Taco Is Growing Up

My grandson, Taco, is turning 7 on Saturday. I debated about writing a tribute to him on that day to wish him a Happy Birthday, but then I decided that maybe I would just sneak it in a few days early. Being the grandma, I don’t really know his birth story. I know there are lots of people out there who have the entire extended family in the room with them when their babies are born, but we have discouraged that in our family. I’m a pretty firm believer that only the mom and dad should be in the room when a new little one is born. It should be a special time of bonding for the parents… there’s plenty of time for siblings and grandparents later. OK, now I’m getting off my soapbox.

Bossy and my SIL were pregnant at the same time, Bossy with her first, and my SIL with her third. My SIL had two boys at home and she was so excited when they pronounced this third child to be a girl. Bossy was due the first part of December and my SIL was due in January. But one day in mid-November, for no apparent reason, my SIL stopped feeling movement. She checked in at the hospital and her worst fears were confirmed. The little one she had carried for about seven months had no heartbeat.

They began the induction process and after many hours, they went for the C-section. We were invited to her hospital room to say hello and goodbye. I had never experienced anything so heart-wrenching. She allowed each of us to hold her precious daughter and feel of that sweet spirit before she was laid to rest.

Bossy did not come to the hospital. We worried that her extremely pregnant body might remind my SIL of what might have been. But we couldn’t do anything about the fact that a few days later, Bossy went into labor and our sweet little Taco was born.

In spite of the cloud of sadness surrounding his birth, he has always been a bright, happy boy. His preschool days were filled with doctors and hospitals because of a seizure disorder. (Maybe I can get Bossy to do a guest blog on that later in the week.) But for now, I hope you like all these fun pics Teach found. I’m sure Bossy has more and if it weren’t almost 2:00 AM, I’d call her and ask her to throw them in. Happy Birthday, Taco! I can’t believe you’ve grown up so fast.

A Very Long Day

It’s been a very long day, but I need to talk to all of my wonderful bloggy friends before I put this day to rest. We buried my sweet grandma today. She lives a couple of hours away, so we had to be up and on the road early. There was a huge part of me that REALLY didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. I was not looking forward to facing the reality that she was gone. But we got up and dressed and out the door before 8:00 AM.

We got caught in construction and didn’t end up at the viewing until it had been going on for about 20 minutes. But it didn’t really matter…the family was all still there. We hugged and cried and laughed and then hugged some more. The service was beautiful. Teach got to lead the singing and all the great grandkids and great-great grandkids sang a couple of songs. I led those so that she could sing with the group. It was a pretty impressive group! Six of my seven siblings were there and all of their children. Plus various other cousins and relatives.

My Dad, my MIL, Gym Rat and Me

 After the kids sang I spoke for about 10 minutes. I wasn’t afraid at all since it was mostly family with a few scattered friends in the back. My oldest sister and two of my brothers and one nephew also spoke. It’s funny, we all had different memories of Grandma, but they were kind of all the same. It’s like we learned the same lessons from her but all in a different way. Does that make sense?

After the funeral we drove for another half an hour to the cemetery where Grandma's first husband was buried. There was a short ceremony there. The funeral directors were so good! My little boys and a couple of their cousins wanted to look down in the hole so I took them to the edge. When I told him that they were curious about the process, he explained all the chains and ropes and pulleys to them. He even told them where they stored the extra dirt and why. Then he gently led them all back away from the hole and they brought the casket in. Doesn’t my sweetie look good in black? He was by far the best looking pallbearer…no offense guys…

Then we all piled back in the van and drove half an hour back to the church for lunch. I met with cousins I hadn’t seen in 20 years. I don’t know why we all have to wait for a funeral to reconnect! After an hour of more hugging and visiting, we loaded back in the van. The Dog Walker had a Marching Band competition about an hour away and we had to have him there by 4:30. He joined his group about ten minutes before they took the field to perform.

We got home about an hour before Princess’s birthday party friends started to appear. I quickly threw together a couple of batches of cupcakes and some frosting. She had about 20 kids here until almost midnight, but it was just what the kids needed. Princess even let all the little kids join with her friends playing games and decorating cupcakes, eating ice cream cones and singing around the piano and then watching Phantom of the Opera.

And now I’m tired…I’m so glad tomorrow is Sunday and a day of rest. The Gym Rat is hosting Princess’s family birthday party at his house tomorrow, so I don’t really even have to cook. Other than three hours of church, tomorrow should be much easier. Thanks for being there for me!

Birthdays and Funerals

My girls are good sports. When my mom passed away five years ago, the family insisted that the only day we could have her funeral was on the Prima Donna’s birthday. At the time it was difficult for her to spend her birthday that way, but she loved her grandma and now she is kind of proud of the fact that they shared a special day together. Now it’s happening again. Today is my grandma’s funeral and it is also Princess’s 15th birthday.

Princess was born on a beautiful fall day. I was still somewhat in recovery mode from my knee surgery, and we were still pretty new in our neighborhood. But we didn’t live in a “normal” neighborhood. It was a tight-knit supportive, inclusive group. They gave me my first baby shower ever (Princess was #6). We had gotten rid of tons of things when we moved from our other house, so I needed everything! They were all so kind and generous. Princess became the best-dressed baby in the neighborhood, and she still loves pretty clothes.

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She never loved nursing and she was my only child who refused to look at me when she ate. She gulped quickly for 5 minutes and then looked for her pacifier. Maybe that’s why she is still so petite and thin now. Size 0…really?! I didn’t even know they made clothes that small.

I’ve told you before that when she was 15 months old, she drowned in my bathtub on Christmas Eve. But after CPR and being life-flighted to Primary Children’s Hospital, she was revived and we are pretty sure she doesn’t have any brain damage (judge for yourself) although she is 15 now, so we will let you know. (Just kiddin’…mostly…)

She is happy and sweet and a loyal friend and sister. She loves animals and babies, dancing and church, but not necessarily in that order. She has discovered that boys are nice to have around and they like her too. I’ll let you know how the birthday party goes tonight. She has invited about 30 kids (boys and girls) and it was impossible to cancel even with the funeral.

She is a straight A student with all honors in every class. She worries constantly about having everything just right. I’m pretty sure she has never missed or forgotten an assignment in any class. Her dance teacher sends an extra copy of the music with her to their competitions just because she knows the Princess never forgets anything. She has had her pointe shoes for three years and she is now dancing long solos in their performances. Last fall she got her first real tutu. She was so excited! She also does an amazing job in jazz.


She loves to cook, but mostly sweet things, and like me, she HAS to have a recipe! She doesn't cut hair (anymore), and she loves Justin Bieber. If you bother to read that story, read the sequel here. It's even better.

She plays basketball and volleyball with me although I’m not sure she loves them. She plays the clarinet in her school’s top band and she was selected for that honor in 8th grade too. I know I’m making her sound like the perfect kid, and she is pretty close. Sometimes she doesn’t want to do her chores or clean her room, but she usually comes around quickly. All I have to do is threaten to take away her phone and I get the results I’m hoping for. Her phone is her lifeline to her friends and she has tons of them!

Princess is the person I always wanted to be when I was growing up. She seems to have everything together. She dances through life, literally and figuratively. I’m so proud to be her mom. I could use a dozen more just like her. Happy Birthday, Princess. Sorry you have to share your birthday with Grandma's funeral, but I know if anybody can make a sad situation better, it’s you! Love you lots!

A Legacy of Love

Edna Benson: March 24, 1918 - Sept 18, 2011

Today started out to be a typical crazy day, but it didn’t end that way. We had my siblings and their families coming over to celebrate Grandpa’s birthday. My sweetie spent the entire morning making Grandpa’s favorite food, spaghetti and (huge!) meatballs. Crafty absolutely loves meatballs! When she was about 7, she heard the “On Top of Spaghetti” song for the first time. Strangely, she started to cry. “What’s wrong?” my sweetie asked. “That’s the saddest song I ever heard…” she whimpered. My sweetie started going over the lyrics in his head. Perplexed, he finally asked her why. “Because somebody’s meatball rolls into the street and becomes nothing but mush,” she sobbed.

So back to my day…we headed out for church and we were running behind because of all the party preparations. I accidentally left my cell phone on the couch. After three rather quiet hours at church, we drove home.

The Drama Queen had opted to stay home rather than show up late, and I was a bit surprised when she met us at the car door. She was upset and clearly agitated. “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately. “I don’t know if you want the kids to know,” she said hesitantly. “Tell me,” I insisted. “Your sister called and Grandma died this morning.” I had been dreading this day for the last 20 years, and now that it was here, the tears did not flow. Grandma was 93 last March and she was so unhappy with her failing body. Oh, she was never sickly, but she just couldn’t do the things she wanted to do anymore. She gave me her quilt frames last winter when she knew she wouldn’t be able to set them up anymore. She was always a small woman, but she was now about the same size as 8-year-old Sport, although I think she weighed about 20 lbs less than he does. She loved cats and dogs and thought everybody should have one.

Grandma and I were always close. I took my sweetie to meet my grandparents on our very first date. My mom used to complain that Grandma was more like a mother to me than she was and I have to admit that Grandma taught me many things. I learned how to cook and clean from her. I learned about budgeting and the power of money. She taught me to quilt and crochet, how to make a bed. Couponing and even how to address an envelope. She taught me about forgiveness and stubborness and how to get along. How to wrap a gift and how to work hard! How to play Pinochle and Yahtzee. Grandma was one of my heroes.
Teach and I were talking about her legacy and Teach took some pics for you of things that help her remember Grandma. These beautiful hot pads, dish cloths, and quilts were some of her contributions. For Grandma it was important to keep busy and productive. I’m guessing they had to pry that crochet hook out of her hand this afternoon before they took her to the funeral home. It was just her way. She gave this necklace to Teach and it is one of her prized possessions. Princess loves her quilts, all made with love by Grandma. I have many fond memories that have nothing to do with yarn, like the day she asked me to dye her hair.

She loved bright colors, but not pink. When we first moved into our home, I told her our color scheme and she whipped up half a dozen pink hot pads for us. Everyone on my street has a couple of hot pads and dish cloths that were lovingly made by Grandma. Every new baby was wrapped in one of Grandma's quilts. We've given away hundreds over the years.


 I called my sisters after church. None of us knew what to do. Then we decided to do just exactly what Grandma would have wanted. We had a party! Albeit a somber party. We gathered at my house at the appointed time, munched on meatballs and talked about Grandma. She would have liked that. I’m not sure what the week will bring. But I do know I will miss her. Last week Teach bought some yarn so Grandma could crochet a few more baby dresses. It's still sitting in the Roberts bag. Should I return it? Who is going to run over the pop cans with their car now that Grandma is gone? And who is going to keep score when we play Pinochle? Even though I know she was done here, and all of her friends died years ago, it is difficult to let her go. She outlived two husbands and her daughter (my mom). She hasn’t been truly happy for quite some time although she never complained much. And yes, Teach, much of her legacy involved yarn, but it is much more than that. It is a legacy of love.

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.

Mom Loved...

I really struggled trying to decide what I wanted to post for Mothers’ Day. I wanted to do a tribute to my mom, but then my own Mothers’ Day was amazing, so I had to write about that…anyway, end of story is that I think I’ll write about moms all week if that’s OK with you. 

My mom was an amazing woman who raised 8 kids on a teacher’s salary. She never worked for money when we were kids, but she did all sorts of things to help the family get by. She raised chickens and sold/traded eggs. When we had milk cows she sold and traded milk and cream. She made her own cheese, cottage cheese, butter, ice cream…you get the idea. 

She was an amazing seamstress! She made wedding dresses for several of my sisters and as she got older she loved sewing Barbie clothes for the grandkids. 

Barbie's by mom, Bossy's by me.

Mom had long brown hair that she could sit on. She usually wore it on top of her head, but one of my favorite memories was watching her wash it in the rainwater that poured off the roof during a warm summer rain. She swore that rainwater would make her hair the softest it had ever been. I don’t know about that, but her hair was always nice to touch. 

She loved books! She read everywhere, but her favorite place was the bathroom and her favorite bookmark was a clean piece of toilet paper. She never could read just one book at a time…there were usually at least half a dozen Harlequin romance novels piled on top of the diaper pail. The diaper pail wasn’t used for diapers, but it was a handy little table in the bathroom. When she got older and the kids were all in school she became a part-time librarian. Then she was actually paid to hang out at our small-town library and read. 

Cuddling with Gym Rat at the library.

Mom loved animals of all kinds, but most especially she enjoyed cats. We had lots of cats when we were growing up but Dad would never allow them in the house. Mom’s soft heart let us sneak them in sometimes on particularly cold nights or when the kittens were really small. She loved the ones with long hair and she would sit on the porch and stroke one while she watched us play in the yard. 

At my wedding.

Mom also loved sports. As far as I know, she never really played a sport, but she watched as many as she could. It didn’t matter if it were a pickup football game or a game of hopscotch, she loved to be part of the competition. She always came to my softball games and yelled the loudest from the stands. When my brothers were playing tennis in high school, she was their biggest fan. When all of her kids were grown and gone she started watching professional sports. She was addicted to professional tennis for a while and then she became an avid Jazz fan. Andrei Kirilenko was her favorite player, but she didn’t mind yelling at Karl Malone or John Stockton either. She really should have been a coach. 

**Editor's Note- I remember Grandma loved Andre Agassi.  When I was at college I would go visit and she was often watching Agassi slam the tennis ball back across the court.  It seemed fitting that he retired in 2006, the year Grandma died. It was like he knew his biggest fan wasn't yelling instructions at the television anymore.

Mom loved a good video game (she probably would have loved blogging too!). This was a habit she took up after I was married and out of the house, but I’ve heard tons of stories. Her favorite was Dr. Mario and she would get so excited she would literally jump up and down. One night she was racking up the points so well she topped her high score and the numbers kept climbing. She got so into the game that she jumped up, knocked the other controller into the off button on the game and everything went dead. She was not happy. 

Mom loved Cup-o-Gold candy bars, Almond Joys, chow mein (even the stuff out of a can!) and Thai food. She made the most amazing banana bread! (I’ll have to share that recipe with you on Thursday.) She loved pizza and chocolate chip ice cream, green beans and fresh tomatoes. 

But mostly Mom loved us. She would do anything for us from changing our diapers, patching our cuts, and wiping our tears to watching our babies, reading them stories, and wiping their tears. She loved us through her fight with diabetes and her daily dialysis. She worried only about us even as she lay at death’s door. It’s been five years and we still miss you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Government Contracts and Radio Contacts

When I was pregnant with number three, I went to work as a technical writer for a small defense contractor. It was a good job with good benefits and security. My sweetie went to work full time for the company he was working for so we finally were pulling in a decent income. Unfortunately, we had gotten ourselves under a pile of debt with school and cars and other stupid purchases that we shouldn’t have made. That meant we were both going to have to work for a good long time. I was 24 years old. Life was good but hard. 

When ends didn’t meet, I took on a part time teaching job. When they still didn’t meet, we started selling Tupperware on the side. Life became entirely too crazy then! I was gone nearly every night of the week except Sundays. I hardly ever saw my kids or my husband. I had some friends from work who were very supportive. One of those friends was a girl named Nancy. I guess I shouldn’t call her a girl, she was five years older than me, but she didn’t act like it. She was a single mom with a son just a few years older than Bossy. Even though she had a rather sad life, you would never have known it. She was always happy and helpful. She was the Document Control Librarian so we got to spend a lot of time together. She never thought a task was beneath her. 

She made countless copies for me and burned thousands of holes so that we could duplicate our vast library of government documents. We both liked the same radio station and kept it running constantly in our offices. One day they announced a birthday contest. If the day pulled out happened to be your birthday and you called in you could win $500.00! Nancy was just sure that one of our birthdays would be called out so we made a pact. If either one of us heard the other person’s birthday, we would quick call the station and then holler out to the other person and put them on the line. 

So I was working along one day when suddenly Nancy’s birthday was announced. I picked up the phone, hollered her name, and was surprised when the call rang through. My fingers started shaking, this was it! "Nancy!" I yelled. Her office was just around the corner from mine, but her dark head never appeared at the door. The DJ answered with the station’s call letters. "My birthday is January 30^th!" I blurted, then covered the receiver with my hand. "Nancy!" I called again urgently. She never came. I guess the DJ didn’t believe me or maybe it was standard protocol, but he asked me what year I was born, when I graduated high school…a whole list of questions that I couldn’t answer. When he finally determined that I was not giving him the truth, he hung up.

 I jumped out of my chair and burst into Nancy’s office. "Didn’t you hear me?" I stormed. "You could have just won the $500.00!" She was so calm. "Let’s call them back and explain everything," she suggested. I paced back and forth while she made the call. When she finally replaced the phone in the receiver, she had a smile on her face. "Did they say you could get the money?" I demanded. "No," she replied, "but they were nice, oh, and they are not going to call the police." That was Nancy. Nancy passed away from colon cancer on St. Patrick’s Day. I heard she was happy and smiling right to the end. She was 51 years old. Rest in Peace my friend.

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Fresh Grass and Funerals

I love sports! I love watching them when my kids are participating, but I also have a select few that I love playing. Basketball, softball, and volleyball, not necessarily in that order have been a part of my life off and on since I was about 8 years old. 

Baseball was my first love. I had two older brothers who taught me to play. For some reason I was blessed with a killer throwing arm and I set my heart on playing shortstop on my brother’s Little League team. We grew up in small-town Utah and they didn’t have a girls softball program. When my mom took me to tryouts with the boys, it caused a huge problem. They couldn’t let little girls and little boys play together! Someone might get hurt! 

So they quickly threw together a girls’ league. Anyone from age 8 to age 18 could play on that team (provided that she happened to be a girl, of course). I made the team (everyone did) and sat most of the season. What 8-year-old (even one with a killer throwing arm) could compete with teenage girls? After a year or two they split the teams into several age levels and I finally got my chance. We played from early April until school started the end of August. It was my whole summer life! 

I played until right before I got married and then I played another year after I had my first child. I tried again a couple of years later, but by then we had moved to the Wasatch Front and the teams were much harder to join. Don’t get me wrong, you could sign up, you just couldn’t JOIN. They put me in Center Field where I immediately threw out my arm and was benched for the rest of the season. I didn’t play softball for 20 years and then my best friend asked me to join her as a backup player on a co-ed county rec league. I agreed before I realized how terrifying that prospect could be. I sat and watched the whole first game. 

During the second game they coaxed me onto the field. I still couldn’t throw, but I could catch. They put me on first base. I had never played that position before, but it seemed to work for me. I wasn’t afraid of the ball and some of those men would just burn it in. But like all other fairy tales, that one ended with the season and the team disbanded.

A couple of years later I was asked by my church to be the Women’s Sports Specialist. That meant I had to recruit people to play in our softball league. We had a great time, but I didn’t realize how much it meant to me until my mother passed away. I was in small-town Utah again, arguing with my brothers and sisters about the color of her casket when my dad totally broke down. We left the funeral home under a cloud of despair and gloom. 

My sister’s husband, sensing the breakdown, drove 90 miles an hour to get us back to the good old Wasatch Front. We arrived just in time for the 3^rd inning. Some of the women were insisting that it was time to go, but when I came running across the grass they agreed to one more inning. It was so therapeutic, just being there with my friends, smelling the dirt, and having the opportunity to pound that ball into the outfield. The frustrations and sorrows of the day just melted away and I knew I could face the upcoming funeral and my family. Sometimes life throws us a curve, and sometimes it’s a fastball, but the most important part is just staying in the game.