decided that, since all of the teachers wanted us to stay out of the school, it would be a great idea to try to sneak into the school without getting caught. 

Who tries to sneak into the school?? 

Preteen boys with nothing better to do.

So a big group of us figured out which doors were unlocked, and we would sneak into the building, one at a time, and we would run as fast as we could down the halls and the teachers would see us and yell, "You kids get outta here!" but they never caught us.

Eventually they got smart and started locking all of the school doors, but we were even more clever because we took a tiny little pebble and stuck it in the door frame so that the door looked like it was closed but it really wasn't.

Then we could sneak into the school again!

So about nine of us slipped into the school, and we ran and ran and ran down the halls, and we passed the teachers and they yelled at us but they never caught us!  Our goal was always to get past the cafeteria, up the stairs, down the hall and to the far end of the school without getting caught.  And one time we made it!

But another time we barely made it into the school before one of the teachers saw us.  So we all turned around and ran out of the school and hid behind some bushes.  We all made it except Jesse.  He was caught.

"You're coming with me," said the grumpy vice principal who had had many of his 20 minutes of after-lunch silence ruined by the naughty boys that kept running through the halls.

"It wasn't just me!" Jesse protested.  "What about Jason? And Ryan and Jack and Jeremy?  They're all hiding behind those bushes right over there!"

I couldn't believe it.  He ratted us out!

And the vice principal looked right at us.  He squinted at the bushes and I thought for sure he saw us all crouched down, but he just turned away and said, "I don't believe you.  Let's go." 

And we were all safe! 

Once I realized that we really could have gotten into big trouble, it didn't seem like much fun to sneak into the school.  So we didn't sneak into the school anymore, and Jesse wasn't very happy with us because he did get in trouble even when the rest of us didn't.

(I'm sure there is a really great story that goes with this picture.  It's the only one I could find of middle school-ish aged Jason.) 

*****

When I was in middle school, I didn't try very hard to do good in my classes.  I didn't struggle to learn at all, so I didn't have to work very hard to get good grades.  But I also didn't care very much about homework, or studying for tests, or trying very hard at all.  Sometimes I turned in my homework, sometimes I didn't, and I didn't think it really mattered.

One day I got the mail out of the mailbox and I saw a letter from the school with my name on it.  It was my progress report.  Back in those days there wasn't as much communication between the school and home as there is now.  There wasn't any email or Blackboard or Google Classroom or Dropbox, or all of the other ways that teachers and parents and students communicate now.  If there was something that needed to be said, there was a phone call, a note sent home from the teacher, or a letter in the mail.  Progress reports always came home in the mail.

I wondered how I was doing in my classes, so I opened up my progress report and saw a bunch of A's and B's and one great big D in math class. 

D!!!  I did not know I was doing that bad!

But I did know that my parents would not be happy if they saw that D, so I folded up the progress report, and I put it in my pocket, and then I went into my bedroom and stuck it in my desk and covered it up with a bunch of baseball cards and books. 

And I didn't mention it to anyone.

My sisters' progress reports all came home soon, and my parents asked me if I had seen mine, and I said, "Nope!"

And a few more days went by and they asked again and I said, "Nope!"

And a few more days went by and they sat me down and said, "Jason, we know your progress report has been delivered to our house and we know you have it.  Why don't you want to show it to us?"

And I explained that I got a bad grade and I didn't know why.  But I got the progress report out of my bedroom and we looked at it together and even went to the school to talk to my math teacher, Mrs. DeNadio.  She was a mean lady with big frizzy hair and a lot of makeup, kind of like Cruella DeVille.  She said that I hadn't been doing my classwork or my homework, which was mostly true, but I knew that there were some assignments that I had turned in that she hadn't given me credit for.  So we looked in my desk and in her basket and updated all of the assignments that I done, and by the end of the year my grade was up to a B.

After that I started trying harder in my classes, and I learned that I couldn't make my mistakes disappear by trying to hide them.  I also learned that my parents loved me, and that they would support me while I tried to fix my mistakes.  And I never got a D in a class again!

A Good Kid

There has been a whole lot of "tell me a story about when you were little" going on around here lately.  We were having a conversation at dinner on Sunday night about telling the truth and telling lies, and how hard it can be to remember the lies that you've told, and how much better it is to just always tell the truth.  The truth is easy to remember!  And of course I had a story to illustrate my point.

When I was in ninth grade I lived in Utah and we had "open campus lunch" which meant that we could leave the school and go eat lunch somewhere else and them come back to school.  And one day a much MUCH older boy- a senior boy that I think actually had a crush on my big sister- asked me if I wanted to go get some lunch with him.

And I said yes.

So we went to Taco Time (fancy!) and grabbed some lunch and on the way back to the school he asked me if knew how to drive.

And I said no.

And he asked me if I wanted to try driving his car (what a dumb thing for an older boy to ask a younger girl).

And I said yes.

So we got back to the school and he parked in teh bus parking lot, which was empty, and he parked the car and got out and handed me the keys (what was he thinking??!) and I sat in the drivers seat and got a quick lesson about driving a manual transmission car.  I took it for a few spins around the empty parking lot then pulled into a parking spot -between two cars- and put the car into park.

Then I decided I wanted to go around one more time (against his request) so I backed up, just as a POLICE CAR came around the corner!

Naturally, I was sure the police officer could tell that I was an underage driver, so I freaked out, put the car into first, turned the wheel, popped the clutch, and effectively slammed into the next car over.

Oops.

And the police car stopped right behind us and an officer got out and I'm sure I was screaming and the boy who owned the car and surely realized by now what a stupid idea it had been to let a freshman drive his car hopped out of the car.

And the officer asked, "Is this your car?"

"No," I said.  "It's his."

"But you were driving it?"  (Obviously)

"He was teaching me how to drive." (Not very effectively, clearly.)

And then he pulled out his ticket book.

"Name.... address... age?"

"15," I lied.  In my panicked mind it made more sense that if I was nearly 16, underage driving might be more okay. 

"Birthday?"

"March 8th, 1981," I lied again.  Now I had to lie again to cover up my lie!  This was not good.

It also wasn't good to have to go into the school and call my house and explain to my parents what I had done.  I don't think that boy ever talked to me again.  Not that he should have been talking to me in the first place.

A few weeks later I had to go to the county juvenile court to pay fines for driving underage, without a license.  My dad took me.  I'm sure the commander of the Army Depot was not thrilled to be found in court with his 14-year-old daughter.

I stood in front of the court and had to answer the same questions again.

"Name... address...age?"

This time I didn't lie.

"You're 14?  It says here you're 15."

"I know.  I lied."  Ooh!  Now the lie was catching up with me AGAIN and I had had enough.  Time to set the story straight.  Plus, my dad was standing next to me.  I couldn't very well lie about my age in front of him.

And as I told the story to the kids, who were all staring at me with very wide eyes, the judge peered down at me from over her huge desk and said, "Don't. lie. again.  NOW GET OUTTA MY COURT!!"

And I banged on the table and everyone jumped and Noah started crying, because that's how he is when he gets startled, even at the age of nearly 5.

My punishment was that I would not be allowed to get a drivers license in the state of Utah until I was 17.  We moved to Virginia the next year, so that punishment didn't actually happen, but boy did I learn a lesson about lying.

If you tell one lie, it leads to another so you tell two lies, to cover each other so you tell three lies and, oh brother!  You're in trouble up to your ears!

*****

Another favorite story around here is about the time that my friends and I caught a fish from the lake by our house.  We didn't know what to do with the fish because it had already died so we couldn't put it back in the water.  

So we decided to put it in a mailbox.

The girl whose mailbox we put it in wasn't our good friend, just someone we knew from classes at school, but we thought she would be surprised and laugh when she saw a dead fish in her mailbox.  

What we didn't know was that she was out of town for a week, and it was middle of the hot summer, and the fish sat in her mailbox for a really long time, cooking and rotting in the hot summer sun. 

So when she got home there was a big, stinky fish mess in her mailbox and they probably had to throw the mailbox away because of what we did. 

We got into a lot of trouble for that.

*****

The kids love to hear these stories (and I've got plenty of them to share!) but one of them asked me in all sincerity and with wide eyes, "Mommy, were you a bad kid?"

Which made me smile because the easy answer is yes I was!

But I answered more truthfully, and said, "No!  I was a good kid who sometimes made bad choices, just like you." 

Not that they've done anything against the law just yet (or ever, hopefully) but every kids needs to know that they are a good kid.  

Even when they make bad choices.

Growing Up in Alabama

Every night the boys ask me to tell them a story about when I was a little girl.  I tried to expedite the process a few nights ago by telling this story-

When I was a little girl my mom used to make graham crackers with chocolate frosting on them for a snack.  The end.  Now go to bed.

To which Noah responded, "No, Mommy, you have to tell us a story about when you were a naughty little girl!"

So I dug a little deeper and I have told them so many stories, all of which took place in our home in Alabama when I was ages 6 to 8.  This little house with the huge trees and the endless yard was my world.

-Their favorite story lately is the one when I got mad at my little brother Jared and hid his blankie behind the dryer, then lied to my mom about it, and then got in a whole bunch of trouble when I admitted what I did and we pulled it out and it was all dusty and my mom said I could have burned the house down.

-The second runner up favorite story is the time that I got to wear my very first pair of real nylons that were given to me by my best friend Mandy's mom after Mandy died (a separate story is all about the Three Musketeers Melanie, Megan and Mandy) and my mom told me not to climb the magnolia tree in the front yard after church, but I did and I ended up falling and snagging my first pair of nylons and hanging from the tree by my nylons.

-Our teddy bear Malou sinking to the bottom of the slimy green swimming pool in the fall then getting pulled out in the spring only to discover it was covered in maggots.

-The plastic swimming pool that we played in and on and under, and the time that we got stuck under it for days while vultures circled overhead and even landed on the pool so we couldn't escape.

-The time we begged and begged our parents to let us take our Barbies into the big swimming pool, even though they told us not to take our toys into the pool, and we left them there and found them, headless, the next morning, with their heads floating around in the filter.

-The hammock that we whipped each other around in, which was really fun until my brother fell out of it and landed on his head.

-The secret bush fort that we hid in and made super important top secret plans.

-The amazing kids clubhouse that my grandparents fixed up for us on the side of the shed, where we pretended we were orphans (my own children's favorite game, actually) and ate bread and milk from orange and brown Tupperware cups.

-Sammy the chipmunk, who lived in the hole of a hollow stump in the front yard and peeked his head out to gather the peanuts that we set out for him.

-The time my brother Aaron threw sand in my face and it got in my eyes and my mouth.

-The night that a huge storm shook our whole house with thunder and lightening and wind and we all piled into our parents bed to stay safe, and the next morning we woke up to discover that one of the giant evergreens in our neighbor's yard had fallen on their house.

-The time baby Jared ate a bug off the fireplace hearth.

-The computer games we played with a joystick on our Commodore 64.

-How my big sister used to slide out of bed and creep across the bedroom floor in the dark of night and pop up by my bed to scare me.

-The pet hamster we had for a little while that lived on the enclosed porch and eventually froze to death.

-The meanest babysitters in the world, who made us take a bath in two inches of cold water and swallow our toothpaste when we were brushing our teeth.

-The time my big sister blackmailed me into unloading the silverware from the dishwasher from her because she caught me dumping my vegetables down the drain.

-Kittystone Elementary School, where my principal Mark Washington taught me to dodge raindrops.

-All about the room I shared with my sister Heather, our matching scratchy pastel rainbow comforters, the red carpet, and my Minnie and Mickey Mouse poster that Heather ripped when she was swinging a laundry basket around the room and sent it flying.

-The time my parents left me at church because I didn't get in the car when they told me to and I was so worried that I would have to live at the church for a whole week before they came back to get me.

-The time I rode my mom's bike down a giant hill and ended up with stitches in my head.  I still have the scars to illustrate that story.

Rocking that crimped hair!

And there are plenty more stories left I could still tell them-

-Playing at my best friend Ginger Baker's house, and the time that we got into her hot tub even though my mom told me I couldn't, then I took a bath and came home with no good explanation for why I had wet hair.

-The kids trips to Boozers drugstore, where we spend our quarters on candy and baseball cards, and the time I dropped my Sugar Daddy in the dirt, washed it off and then ate it.

-The leaf mazes that my dad would rake up on the basketball court.

-The box turtles that we would rescue from the side of the road.

-The time I didn't get a Christmas candy cane in kindergarten because my napping mat had a rip in it, even though it wasn't my fault!

-The mysterious bullet hole that was in the living room window.

-The time we pretended to be the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker in the bathtub.

Childhood in Alabama was so good!  I hope our kids have as many happy memories of their childhood to share with their kids when they grow up (and I hope this blog helps remember how good it was!)

A Happy Sabbath

Blame it on the never ending gray winter, the Groundhog-Day-like routine of our days, or the general lack of chocolate in my diet, but there have been plenty of days lately when I've gone to bed feeling discouraged about lots of things.  And waking up feeling that way, too.  Motherhood is always at the top of the list of things that weigh heavy on my heart, but lots of other things have been on the list too.

But there are always silver in the cloudy days!  If last week was the low, Sunday kicked off the climbing back to the high with a most incredibly fun and most perfect Sunday dinner.  The food was delicious, everyone ate most of it without complaint, and we started telling stories about life BC- Before Children- that took us on the funniest trip down memory lane.

Our kids, like every kid, have selective hearing at times, but they were all ears around the dinner table as we told them story after story of our life before they were born.

The time a dozen moths came shooting out of my car vents while I was driving down the highway.

The time Jason thought he could kill a moth with a pillow and ended up shattering a light fixture instead.

The time Jason got stung by a bee in his bare bottom.

The time Jason's dad shot him in the bottom with a blow dart.

The time Jason had to get 10 immunizations in preparation for his mission to Bolivia and ended up with one in the bottom.... there were a lot of bottom stories mixed in there!

The conversation started with talk of mansions and big houses, and we told them our cautionary tale of the first apartment we looked at before we got married.  It was really nice, and really expensive, and instead of deciding to stretch ourselves financially to afford it, we challenged ourselves to find the cheapest livable space that we could find instead.

Which led us to reminiscing all about our first and second apartments, including the nasty carpet, old paint, brown cupboards, mustard yellow countertops, soft bathroom floors, shower windows, radiant heating, faulty water heaters and MOLD growing behind a dresser.

We talked about how much we wanted to live in a super fancy apartment that we quickly realized we didn't want to afford, and how we found a much more reasonably priced apartment instead.

We talked about the laundry mat that we used to take our laundry to, and how we would play card games while we waited for our clothes to be done.

And about the luxury that was our second apartment because there was a washer and dryer onsite.  I used to load up the laundry in the basket then plop baby Leah on top of it all and we would make our trek down the stairs to the washer and dryer.  Such a luxury to not have to drive or bike over to the laundry mat.

We tried to explain our mobile dishwasher that had to be wheeled across the kitchen floor and hooked up to the sink every night in order to wash a load of dishes.  That was an upgrade from our first apartment, where we had no dishwasher and washed dishes by hand.

We didn't have central air in either place, but the window unit we bought (used) for our first place worked great and the monster of a unit in our second place were both good enough for us!

We told them about the woodpecker that used to wake us up every morning all summer long as it pecked it's way through a nearby telephone pole.

And about the work we did in our first apartment to knock $40 off our rent by mowing the tiny lawn in the summer and shoveling away snow and ice in the winter.

We told them about climbing up to the roof to watch the 4th of July fireworks that were going off at Lavell Edwards Stadium at BYU while baby Leah was sleeping.

And the shower window that I had to climb down into more than once in our first place because we locked ourselves out.

We laughed about the time Jason rode his bike into a parked car, and how we saved up for those new bikes, and the yummy Provo Bakery that we used to walk to on Saturday mornings to purchase two orange rolls with a fistful of coins.

We tried to describe the layout of our first apartment, with the one bedroom that had storage bins, a snowboard, a tiny desk, and bikes all crammed in around us, and our second apartment, with the two bedrooms, one huge and one tiny that we set up to have some storage space amidst the crib and, right before we moved, a bassinet for baby Adam.

We challenged them to not strive for luxury when they first leave home, but instead to only live the life they can reasonably afford.  We could have been much deeper in debt or much further down a completely different life's path had we set our sights on that fancy new apartment that we decided we couldn't afford.  And then what might our stories sound like?

At one point Emma said, "I'm really glad you never broke up!"

When they asked how long we have been married- almost 14 years- they said, "Wow!  That's a really long time."  We said, "When you commit to be with someone for the rest of your life and all of eternity, it doesn't seem like very long at all."

And they asked about the times we've fought or argued with each other.  We told them about our first two fights- one about who should get the most closet space and one about when we should pay our  tithing- and how we resolved them.  And we reflected on how nice it is to be married to someone that you don't want or need to argue with about every little thing with, because marriage is hard enough without constant contention.

Adam said, "I've only been in this family for 8 years and we have fights all of the time!"

Not really, but there are definitely moments when we all do things to bug each other.  So that should have given them all a clue about how important it is to learn to be a peacemaker, and to surround themselves with people they get along with!

It was a wonderful dinner indeed.  And the great start to a good new week (even if the sun is still refusing to shine).

Keepers of the Stories

If I wait to post all about the cruise before I write about anything else, I'm going to get too far behind on our monthly happenings.  So I'm skipping ahead with the promise to blog about the cruise when I can.  

We were so excited to have Grandma and Grandpa visit us last weekend.  It has been three and a half years since they were last here together, and we were delighted to have them here again!

Grandpa loves to tell silly stories and jokes, 

take selfies, 

and indoctrinate the kids in the ways of silly cats versus cucumber videos.

Grandma loves to insist that we have some big girl time (without the kids!), 

enjoy a slightly frustrating craft or two, 

and plays the best songs on the piano for all of us to belt out.

Which some of us enjoyed more than others.... poor Noah, he's just annoyed by the world.  

Has been since day one.  See how he was plugging his ears to drown out the noise of the family the first time Grandma came to meet him?  ;) 

The night they got here Jason and I went on a date to a strengthening marriage evening at church while the kids enjoyed fudge and popcorn and That Thing You Do! with Grandma and Grandpa as the babysitters.  We only had four days together, but in addition to our shopping, other outings included two delicious meals out, the new Peter Rabbit movie, the big boys went to check out Jason's new work and catch another movie, and we all wandered through Outdoor World and talked about renting a houseboat on Lake Powell.  It was really cold while they were here and fun to dream about a summer vacation!

(Yes, Leah really is that much taller than Grandma.  Adam isn't far behind.)

  And they even had quarters, so the kids got to actually play in the shooting range.  Something boring old Mom and Dad never do with them.

But the best part of our visit was the nights that we spent around the table.  Jason and I put a lot of emphasis on table time in our family- having polite and meaningful conversation, sharing stories, playing games and making memories around the table is a highlight of every day, and we were so excited to have Grandpa and Grandma here to tell us a story or two.  

First we listened to stories about their parents.  Grandma and Grandpa Gardner (on the bottom) married in the 30s, so we talked about the Great Depression and Grandma and Grandpa Henscheid raised their family in the 50s.  They told us about when they were little kids growing up in rural Idaho in the 50s.  Grandma was a farm girl through and through- catching frogs in the wading pool and running through the irrigation ditches.  Grandpa lived in town- nine siblings in a three bedroom house- but had lots of stories to tell about the time on his Grandpa's farm, too, including the story of he and his brothers chasing the calves into the pigs house and getting whipped with a belt.  And I've never seen Adam laugh so hard as he did when he realized what happens when a dumb young boy pees on an electric fence.  And we all laughed so hard at his laughter.

Then they told us about how they met in high school, how Grandma "borrowed" Grandpa's special watch from the Macy's Parade and he took her on a double date with his sister Angelen and her husband Gene to see American Grafitti on their first date.  My uncle Gene looks exactly like Paul Bunyan- 7 feet tall and as burly as a lumberjack, and Grandma is exactly 5 feet tall.  What a funny first meeting that must have been!  They told us about their wedding and about their early years as parents, and in a later conversation, my mom and I reminisced about all of the houses we lived in growing up.  This house is my 13th, so there are lots of memories to keep straight!

And we played games- Farkle is one of their favorites and we stayed up past bedtime trying to beat each other.  And just like that, it was time for them to get up way too early to head back home.  The kids were praying for a cancelled flight, but thankfully they got out, despite the ice storm that cancelled school for the day.  

We don't know exactly when we'll see them again, but we were all so grateful that Grandma and Grandpa came to visit us here in Iowa!