Guest Blogger: The Birthday Party by Teach (and Mom)

Baby Doll is so cute! (Totally unrelated pic...)

Scout’s turning six here shortly and we decided to have a birthday party for her.  I’m not sure what made Mom decide upon a farm animal theme… but, that’s what we got and it turned out to be spectacular! I was told about these masks some time on Saturday and we didn’t actually start working on them until about 8:30 on Sunday night. 

Mom and I created an example of each one and then made four kits per animal.  We had a dog, cow, pig, horse, lamb and duck.  The lamb was totally my own design.  Mom mostly created the horse. The duck was collaborative and the rest were slight variations from templates found online.  It was super fun. 

Speaking of… we listened to this song about 50 times while doing it.  Curly even started to sing along! “And you kiss the dog on the eye!”  Not quite, but close enough. The birthday party was today… but we’ll fill you in on that tomorrow! Which mask is your favorite? I’m absolutely in love with all of them!

            My Turn!

Teach makes me sound like this was a stupid idea, but now I want to tell you how it went down. Scout wanted to invite all her neighborhood friends and all of her school friends to her birthday party. I have been stressing about this party for about three weeks because I just couldn’t come up with a boy/girl theme I could do inside because the weather might be dicey. Oh, and it had to be really cool because we did the carnival thing for Sport and the magic show for Crafty. Lastly, it had to be cheap. It was a pretty tall order and with all the craziness around here, I felt pretty brain dead.


So I did what I always do in these desperate situations,
I resorted to saying a little prayer.
OK, it was a lot of prayer! And after a couple of days of that, it was all laid out for me in my brain, all at once. The invites were homemade and invited the kids to come and “play” at Scout’s birthday party. Then we made the animal masks and the Drama Queen dressed up as Old McDonald.

We ended up with 21 kids and after making the masks they played Duck Duck Goose, Farmer in the Dell, and a few other “animal” games. Then we split them into groups and let them perform the Old McDonald song on the stage. We even filmed them so I can make DVDs to send home with them all next week. The Drama Queen made balloon animals and we had cupcakes with marshmallow-shaped dogs that she designed all by herself. It’s so nice to have such creative daughters!

I actually think it was one of the best, most organized parties we have ever done. We finished up with 3 minutes to spare and all the kids seemed to have fun and there was no blood. I handed them treat bags with tootsie rolls and “play”doh on their way out the door. All for less than ten bucks total and a few random supplies I already had! It just doesn’t get any better than that…and yeah, I’ll be hitting my knees again tonight.


PS We have so many cute pics of the party I'll put up more tomorrow on Scout's birthday post.

Flag Boy

Today is the CountryFest parade! Bossy has already admitted that she is a parade addict. I enjoy a good parade (if they throw lots of free stuff and it’s not too hot, and I have a comfy place to sit…), but mostly I like the bands. When I was in Jr. High, I played the clarinet in the marching band. Every summer, we would spend many days practicing and then we would march in at least four or five parades. 

I’ve made it rather mandatory in our family for our kids to have a similar experience with our local high school band and this year my dancers (Princess and the Prima Donna) are taking their turn marching and blowing their horns. Bossy was no problem, she plays the clarinet, multiple types of saxophones…you get the idea. She was on the Band Council and she won scholarships in music. 

The Gym Rat never fancied himself as musical. He tried the clarinet for a VERY short while in elementary school after they told him he couldn't play the saxophone because his hands were too small (they should see them now!). When he got to middle school, I let him slide by singing in the choir, so when high school came along, I was having a rough time figuring out how to get him into the marching band. Then my sweetie came up with a brilliant beyond brilliant plan. It was 2001 and the PS2 (a video game platform) had recently been released. The Gym Rat wanted one of them more than he wanted to breathe! But he was short on funds and he wasn’t old enough to get a real job. So his dad bribed him into joining the Colorguard. If he would spin a flag for an entire season, in November we would buy him a PS2. 

Gym Rat's yearbook photo and "Flag Boy"

Now my Gym Rat was a big kid! I don’t think he had all of his height then (he’s currently 6’ 6"), but he was not a skinny little dancer sort. He was a big play-football-on-the- offensive-line sort of a guy. And believe it or not, he went for it! At our school in 2001, it was rare for any guy to join the Colorguard and for a guy like the Gym Rat, it was unheard of…Honestly, I didn’t think he would last the whole season. In fact, my pocketbook was depending on it. 

Bossy and her rifle.

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**Editor's Note: Apparently at this point in the story I am supposed to be upset that I haven't been mentioned and insert this picture.  First of all I am sorry these yearbook scanned photos are not the best.  This was my senior year and I opted to switch from band to guard too. I thought it would be fun to spin with the Gym Rat and it was the first time our school was using sabres.  In our area Gym Rat started a Flag Boy trend for several years. And Teach was far better at guard than both of us...

He started with summer band and spun his flag in several parades. Surprisingly, he was quite good. The girls were so proud of him; they put him right in the middle and made a big deal of their "flag boy." When fall marching band began he was stuck on the field for three hours three nights a week with the band. The Colorguard also had an additional practice and then they had games or competitions as well. There were some days when he was gone with the band for six nights a week. Yet he persisted. 

Once when I asked him how he could stand to have people teasing him about being on the guard, he said, "They won’t remember forever…kids have better stuff to worry about." At least he had a good attitude. His fall performance was amazing! He had a duet with one of the girls where they did a swing dance together. He did a great job throwing her around and showing off his manly muscles. The Monday after fall season was officially over, my sweetie took the Gym Rat to buy his beloved game system. I’d never seen him work so hard for something in his entire life, and even though he took some ribbing from his friends, I was proud of him for his willingness to complete what he started. 

Although I have to say, he was wrong about one thing... Just yesterday I was in the Jiffy Lube and I ran into one of his old friends. "Yeah, I know your son," he said. "We played football together…" I was a little confused for a moment. "You mean peewee football?" I asked. "The Gym Rat didn’t play high school ball." He smiled. "Yeah, I know," he paused. "He was a flag boy with the marching band." There are some things that are just too good to forget.

If you look close you can see Gym Rat in the first picture on this post.

Food for Thought: Tamales

Can't blame him. Eww...

When we first got married, my sweetie told me he hated Mexican food. Now this was a real problem for me since the only cooking I had really done was for my job at Taco Time. Over the years he has mellowed quite a bit and as it turns out, Mexican is one of his favorites, just not the little frozen tamales in the yellow bag or school lunch tacos.

You all know that Gamer is Hispanic, so when he joined the family it was only marginally difficult to get my sweetie to try a few new recipes. He passed on the offer of menudo (made out of beef stomach in a clear broth), but agreed to try tamales (even though the frozen ones were a real issue for him as a kid).

The first time Gamer and Bossy made tamales were for Taco’s blessing day. In the Mormon faith, a baby has a blessing day at approximately six to eight weeks old. Traditionally, the extended family is invited and after the church service we hold a big family party. For us that means cooking for 40 to 50 people. It can get pretty chaotic preparing for a party like that, particularly when there are several of us cooking at the same time. My sweetie and I were busy preparing the various side dishes while Gamer and Bossy were handling the steaming of the tamales.

With all the stress and excitement, Gamer accidentally set the hot steamer pan directly on our countertop. Now when he was growing up that would have been no big deal since his mom had tile countertops. Unfortunately, our laminate countertops did not fare so well. At least we got a lasting memento of a wonderfully memorable occasion. Everyone loved the tamales and they have received many requests to make them again. So here you go, Tamales, Gamer/Bossy-style. Hope you enjoy them. Leave me a comment and let me know!

Pictures of Gamer happy with the camera are rare.

Tamales
1 ¼ lbs boneless pork loin or shoulder
1 clove fresh garlic, minced
1 tsp fresh ground black pepper
1 bag chile pasilla or dried California pods
4 oz California chili powder 
1/8 cup cooking oil
¾ cup water
½ tablespoon salt
1 bag cornhusks
2 ½ lbs prepared masa (dough)


Tamale Dough
2 cups of Maseca for tamales
2 cups lukewarm broth or water
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
2/3 cup lard or vegetable shortening


In a crock pot or large pan cover meat with water. Add fresh garlic and black pepper. Simmer until done, time varies depending on your pot. It can cook longer, just remember to add water when low.

Pic credit

Prepare pods by removing stems and seeds (opt). (Remember the seeds give it heat. If you use mild pods I recommend only de-steming.) Lightly saute pods in cooking oil. They burn easily, so watch closely and the flavor will be fine if they are slightly black.

Place softened pods in blender, add water, and 1 oz chili powder and blend until smooth. While blending, remove pork from pan and place on a large cutting board. Drain water and rinse pot well. Shred pork with two forks. Place shredded pork and blended chili mixture back in the crockpot on warm (low on stove). Cook until ready to roll, stirring occasionally.

Soak cornhusks for a few minutes and rinse well. Quickly sort husks. Set ripped or small husks aside to make ties. Select a size and prepare most of the husks to that size. Add excess to the tie pile.  Tear tie pile into 1/2 inch strips.

Prepare Masa (dough). Combine Maseca, baking powder, remaining chili powder, and salt in a bowl, work broth or water with your fingers to make a soft moist dough. In a small bowl, beat shortening until fluffy, add masa and beat until dough has a spongy texture.

Spread masa evenly over cornhusks, place a tablespoon of meat mixture in the center.

Fold all sides to the center, and tie with small pieces of cornhusks. Place in steamer. Cover and steam for approximately 1 hour.

Camping

In 2008 when the Dog Walker was fourteen, he was all excited about finishing his merit badges to earn his Eagle Scout award. It takes 21 badges to earn the Eagle and some of them are required. One of the hardest is Camping. Camping was one of the original 57 badges created in 1911, and to earn it a scout has to spend 20 days and 20 nights camping either with his troop or his family. 

Family campout 2010

We started keeping track when the Dog Walker was an 11-year-old scout. For each trip he would either take pictures and log the dates or draw pictures of what they did while they were camping. He got five days each for his 12 and 13-year-old scout camps, so that gave him a pretty good jump. Fathers and sons times three years, plus several family camping trips and he was at 19. We were excited about this, knowing that with the May Fathers and sons camp he would be at the required 20. That same weekend we made an appointment with the counselor and showed up on his doorstep with all the requirements. 

Dog Walker

The Dog Walker proudly presented all of his pages and dates to the counselor (who also happened to be his scout leader). Everything was perfect except for one thing…we didn’t have enough campouts. "But we counted so carefully," I protested. Our very patient scout leader pointed to each individual camp and ticked up the numbers. When he got to the second scout camp, instead of assigning it multiple days, he only counted it as one! Apparently you only get the full number of nights the first time you go to scout camp. The Dog Walker was devastated. 

We headed back home and my brain was churning. Once again, I was seven months pregnant with Curly and not excited about the prospects of doing any camping. Unfortunately, there weren’t many other options for us. So we pulled out the calendar and planned a trip to a nearby campsite for the first weekend in June. It seemed pretty silly to haul all of our stuff 20 miles down the road just so we could sleep in a tent, but that’s exactly what we did. 

Pic credit

Willow Park was a huge flat area with some trees, a playground, and lots of mosquitoes. We pitched the tent in the center of all of them. There weren’t many other people around that particular evening and we found out later that it is because they chose that day to spray the area with pesticides. Somebody came around and warned us to stay in our tent between 5 and 6 in the morning…. 

Anyway, we camped as close to the nearest restroom as possible, but I had been getting up four or five times every night and even that 300 feet to the restroom seemed impossible. I slept in my clothes with my shoes at the ready. I spent several minutes in fervent prayer, asking for intervention so that I would be able to make it through the night even though I hadn’t been able to for several months. As I drifted off, one last trip down the road seemed like a grand idea. 

The next thing I knew, the sun was up and it was morning. My bladder was definitely urging me to get up and quickly, but the kids were already stirring and it was time to start breakfast. I am so grateful for these small and simple things that remind me that even the seemingly impossible can be accomplished if you believe in the power of prayer. 

Just in Time

It was the summer of 2003. Bossy had just moved home after graduating with her Associates Degree from Snow College. The Gym Rat was between his junior and senior years of high school, and I was facing the pending birth of my ninth child. Our local high school offered summer college classes and other than books, the classes were free.

We’ve told our kids pretty much from the day they were born that we were not planning to pay for their college education although we were hoping and expecting that they would all want one. That made it up to them to figure out a way to get through school without being consumed by debt. We encouraged them to get all the college credits they could before they graduated from the public school system since those classes were mostly free. So the Gym Rat signed up for what they call Ed Net classes. He and the neighbor girl who lived a couple of doors down the street were carpooling several miles to another high school in our district that taught some classes they both needed. Two days a week, he rushed out of the house, picked her up in his little blue Neon and together they would head off to school and arrive at class just in time.

June slid by quickly and Sport was born right on schedule. Life whirled around me as I slid into the new baby stupor. Most of the kids were working and playing, just enjoying summer. My sweetie had a job where he could work home some, so he was around, making sure all was well. One morning, when Sport was about ten days old, the phone rang.

Since I had many calls and well-wishers, I had the cordless phone nearby. "Hello?" I questioned. "This is LDS hospital," the caller began, "We are Lifeflighting your son to our emergency room. Could you please meet us there?" As if through a fog, my brain refused to work. "What?" I had just delivered Sport at that hospital so I thought maybe there was some confusion. "My son is ten days old…" I hesitated when the caller started again, "Your son was in an accident and was unconscious. He is alive and we are LifeFlighting him now. Could you or your husband meet us there?"

The wheels in my brain were starting to spin. Fortunately, my sweetie happened to be home. We quickly gathered up Sport and a diaper bag and climbed in the car. It had been six years since I had received a similar call about my little Princess and her helicopter ride. I guess you could say that my response had something to do with age or experience, but my reaction was completely different. I knew from the phone call that he was alive, and during the 30-minute drive, I tried to prepare myself mentally for what might come next. My sweetie and I discussed the possibility of paralysis or brain-damage, but the physical agony I experienced with the Princess was not there. I had come to the realization that God would choose the path that was best for me and as long as I trusted Him, everything would be OK.

We didn’t know what to expect as we pushed our way through the emergency room doors. The Gym Rat was the only person being treated; his friend down the street had been transported in an ambulance to a hospital a little closer to home (her injuries were minor). I rushed to his side and he reached for my hand. His own was streaked with blood and he had vomit in his hair. One shoe was missing and his pants had been split completely up the side for easy access to all the machines and monitors that were currently hooked up to him. A doctor approached and for a moment time seemed to stand still. "He’s one lucky young man," he said. We waited expectantly. "He’s fine…absolutely fine." My hands started to shake; a typical reaction for me as the adrenaline drains away. The Gym Rat held onto one and smiled. "Yeah," he said. "The worst part was the helicopter ride…it made me sick."

It turned out that he pulled into an intersection when a car came speeding up and over the hill and slammed right into the driver’s side. The impact knocked him out when the airbags failed to deploy, and one of his size 14 shoes was still on the gas pedal. The car raced across a field and stopped abruptly several feet from the side of a house. He was bruised and sore, but grateful to be alive. This is why each and every day of my life I pray for safety and trust that God will keep me and mine on the right path. It sure worked for the Gym Rat. He stopped just in time.

Pageant and Palisade

As you all know, I grew up in a small town in central Utah. When I was 2 years old, somebody decided that we needed to present a pageant (not a beauty pageant, but a large live play) that explained our Mormon faith. My parents were excited about this opportunity and promptly signed up our family to participate. The girls all got bonnets and long dresses and we walked at the appropriate time across the fairgrounds to represent the trek of the pioneers. I don’t actually remember any of this, but my mom told me about it many times and showed me the bonnets that she kept as remembrances. The pageant had about 2000 people attend the first year and it grew and grew and grew. For two weeks every July, the Mormon Miracle pageant brought thousands of visitors into our tiny towns.

When I was about 12, I had a second opportunity to be part of this production. By then they had moved it to the grounds of the Manti Temple. I was part of the heavenly choir along with the rest of our Young Women group. We wore white dresses with tinsel (no wings because we don’t believe in wings). I can still perform the actions for that song. After my second year as an angel, I graduated to the ranks of a Nephite. These dances were much harder and required weekly practices that began after auditions the first week of May. The costumes were fun and elaborate and reused every year.

Christ among the Nephites

The year I was 15 I was chosen to be a Lamanite, but not a dancer. I stood on the platform. Since Lamanites are the ancestors of today’s American Indians, I was required to be covered in a coppery shade of body paint and have my hair dyed temporarily black each night. This paint was messy and stained the shower. Several years earlier, my older brother wore his hair mostly black all summer when the dye they used wouldn’t wash out of his blonde curls. Our part in the pageant was during the first half, so we were allowed to leave the staging area on a school bus and return to the high school to change.

The years I was an angel or a Nephite, we would walk the couple of blocks to where the crowds were gathered to watch the pageant and chase boys. When I was a Lamanite, we had to find a place to wash off. We were not allowed to mingle with the masses in our war paint. So we would all pile into the back of somebody’s pickup and head to one of the nearby lakes. Gunnison Reservoir was a favorite swimming hole because it was dirty and loaded with catfish. No one minded if we had our cleaning party there. (Remember, this was thirty + years ago. The Water Quality people would be all over us now…I don’t know what they currently do.) The other spot we liked to go to wash off was Palisade Lake in Sterling.

One night a bunch of us headed up there. It had been a difficult performance. The guy who was playing Samuel the Lamanite was supposed to stand on a wall and preach to the people. But he had worked an 18-hour shift the night before and when his cue came, he was snoozing on the ground behind the wall. The spotlights hit the wall, but nothing roused him. The Nephites threw their rocks and chased nobody…He was in our group and rather upset as you can imagine. So when we got to Palisade, he wanted to do something idiotic. He wanted to swim across the lake and back.

The lake is 66 acres with an average depth of 18 feet.

He was about 18 and cute, and I was the only taker. I had been on a swim team as a child and thought I could do anything. Looking back, it’s amazing I even survived. This guy was a trained lifeguard and a much stronger swimmer than I was so I guess that was some consolation, maybe he could have saved me. I was in the pageant all through my teenage years until I was married. I even auditioned for the lead role, but was disqualified because I was only 17 and they required an 18-year-old. The pageant now plays for over a hundred thousand people each year. I looked up the dates for you just in case you are driving through Manti and you want to stop. This year it is June 16 – 18 and 21 – 25. It’s all free and if you’re interested, it’s a great place to pick up guys…but don’t let them take you to the lake. You might just have to swim for it.

*Editor's Note: If you decide to put this on your Summer list and attend the pageant please leave us a comment about your experience.  We'd love to hear what you enjoyed.*

Guest Blog: Spiritual Insight by Princess

Today I got to do some something fun. I went to the Manti Temple with Dad, Dog Walker, Prima Donna, and Grandpa. Grandma C had some family names that needed to be done. The Manti Temple’s Baptistry is much different from the one my sister and I are used to going to. It is a lot smaller, less busy, and it wasn’t as calm or peaceful. I didn’t feel the same as I did in my temple and it worried me. It wasn’t until I was sitting in a tiny room and my grandpa was saying a prayer with his hands on my head that I felt something.

It wasn’t a feeling of peace; it was a kick from my sister sitting on the chair across from me. I opened my eyes and hers were closed, trying to look innocent even as a huge grin spread across her face. Right then I realized that if it weren’t for the power of the priesthood, I’d be dead, and my little sister, who was sitting across from me, would be doing my names. She would have been in the dressing room alone, she would have my room, my clothes, my toys… My treasured items wouldn’t be there, they would be in stores or trees, waiting to be turned into paper, and then masterpieces… by someone else. If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be reading this.

How would the people around me have been affected if I had died that day? My friends, my family, my future husband…how would their lives be different? Would my best friend be happy? Would my husband marry someone else?

Bossy thinks she is funny.

Now I just want to point out that I DID die (something I am very proud of and am seriously considering putting on my resume!). I wonder what happened when I did. I want to hope I found my great-grandparents, who were already dead, and asked them what to do. I want to think that my great-grandpa, who drowned, told me his story and helped me decide to return to my family. I want to think my children were there, and explained to me that I needed to go back home so they could join me some day. I hope my siblings that weren’t born told me about all the fun we would have together, and the special moments we would share.

My awesome dance friends at C & C

I came back for a couple of reasons. I needed to live out my life. I needed to have trials and fun times, and learn to dance. I needed to get married and raise my family. But one of the most important reasons is because I needed to come back so my autistic brother wouldn’t blame himself for killing me. I love my brother. Nate, I’m so glad you put me in that bathtub. I’m glad you gave me that experience and made me the person I am today. I love you.

~ Princess

Noticed the church pew and did a double take? Go read this story.

Princess's Miracle

I squinted at the gray screen, trying to make out the tiny arms and legs as the doctor expertly pointed to each appendage. The year was 1997 and I was only 8 weeks pregnant, so determining the sex was out of the question, but I was thrilled to see the tiny heart pounding out a snappy rendition of Jingle Bells. ‘How appropriate,’ I thought. It was Christmas Eve, and I could think of no better gift than seeing the gift of life on my doctor’s computer screen. As my sweetie and I hurried from the doctor’s office, the cold clear air sent us quickly to the car. We had a little last minute shopping to do, so we headed into the heavy traffic of downtown Salt Lake City.

Not any of my babies.

We drove several blocks to the nearest strip mall. We wanted to get home to the kids so that we could spend the afternoon together. Bossy was 13 and certainly capable of babysitting her five siblings, but still, we didn’t like to be away too long, especially on Christmas Eve. We made our way through the store, looking for something to fill the blanks on our shopping list. Before we had time to find anything suitable, my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and punched the button. "Hi," I began. I knew it was the kids, because no one else had that number.

My eleven-year-old Gym Rat was hysterical. "Calm down," I nearly shouted. "What’s wrong?" I heard Bossy grab the phone. She was sobbing, "I’m so sorry, Mom…Princess was in the tub…she turned blue…she wasn’t breathing…." What was she telling me? My sweet, blond 15-month-old girl was where? My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.

Suddenly, a soothing voice of one of South Jordan’s finest came on the phone. "Ma’am? Listen to me." I tried to calm down. How could I be calm when they were telling me I’d just lost my baby? "Are you alone?" "No," I managed to choke out. "My husband is with me." "We want the two of you to drive carefully to Primary Children’s Hospital. Where are you?" he questioned. "We’re downtown," I managed. "We could be there in just a few minutes." "Settle down and drive slowly. We’re bringing your baby in on Life Flight. You’ll get there before we will."

That trip to the hospital was the longest one I have ever taken. I screamed, I cried, I tore my hair. Why did we leave her home? When we finally arrived, I was in total meltdown. Princess was not at the hospital yet, and no one knew anything of her condition. We waited for about 30 minutes before we heard the helicopter.

Moments later, we were allowed in the emergency room. Our little Princess was bloated and covered with wires and tubes. She was ice-cold, but she was breathing. Yes, she was still breathing. Our next-door neighbor showed up about the same time we did and he gave her the most beautiful priesthood blessing. Like her ancestor I told you about yesterday, that blessing appeared to make all the difference. She was transferred quickly to the pediatric ICU and hooked to all kinds of monitors. The doctors sat down with us and told us to be realistic. They didn’t think she would die at this point as long as they could warm her up carefully. The first 24 hours were critical, but if she made it through, we still had the possibility of brain damage or even physical damage. I didn’t care, I hugged her as carefully as I could, kissed her, and sobbed her name. She was still alive, and I could think of no better gift than to see the gift of life on the PICU’s monitors.

We sat with her most of the night. We couldn’t touch her because it modified her temperature. I’d never felt so helpless in my life. My grandmother came to stay with our other children. They all agreed that Christmas would wait until our little Princess could come home and share it with us. The morning’s trip to the doctor and our wonderful news of the successful ultrasound for our seventh child seemed a lifetime away.

Christmas morning dawned beautifully, even for us in the PICU. Other parents were there, sharing Christmas morning with their sick and dying little ones. Santa Claus came and brought some gifts and candy, and I couldn’t help wondering if our Princess would ever be able to play with the little stuffed animals or eat the gingerbread. Toward noon, our doctor came in to check on her. We were all exhausted and hoping for good news.

She was still under anesthesia and full of tubes and wires. Her tiny face was swollen from the IV, a respirator covered her mouth and nose, and the heart monitors dotted her little chest. The doctor picked her up and stood her right up on her feet. She moaned and opened her eyes. The doctor paused for only a moment, then he said with conviction, "She’s going to be fine, but plan on her being here at least a week." We were thrilled. No one knew how long she was under water, and with the risk of infection, she could have stayed at the hospital for weeks with respiratory problems or pneumonia.

We are all glad she is around.

Forty-eight hours later, Princess was ready to go home. It was nothing short of a miracle. Christmas morning dawned bright and early for us on December 27, 1997. The sounds of paper tearing and happy voices were never more appreciated. Princess sat weakly on my lap and carefully opened her packages. I gave her a little squeeze and blinked back the tears. I could think of no better gift than to see the gift of life…our little Princess, wrapped in her warm quilt from the hospital, snuggled in my lap on Christmas Day.


**Editor's Note: I'd just like to add that it is because my mother believes in scouting that Princess is here today. If I had not been through the CPR/first aid certification I wouldn't have known what to do when the Gym Rat pulled Princess from the tub. I had him call 911 while I started CPR. It wasn't until the paramedics were sending us to the neighbors house and I knew I had to call Mom that I became hysterical. Scouting is an excellent program and I strongly encourage anyone who babysits to become CPR certified.** 

More Ditches

My sweetie thinks it’s creepy that I have so many stories about drownings and near drownings. I think I got on this subject after I wrote the story on Grandma for Mothers’ Day. I told you that her first husband had a stroke while he was swimming. She sent me a beautiful hand-written letter a few days later. She said that several years ago her brother came by for a visit and told her what actually happened that day (isn’t that weird, when they were in their 80s he finally decided to tell her the whole story?). Apparently they were fishing and my grandfather hooked a big one…too big to bring in on the line. So he decided to go after it. My great-uncle said Grandfather went down once, resurfaced and hollered for help. Then he went back down and never came back up. So he really just drowned.

As I told you Thursday, the main canal was about ½ a block from my grandparents’ house. When I was a child, the irrigation ditches didn’t frighten me unless the water was running high. That was generally in the early spring when the run-off was at its peak. During those times we were strictly forbidden to even walk near the canal. When the water was low, my brothers and I would walk into the mouth of the culvert that ran beneath the road. It was easily 6 feet high, but more likely 8 (as a small child, everything seems big…)

I know we didn’t have any trouble walking together into the opening. But it was dark and scary and even during the driest of seasons there was a trickle of muddy water that ran over our bare feet and curled around our ankles. I was not fond of the spiders and snakes (although I never saw a snake, my brothers insisted they were in there!) nor the dark. Perhaps my brothers can verify that they really walked through the underground culverts all the way to the center of town. I heard that they did, but I was too afraid to accompany them on that dangerous and terrifying journey.

Anyway, this canal was much bigger than the one I fell into. It was the collector and it ran several blocks before it was diverted into about three different smaller ditches like the one by our house. None of these ditches were fenced nor covered except for a narrow culvert so that the family living in the house could cross by foot or by car to get to the road.

One spring morning, someone from the neighborhood pounded on our door. It seems that the little girl just down the street from Grandma and Grandpa’s house was missing. She was about two and the cutest little thing with dark eyes and dark hair. Her parents were American Indians and they had a big family like us. They had a boy the same age as me and other kids that matched up with the ages of my siblings. We knew each other well and played together often. Natasha’s mother was frantic with worry. The canal was running high. Dad and Grandpa both joined the group of searchers. None of us were allowed to help because of the dangerous waters, so we stayed home and worried. I remember at one point we all gathered together and said a prayer for her and for their family.

Later that afternoon Grandpa was in the group that found her little body. She had fallen in the canal and the water had carried her to the dam in one of the diversion ditches. As a community, we were devastated. It was the first death of a child that I remember and it could have been any one of us. We stayed far away from the canal for the rest of the run-off season. My mom, who was a non-swimmer and deathly afraid of the water, insisted that we all take swimming lessons. Not that swimming lessons could have saved little Natasha…

My sweetie has a way cool story in his family. One of his ancestors that helped settle his hometown had a daughter that drowned in one of these irrigation ditches just like the one where I nearly met my demise. She was not breathing and had no pulse for quite some time. Her parents asked Elder Orson Hyde to give her a blessing. When he told them that she was gone and it wasn’t appropriate for him to recall her to life, they told him that her blessing as a babe had promised her that she would live to adulthood and bear many children.

Elder Hyde immediately gave her a blessing and within seconds she was breathing again. She did live to be a mother with quite a few children. When I read that story for the first time, I understood that devastating feeling her mother must have felt knowing that only Heavenly Father could make a difference for her. Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you my one last drowning story, then I promise we’ll move on to happier things.

Baby, Baby, Baby Ohhhh....No

Every Monday night we gather our kids together for a religious ritual called Family Home Evening. It’s a good time for us to teach our kids all the things they need to know about our church, as well as a time for us to teach them skills that will help them be happy, productive adults. It’s also a good excuse to consume copious amounts of sugary goodies. Sometimes we just do something fun like play games or go out for pizza. My sweetie’s favorite activity is to put on a movie in his beloved projector room and enjoy each other’s company while we sit with our eyes glued to the screen. I’m sure we are teaching them something…I’m just not sure what.

These charts new come with enough name spots. Good thing Bossy can photoshop.

Today I took Teach with me to the grocery store. As soon as we got in the store she headed right over to the Redbox to look for a movie. Two minutes later she was back and she was snickering. "I’ve got a movie for FHE," she said. She slipped the Justin Bieber Movie into my purse. I rolled my eyes. "The girls will be so excited…your dad…not so much." We finished our shopping and headed home. I broke the news to my sweetie…gently. **Editor's Note: For previous Justin Bieber antics see here and here.**

"We got a blue-ray!" I said with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. It wasn’t often I suggested a movie for FHE.

"Yeah?" he asked cautiously. "What is it?"

I smiled, "The Justin Bieber Movie."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh come on," I prompted, "the girls are so excited to see it…"

He shrugged, defeated, "OK."

I sent them all downstairs while I prepared strawberry shortcake for our treat. It was the least I could do. I heard the girls screaming right along with the ones on the movie. I could just imagine how my sweetie was faring without me. I cut strawberries a little faster. When I got down there, the sub was pounding and the kids were all singing along. My sweetie looked miserable, but he didn’t say anything. I handed out the strawberry shortcake and settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

Curly’s got the JB moves down. He was running all over, jumping off the couch and singing at the top of his lungs. The trouble is that he has asthma, so any time he gets that excited, he vomits. I should have gotten a clue when he stopped running and stood next to me with his hands over his mouth. I realized it about the same time my sweetie hollered over the music, "He’s gonna puke!" Wisely, I pushed him toward his dad (since I was holding the baby) and told Scout to run for a towel. Too late! He was heaving all over his dad. My sweetie is experienced in this sort of detail and he immediately pulled his shirt into a bowl to catch the mess.

Scout was taking forever, so I sent the Dog Walker after another towel. The way it was looking we could use both of them anyway. She finally returned with a little dishrag, but the Dog Walker was right behind her with an oversized bath towel. Together we stripped Curly down and cleaned him up. "See!" my sweetie hissed at one point. "JB made him throw up!" I scowled at him and then pulled out some baby wipes to scrub Curly’s pale little face. The music already had him pulling away to rejoin the fray.

Two minutes later he was dancing again (in his underwear this time). I couldn’t help but smile, he was so cute! Unprompted, he ran back to me and threw his arms around my neck. "Thanks for being a good cleaner-upper of my throw-up!" he said. I hugged him back, "You’re welcome!" I said. "Go tell Dad." He ran to my sweetie and repeated his gratitude. My sweetie glanced at me over the top of those blonde curls and smiled, "Where did he come from?" Yeah…he’s even cooler than JB.