Jennie's Journal

A lonely clean sock

2012-01-26T15:33:00.001-08:00

Here's another prompt, this one from two years ago!

You are a single clean sock that gets left in the hamper and covered up with dirty clothes.

"I'm next. I'm next" I thought. Obviously it was my turn next. The pressure stacked on top of me all day had finally lifted. I was free! Any second now, she'd reach in, pick me up in her wonderfully wrinkled hands and help me find my soul mate.

I had survived another rustle in my master's worn-out shoe. I had kept my strings together throughout the school day, not once falling down around his ankles like some other socks did. I had not complained when he threw off the protective shell around me to wallop in the dirty sand at the park. I put up with the grittiness when back into my shell I went for the ride home.

Then, into the stink. I awaited my cleansing. This was always the hardest. The darkness. The pressure. The smell. The endless wait 'til laundry day. But, I'd made it! I swam with ferocity, soaking up as much cleanliness as I could, then bathing in the pure rinse cycle.

My favorite part was the heat. The warmth, the fluffiness. It was like I was flying. Gravity had no hold on me in there! And now, here it was, my turn to be handled individually, to find my match.

Any second now...

Okay, maybe tomorrow...

What? More pressure? And smelly ones at that!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

13 wonderful years

2012-01-20T16:11:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was our thirteenth anniversary. It was a crazy, busy day for Dave, and I decided his gift would be a clean house, so thats what I did all day. But, while I was cleaning baseboards and dusting, I kept thinking about fun things most people don't know about Dave. So, here are 13 things you might not know about David Paul Blaser.

1. He frequently (as in several times a week) does the dishes.

2. He mops the floor, cleans the toilets, and scrubs the shower more than I do.

3. I've often caught him asleep in bed with his ipad propped open to the scriptures, the Ensign, or the Church handbook of instructions.

4. He often has a bowl of sugar cereal while watching TV for his 30 minutes of wind down time at the end of the day.

5. Sleeping in for him is getting up at 7:00 a.m. on a rare Saturday instead of the usual 5:00 a.m. alarm.

6. He built Josh's bed.

7. He has given me 13 back rubs for every 1 that I've given him over the course of our marriage. (I'm spoiled, I know)

8. He has to wash his hair out immediately after getting it cut, even if they styled it at the shop.

9. He calls his dad almost daily on his drive home from work.

10. He enjoys reading political non-fiction books.

11. He flosses every morning.

12. Dinner and a movie is his first choice of a night out's activities.

13. He always tells each of us in our family every day that he loves us.

I love you Dave! You are a wonderful husband. People regularly tell me how great of a person he is. He's one of the good ones. Thanks for thirteen great years.

Love, Jennie

If iphones could talk... PROMPT

2012-01-12T16:53:00.000-08:00

I have the immeasurable privilege of meeting twice a month with a writer's group. There are four of us ladies and we are searching for a great name for our group. Suggestions welcome. However, that is not the point of this post.

Each time we meet, we start off with a prompt. We then furiously scratch away for 10 minutes and then share what we wrote with each other. Sometimes they are silly, sometimes they are thought provoking. Sometimes they whet the literary appetite for an entire story to follow.

I thought I'd share some of the prompts I've written over the last two years. Now, keep in mind we are given these prompts cold and have only ten minutes. I have tried to correct grammar, but other than that, I've left the story as is. So, while this is not a New Years Resolution, I am trying to resurrect this blog just to put myself out there a bit more and declare: Yes, I am a writer.

Jan. 12, 2012

Prompt: A Christmas gift that you have wanted for a long time is finally yours. You put it away at the end of the day, and to your astonishment, it talks to you....

My response:

I finally decided to turn off my new iphone. Well, not turn it off, but plug it in to its charger and let it rest and get enough energy to deal with my insatiable desire for surfing the app store, playing words with friends, and texting.

For years my husband had told me to get a smart phone, that life would be easier with it. I'd shoved his sweet intentions away on basis of cost and necessity. Always the practical, responsible one. But, every marriage needs one. But, for Christmas, he had gotten me one and I had been too delighted to muster a complaint.

I got out of bed and plugged my phone into the wall charger. A soft ting confirmed it had landed. Then, I climbed back into bed, a smile on my face, and whispered, "Good night iphone."

"Good night, Jennie." came a husky, robotic voice in reply. My heart lurched out of my body before my mind could follow.

"Who's there?" I winced. I looked over at my husband's sleeping form to see if he was pranking me. He answered with a steady snore.

"iphone?"

"Yes?" The same voice answered. I looked over to where I had plugged it in.

"Can you hear me?" Trepidation in every syllable.

"Yes."

A sudden realization. "Is this Siri?" The newest iphones came with a lady's voice programmed to answer any question you might have. "This is Siri, right?"

"No, I'm not Siri. Siri can only respond when you touch her microphone button. I am your iphone. I've come to tell you an important message before you get so carried away with me that you wile away your life."

"I don't... um... are you alive?" Was I awake?

"No, I'm not alive. I'm your iphone. Now, do you want the message?"

"Um... sure, I guess."

"As long as you own me, I'll be monitoring your time, your thoughts, your words, and your deeds. And, at the last day, at the final judgment, I'll be there, ready with my report of your life. So, use me wisely."

Within minutes, the only apps on my iphone I still had were the gospel library, LDS tools, and the Mormon Channel.

A singular meal

2011-11-27T16:22:00.000-08:00

“Good evening,” he said, a lilting accent giving away his foreign upbringing. “And welcome to Palo.”

We returned his smile, offering thanks.

“Is this your first time here with us?” He adjusted my husband’s seat.

Was this our first time? Most definitely. No, we had not dined in the exclusive adult-only five-star restaurant on top of a 14-story Disney cruise ship at night while docked in the beautiful and balmy harbor of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Our friends, Ward and Lisa, were also first timers along with us. We were just over half-way through our week-long dream vacation. Our kids were five stories below us, being served dinner at our regular table in the Parrot Cay, a wonderful restaurant on its own.

“Yes,” we answered, not caring if it was obvious how much we were enjoying everything about our present surroundings.

He knew our names. Once he determined which one of the men was Dave Blaser, who had made the reservation, he welcomed us all by name. Just another simple layer of Disney courtesy.

“My name is Nikola,” he said as he poured Mickey tap water into my glass (we had opted out of the Evian bottled water at $5.00 each). I shifted my gaze to read below his name tag to find out what country he was from. Serbia.

“Kako ste?” I blurted out, spouting the only Serbian I could recall. During my mission, almost half a lifetime ago, I had known a fair amount of Serbian, and could have carried on a decent conversation. Most of that knowledge had now fallen through the cracks of life, making room for more critical information like what bribes worked to get your daughter to practice the piano, and how to do seven loads of laundry on the side of an otherwise crazy day.

“Dobro,” he answered automatically. It took a second longer for him to realize I had just spoken in his native tongue. “Do you speak Serbian?”

“No.” I racked my brain for any more Serbian. How do you say “I lived in Slovenia?” I couldn’t pull it out. “Zivi en Slovenija.” I said, mixing bad Slovene grammer with a random Spanish article thrown in for added confusion. What?

But, he understood. The verb, ‘Ziveti‘ meant ‘to live‘ and the root was similar enough to Serbian. We exchanged a few more pleasantries about that area of the world, thankfully in English. This additional rapport was just another magical coating on our evening. It is a small world after all.

The entire night was marvelous. No, a three-syllable word does not do it justice. Sensational. Incredible. {Insert brilliant-sounding five or six-syllable word here.}

We started off with an entire antipasto bar, rolled directly to our table where Nikola doled out almost transparent slices of prosciutto, plump artichoke hearts, and parmesan cheese that had aged for over eight years, all drizzled with garlic-infused, hand-pressed olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Fresh, warm italian bread accompanied it.

The next course was soups and salads. The caprese salad had a beautiful twist. A perfectly ripe tomato, halved and peeled, adorned with generous wedges of mozzarella cheese amid a plate decorated with basil and oil mixed together and drizzled in the shape of a large tree branch. It was almost too appealing to touch, but one-bite did the trick, and soon Nikola was clearing out plates to make room for the margarita and quattro formaggi pizzas we had ordered. The thin-crusted margarita was perfectly italian. Crunchy crust, obviously cooked in a brick oven. Thin tomato-based sauce dripped off the ends of each piece, staunched occasionally by a stray basil leaf or a slice of mozzarella still trying to melt.

I was starting to get full. Our entrees hadn’t even arrived. I forced myself to abandon the second slice of tempting pizza. The conversation never got dull. When we weren’t whimpering in delight over each bite of whatever we were consuming, we were discussing our next possible vacations together. This was just the beginning for our families. We each had three children. Same ages. Same genders. It was ideal.

Nikola timed our entrees to perfection. My sea bass was a work of art. With each bite, butter and lemon exploded into my mouth and the flesh of the fish simply melted onto my tongue. We exchanged bites around the table so everyone could taste everything.

“You’ve got to try this” should be Palo’s catchphrase. We all must have said it a dozen times that evening.

Long before our entrees had even arrived, Nikola asked us if we wanted to try the specialty dessert: The Chocolate Souffle. And, yes, all three of those words deserve their capitals. It took just under a half an hour to cook one, so if we wanted them, we needed to get the order in then. We had been prepared. We had been told, no, almost commanded, that The Chocolate Souffle was a must at Palo. Essential.

Enough time had passed since our entree platters had been removed to just tickle the tops of our appetites. Though, even if we had been truly full, we were quickly becoming experts at eating more-than-generous portions.

With flair, Nikola adjusted a thin rolling cart containing our desserts near our table. On top sat four rectangular white plates. Each was centered with a white ramekin overflowing with The Chocolate Souffle. On one side, two miniature pitchers held vanilla bean and chocolate sauces. On the other side, a perfectly round sphere of vanilla gelato floated on a ceramic resting spoon. Steam emanated seductively from the ramekin.

After presenting us each with our platters, he removed Dave’s plate to use for demonstrative purposes. With the fork tines away from him, he gently prodded a small opening in the top of the souffle. Mist stole its way out in a puff. He picked up the vanilla bean sauce and pour an ounce into the hole. The entire souffle responded with a sultry bulge.

We all smiled in our own sinful anticipation of what was about to come. I gently poked a hole along the cracked lines in the surface of my souffle. Poof. A pocket of bottle fog crept out. I couldn’t decide which sauce to apply first. So, I chose both. I raised my small silver spoon and penetrated the opening I had created. Ecru cream poured out of the small container and was quickly swallowed up by the darkness inside. Milk-chocolate sauce followed and my spoon grappled around for a perfect mixture of vanilla bean, chocolate sauce, and chocolate souffle. I pulled it out with a perfect, delectable mass.

I blew on it slightly, looking up to see all three of my dinner companions doing the same. We shared a silly smile. Kids in a candy shop had nothing on us. And then...

Mmmm. How can something be crumbly and so moist at the same time? I swirled the sodden morsels around in my mouth, absorbing each burst of flavor. No need to say, “You have to try this” to anyone now. We were all equally drawn up in food euphoria.

Over the next too-rapidly passing ten minutes, we sat enjoying our souffles. I relished in each bite, pouring more sauce intermittently. Eating each bite slower than a bank teller returning to the long line of customers after her ill-timed break. It was simply sumptuous.

With each swallow, I tried to capture the entire essence of the evening. That day had been one of the best so far. We had started out eating breakfast with Mickey, Minnie and all their friends. We had gone for an amazing catamaran ride out to a secluded bay to snorkel. The ride back to the boat had been a highlight. All six kids were laughing on the catamaran ride back. Lying on their stomachs on the stiff netting watching the waves splash up all around us. Standing up surfing and trying not to get knocked over when we hit a particularly large swell. The sun beating down on our skin, warming us; the perfect contrast to the wind in our hair. Upbeat music blasting from the ship’s stereo. Now, we were all showered, and dressed up to the nines. Our children, who had been fed and taken care of by other people, were now all comfortably watching Cars 2 in 3D in the huge theater seven stories below us. The view was a dark, lulling ocean and blinking harbor lights. I had seen a sign that afternoon that read, “There is a better life out there, it just costs more.” I had laughed at the time, but I felt I knew what it meant. This moment. This was what it meant.

And, suddenly, I didn’t want it to end. I looked down at my souffle, and even though I was absolutely full, I wouldn’t not have eaten the last bite even if I had room. I had to save it for later. To let it linger in my memory. To know that it was still there, unfinished, waiting for me. Waiting for the next time.

A Memory of my Mother

2011-07-10T16:51:00.001-07:00

This is a quick memory I wrote, originally for Mother's day to my Mom. I finally finished it two months later. Happy Mother's day Mom. What are some memories you have of something your mother did that still stays with you today?

_______________________________________________________

The wind whispered to the trees, who answered with a disagreeable shake, covering me with a fresh coating of snow. Even though it wasn’t snowing, I was laden down and soaking wet, with each new gust reaching deeper inside me. I was beginning to rethink my decision to walk my best friend home, now that I had accomplished the task and had only my breath as companion. But, I hadn’t been ready to part ways when it was time, so I waved to my siblings and told them I’d take the long way home. An impetuous decision, given the weather, but done in the name of fourth-grade friendship.

Just a few more houses, and I’d crest the big hill. It would be the perfect sledding hill, were it not for the unfortunate fact that it was a busy road. I precariously placed each moon boot down as close to the sweeping drifts and plow leftovers as I dared. The sidewalks wouldn’t be visible or approachable for months. With each passing car, I turtled into my coat and held up my arms against the residual flurry, berating myself once again for forgetting my scarf. It now fruitlessly warmed the brick-colored tiles on the floor of the school coat room. A few more cars passed. A few more houses. I peeked out of my cocoon. Almost. Almost. There it is. Our street. Home.

Knowing what awaited me kept me going. I would have smiled in anticipation if I hadn’t thought my cheeks would break from the effort. I knew my mom would be waiting for me. And not just waiting. I knew she would have a warm, comforting snack. She’d help me off with my stiff gloves and thick coat. She’d rub my arms down to warm me up. How many cold days had I walked home? How many times had my boots crunched through snow to and from school? Other than my solitude, this one was no different.

Yet.

Decades later, I remember this particular walk. The grey skies were streaked with colors that pointlessly fought to be blue. It wasn’t because it was specifically colder than any other day. It was the warmth of the knowledge that my mother would be home, waiting for me, that engraved the memory of that walk home deep in my soul. How sure I was of that fact. I was more certain of her presence, waiting with a warm snack just for me, than I was that the sun would rise the next day.

And I was not wrong. Trudging up our driveway that would need to be shoveled once again, I almost broke into a run to prove to any wayward doubts that my mom was there. Immediately after entering through our garage, I shook off the last layer of snow and stomped my way inside. My mother was there in seconds, helping remove my hat, gloves and coat. I couldn’t help it. I smiled. For no apparent reason. Yet, I knew why. As my nose begin to thaw, I smelled it. Hot chocolate.

My siblings were scattered up and down the counter, hands surrounding their individual, steaming mugs. Content. I quickly joined them and their conversations, warming my soul with words and delicious drink. It was most likely hot carob, now that I think of it, but as a child, I honestly didn’t know the difference.

The rest of that day, and the majority of my childhood has since blurred into scenes of unspecific happiness. But the feelings of cold, tempered by the sweet knowledge of security live on. What a gift to have a mother waiting for us each day as we came home. What a gift.

I now live in the Valley of the Sun, where snow is so rare that the very rumor of it escalates into prime time news. So, I greet my kids as they ride home on their bikes and scooters with popsicles. Neon green, deep purple and some shade of orange that looks like the over processed tangelos in the store. We sit up to the table, where the ceiling fan is whirring away, as they plop their backpacks on the floor and kick off their flip flops, declaring this to be the hottest day yet. We lounge around licking and talking as they recount the wonders of their day. I may not be quite like my mom, in any regards, but in this one aspect I hope I’ve learned from her. What a gift to be at home. Waiting for my children each day. Waiting with open arms... and a snack.

Talents

2011-05-20T10:44:00.000-07:00

Last week, the Relief Society teacher in my ward asked if I'd share a few words about developing talents. She also asked if I'd share something I had written. I was really hesitant at first, then decided it was too hypocritical to get up and talk about how I've been trying to develop and grow a talent as a writer and not be willing to share, so this is what I wrote: Enjoy.

As a teenager, my paternal grandfather laid his withered hands on my head and softly uttered my Patriarchal blessing. In it, he specifically advised me to ponder the parable of the talents. For years, I would pray extra hard before reading that section of Matthew, half-expecting a secret word to appear in the margins or an esoteric pattern to emerge containing the secret to my life. I soon wearied of not finding answers between the lines and resorted to resting my thoughts on the parable every few months, after a lesson on Talents. Always questioning myself. Which character was I? Did I have five talents? Two? One? and a dusty one at that? As life has wizened me up some, I’ve realized I am all three.

I am the wicked and slothful servant, too embarrassed to even keep a talent in my pocket, to gingerly jingle occasionally as a reminder of what I’d been given. Instead, I throw it down a deep ditch, away from sight. As a child, I loved to write. But, I excelled at Math. And, in a world where early on we must declare ourselves either a numbers nerd or a lover of the arts, I followed the yellow brick road of A’s to a degree in Finance, burying my love of words deeper and deeper along the way.

Then, two years ago I took a risk. Some friends had started a writer’s group and I got out my proverbial shovel and asked if I could come to one of their meetings. And then, then I did something even more daring. I asked if I could come back! And I haven’t missed a meeting since. Over the last two years we have shared the silly and the saintly, laughing and crying, always to the tune of some delicious refreshment, of course. (We are proper Mormon girls).

Word by living word, I have cautiously, painfully, and sometimes by the shovelful, dug out my buried talent. It is starting to live again. Breathe. I sculpt it as best I know how. Realizing I am giving life to my thoughts, so safely tucked inside my head before. Allowing for hurt, shame, and rejection and calling it ‘pruning’.

I am also the servant given two talents, so prone to stare into the deadly mirror of comparison. Two vs. five, always coming up short. Only when gratitude appears do I get to work improving what I’ve been given.

And then, I am the servant given five talents. But, life sometimes requires different talents than those naturally given. My original five did not include a very nurturing spirit, a natural affinity towards motherhood, a love of cleaning or an ability to Betty Crocker my way through whatever is in the fridge. So, I’ve put my five talents to work, trading, earning, learning, gaining new albeit, not-so-natural, talents. Because, in the end, it will not matter whether the talents were given or earned, the Savior will not distinguish. Yes, at that day He will say, “Well done. You have stretched until it stung, you have blessed others until you broke. Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. (Matthew 25:21).

Facebook

2011-05-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

Inhaling gingerly, I squinted my eyes and braced myself as I answered, “I read it on Facebook.”

“Oh, thank goodness for Facebook!” my husband said, sarcasm dripping like an ice-cream cone in the hands of a two-year old. “How would we ever learn anything worth knowing without Facebook!”

I could almost feel his eyes rolling, even though he was in the next room.

Later on, as I tried to find the shut down button on my brain’s computer so I could sleep, I thought about what he had said, sarcasm notwithstanding. I could learn a good week’s worth of information from Facebook in the time it took me to eat my morning bowl of yogurt and granola. Just that day, I had found out my little sister was scheduled the next day for an induction on her seventh baby. And, I didn’t find out from her. It was my cousin who was posting on her wall, wishing her good luck.

I got over 60 birthday wishes last year on my birthday. Sixty! I’d have to celebrate a decade of birthdays in my life before Facebook to receive that many different wishes! I schedule my visiting teaching appointments through Facebook, remind our babysitter when we’ll be picking her up, find out which friends are pregnant, and catch up on everyone’s lives.

But, it’s not just about reconnecting with friends, it’s about connecting in general. From the comfort of my not-so-comfortable chair, I can talk, at my own leisure, about current events, weather woes, health issues, and parenting tips with people who have been a part of my life over almost four decades and just as many continents.

It’s not a perfect social world. I still prefer face-to-face interaction. But, I don’t have to put on makeup or even wear a bra to get on Facebook. I can play the game of social banter, coming up with witty posts, commenting as cleverly as I can, and racking up points. But, first, I have to go to the bathroom.

Thirty percent of women read Facebook before they go to the bathroom in the morning. It’s true.

I read it on Facebook.

Giant Green Gumdrops

2011-04-24T20:15:00.001-07:00

Giant Green Gumdrops

Someone must have opened a window upstairs. A cool breeze tiptoed down as I rocked back and forth, back and forth; my eyes, fixated on the television. Our parents had projects going on, resulting in the unlocking of the TV. We were watching wonderful summer re-runs of “The Greatest American Hero”. Outside, one stalwart sprinkler held its course. Krrsh. Krrsh. Krrsh. Krrsh. Ratatatatatat. Krrsh. Krrsh. Krrsh. Opening up my delectable bag of giant gumdrops, I peered inside, inhaling the sugar that had fallen off from rumbling around. Dad had gone to a hardware store that morning for his project. I had a handful of change currently not doing me any good. A hardware store is as good a place as any to spend hard-earned nickels and dimes. Especially when they sell gumdrops.

It was the summer of 1986 and I was working hard on 13. My two little sisters had given up trying to get me to share my goodies and were content to watch a curly-haired thirty-something in tights jump around and fly, trying to save the world in his own quirky way. Back and forth, back and forth I rocked. Not going anywhere, but not really trying.

I heard my mom switch a load of laundry and the successive whir of the dryer kick on. I reached my fingers into my stash and pulled out a perfectly-shaped green gumdrop. It was a nice, appealing sort of green, sharing a shade with baby snow peas and spring leaves. Determined to suck the marrow out of each piece, I slowly stuck it in my mouth and willed myself not to bite it. I was going to dissolve each delightful sugar granule with my tongue. Back and forth I rocked, sucking patiently at the gelatinous glob, enjoying it in slow motion. Then, just as I achieved total smoothness, my giant green gumdrop turned and slipped down my throat, coned-side down, lodging perfectly in my esophagus.

Every nerve in my body spiraled into high alert. Clear, urgent alarms coursed through me. I silently tried to cough, but couldn’t make even the smallest movement to the gumdrop. Help! I jumped off the chair, amazed that my body could still function properly when everything was awry. I had learned about the Heimlich maneuver in school through a cheesy video. I knew the international sign of choking was to cross your hands, palms out, facing yourself, overlapping your thumbs and bringing it all up across your neck. I knew that, but did my little sisters? Hopefully. I vaulted myself in between them and the television and quickly made the international choking sign, the distress more than evident in my eyes.

Both my sisters started yelling at me. Viki asked if I was choking. When I fervently and desperately nodded, she bolted out of her chair and ran screaming and shouting upstairs to my parents. Emily’s reaction was slightly different. She yelled at me too, but she said, “Get out of the way, you’re blocking the TV!”

I actually moved out of her way, realizing quickly she was too young to understand what was really going on. My life was suddenly and blaringly too short to hold on to blame.

Everything became very defined, as if blocking the oxygen from my brain was like turning the lens and focusing my understanding into stark detail. I understood perfectly that I had about a minute to live as I knew it. I did not want to die. I did not think I was going to die. But, I knew something had to change to my existing circumstances or I was going to die. My memories quickly scanned through the images of the video. There was an overweight, bald man who was choking on a chicken bone in a restaurant. Too proud to get help, he went to the bathroom and subsequently died. A lady with feathered hair showed the correct position and instigation of the maneuver on a dummy. They showed her shove in slow motion over and over from various angles. A man, living alone, used the end cap of a stair rail to dislodge something caught in his throat. A disembodied deep voice warned against ever doing the Heimlich maneuver on yourself as you could become seriously injured. It was a means of last resort. Only to be done if desperate.

Was I desperate? Only a second or two had passed for all of those images to play in perfect lucidity. I could still move my arms, my feet, walk, think, hear, see, feel. Viki had ran upstairs to get my parents, but we lived in a rather large house. I had no idea where they were upstairs, or how long it would take them to get down to me. Should I run upstairs? Even though my muscles operated normally, I was too scared to go anywhere. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I let them fall, sweeping my gaze around the room to see anything I could fall on to displace the giant green gumdrop. Nothing. Instinctively, I fisted my right hand, with my thumb facing just above my belly button. I covered my right with my left hand, to give it direction and force. I couldn’t speak, or I would have prayed out loud. But, I knew I could pray in my head. I voiced one word. “Help.” Then, I thrust my left hand into my right fist in an inward and upward motion. Nothing.

I had to try again. The disembodied voice from the videos replayed something regarding possible broken ribs, and I hesitated. But I had to breathe. I could survive a broken rib. But I couldn’t survive not breathing. I felt like I should bend over and mimic throwing up at the same time as I shoved my fists into my stomach. So, I shouted up my one-word prayer and tried again, propelling my fists as hard as my underdeveloped arm muscles would allow.

As I shoved inwards and bent over, the giant green gumdrop shot out of me. It didn’t just come up in my mouth again, it catapulted several feet. The next thing I remember, I was lying on the ground not wanting to move, or do or think or feel anything but the flow of oxygen in and out of my mouth. I don’t know if I actually passed out for a few seconds or not. One moment I was attacking myself and the next, I was lying on my side, relishing every breath as my tears fell unimpeded.

The way I was facing, I could see the bottom half of the staircase. Often, we would stand on the third-from-the-bottom stair and jump all the way to the bottom. Then, as we got older, we’d move up to the fourth-from-the-bottom, and so on. The record was the fifth.

My mom is not a very fast person. She is methodical and does everything with meaning and purpose. She speaks clearly, pronouncing each syllable. She irons clothes meticulously and in smooth, unhurried motions. She kneads dough calmly, over and over, with no haste or pounding. When it is her turn to read scriptures or say the family prayer, we all inwardly groan, because she takes forever! She thinks deeply about each sentence she utters, giving it meaning. She pauses in between sentences in the scriptures instead of racing through the allotted verses like the rest of us. No, my mom is not what I would call fast.

My dad, however, has a competitive side to him. He played football all throughout high school and is still an avid tennis player. He is the parent you want in the three-legged races at the reunions. About two steps into the race, he just hugs you up to his side and races full speed ahead. You end up with rope burns at your calfs, but a first-place finish as balm.

So, when I saw my mother’s feet flying down the stairs first, I was astonished. Then, she broke all our stair records. From the sixth stair from the bottom, she jumped! Gracefully clearing all those steps, she vaulted herself around the corner and was kneeling at my side before I could figure out how my mom had moved that fast. Milliseconds later, my dad was hovering over me and they both were asking questions and prodding and lifting and listening as I breathed out a ragged response.

Lots of hugging, explaining and reenacting followed. By this time, Emily had joined in to see what all the fuss was about. Apparently we were finally more interesting than the show.

When I re-tell this family story, as I have often done, during late game nights over common bowls of Peanut M&M’s and Red Vines, and sometimes even gumdrops, I like to take it slow. Viki and I team-tell it, building and building the story until we get to the part about Emily’s innocent, but ridiculous declaration “Get out of the way, you’re blocking the TV”. We all laugh and laugh, wiping away the tears. Courteously, eyes turn to me for a quick one or two sentence recap. But, when I relive it in my mind, as I have often done, I savor different aspects of the story. I recognize the miracle that happened. I stagger at the overwhelming love I felt when I saw my steady, methodical mother leap down six stairs at once and rush to my side.

Someone passes me the bowl of gumdrops. We’ve moved on to another exciting episode of memories by now. I reach in for a gumdrop, avoiding the green ones, bring it to my mouth and promptly bite it in two.

Untitled, part 2 of 2

2011-03-27T17:11:00.000-07:00

(Part 2 of 2) -- still looking for a good title. Click here for part 1.

I was so busy glancing around, I almost passed it. But, there it was; a pay phone. I didn’t even look both ways before galloping across the street as I swung my backpack around and fumbled through my wallet for my phone card. I force-fed it down the slot. Zero balance. It spit it out faster than a nine-month old rejecting string beans. If I ever needed a miracle, now was the time. Did I have enough faith? I said a prayer that the card would miraculously work and reinserted it. Rejected again. Briefly the story of the ten virgins flitted across my mind as I turned away and ran down another street. I didn’t have time to deal with a mental reproach on preparation.

Then, I saw a light. It was too bright to be from a personal residence. It had to be some sort of store or business. Then I heard some music. It was faint, but it was definitely music, albeit music with more bass and drums than actual melody. But, music meant people. Unfortunately, these people were even farther away from my companion and I hesitated, wondering if I should run back and check on her. Part of me was shouting to return to my companion and I didn’t know if it was the spirit prompting me, or just the voice in my head who couldn’t deal with the sense of aloneness. Being with a companion was so ingrained into my psyche that it was very difficult to finally pursue the trail of the music. But, I knew it might be my only option for finding a phone.

I had to run about a block and a half before I came to the light. It was a movie theater that doubled as a bar and what appeared to be a tiny nightclub. I sprinted to the entrance and then skidded to a stop. There is something fundamentally wrong with a sister missionary entering a bar alone late at night. Just plain wrong. I hesitated on the steps, my mind and spirit battling out my eternal redemption. My stomach actually lurched backwards as I crossed the threshold. I had broken so many rules in the past twenty minutes, what was one more! I ran to the bartender and asked if I could please borrow the phone.

I’m not sure if it was my accent or my long skirt and tag denoting that I was a “sister” for some church, but she gave me the weirdest look, turned and walked hastily away. What? Not now! I was rejected over and over again all day long when I was trying to talk to people about spiritual matters. That came with the calling. But now? I could not get rejected.

“Ma’am!” My tone got her attention. I started to beg as I explained my emergent circumstances. She finally sighed and went to the counter, returning slowly with a black rotary phone. I reached out for it and she pulled it back. Then, she looked me square in the eyes and said, “Are you going to call England?”

I half grunted a release of tension. “No, no, just here in Ljubljana! I promise! Local call!” A ha! Maybe she hadn’t been rejecting me after all. She had been worried about long distance charges. But, it was nice of her to finally let me use the phone -- even for a local call. Every call, local or not, cost money. All the same, she stood as close to me as the bar allowed and watched me dial every number, ready to disconnect my call if it exceeded the six numbers necessary for a local call. I didn’t attempt to turn away for privacy.

I dialed the Elder’s number, praying the whole time that they had been more rule-abiding than I had been. They answered on the third ring.

“Elder Reynolds! It’s Sister Groberg. Sister Basker’s been hurt. She sprained her ankle or broke it or something. Hurry to our bus stop. We are downtown and will catch a bus to our apartment, but we need your help to get off the bus and up to our apartment. She can’t walk at all, so you need to stay at the bus stop and wait for us. She also wants a priesthood blessing. Please hurry. We could be there in as little as 15 minutes. And however soon you make it there, DO NOT go up to our apartment until we get off the bus. Hurry!”

He said they’d be there. I hung up, thanked the bartender, and gratefully exited the bar. Racing back through the silent, dark streets to my companion, I was overcome with fear. Why had I left her all alone? I had only been gone for about 20 minutes, but it seemed like forever. What if she was gone? She had only been in the country a few weeks and didn’t know her way around or speak the language that well. Dozens of awful scenarios skirted the edges of my mind.

It was with an immense smile that I turned the corner and saw her sitting on the sidewalk, holding onto that signpost like it was the iron rod. I got back just in time for what would be the last bus of the night to take us to our apartment. I helped her get up off the cement and we hopped, painfully, over to where the bus was loading. We started up the stairs very slowly. I tried to bear all her weight each time we had to go up a stair. Another man behind us stepped up and grabbed my companion on the other side and helped us up. A young couple on the bus noticed our predicament and helped us find a seat near the back of the bus so we wouldn’t have to go far once we got to our stop.

They were very friendly and we found out they were headed to our same stop. As we neared our destination, I looked around in vain for the Elders. Where were they? They lived one measly stop away. It would take them 5 minutes, tops! Ten if they walked the whole way. I had been very specific that we needed help getting OFF the bus and to hurry! Where were they?

Fortunately, the nice, young couple helped us get off. As the bus pulled away, I looked up and down the street for the Elders. No sign of them. I could tell the young couple wanted to leave, but they also felt bad abandoning us. I explained we had help coming. They looked around and back at me, their eyes silently asking where the help was. It was awkward for a few moments, until Sister Basker started shaking from so much pain, grabbed my arm, and promptly sat on the ground. It spurred us all into action. I knew we had to start the trek home with or without the Elders. First dilemma: crossing the busy street. I suggested we make a sort of chair by linking arms with the young man. We tried to get my companion to slip her legs through. But, partially because of her long skirt, and mainly from her pain, it was evident it wasn’t going to work. Across the street was an ice cream shop that was just closing. The young lady ran across the street and asked if she could borrow one of their chairs. She ran back across the street with it and we all lifted my companion into it. Then, all three of us tried to lift the chair and carry it across. We made it about ten feet before we toppled and my companion fell, once again, to the ground. Fortunately, she protected her previous injuries and wasn’t hurt further. We were now well into the first lane of oncoming traffic. None of us had any desire to retrace the last ten feet. Instead, I got one side of her, and the man got the other and we hobbled and jumped and carried and stumbled our way slowly across what was normally a very busy thoroughfare of a street. Twice the young lady had to hold her arms out to stop a car until we could cross. But, eventually, we made it.

With each painful and miserable step, I got more and more frustrated with the Elders. Sister Basker was now safely across the street, but the effort and movement had put her over the edge and she sat there crying on the sidewalk. I felt so helpless. And angry. What part of hurry did the Elders misunderstand? The nice young couple asked again if we were sure we had help coming. I promised them, though there was no forte in my voice. They stayed there with me and my crying companion for a few more minutes, then the young lady said, “Look, my car is just a few blocks away. Can I go get it and give your friend a ride up the hill?” The last ten minutes had taught us all that the three blocks up the hill to our apartment were going to take most of the night and the rest of Sister Basker’s capacity.

I looked up the street towards the Elder’s apartment once again, turned back, and nodded my assent. She ran off to get her car while he waited with us, like a protective father. If I wasn’t so upset about the lack of Elders, I would have talked to him about the gospel. They both seemed so kind and deserving.

Ten minutes later, she returned with her car. Still no Elders. I could not possibly think what was keeping them. If something was really wrong, I entertained the notion of them deserving it. We carefully and with a few tears loaded Sister Basker into the passenger side of the car. The young man got in the back. I started to tell them where our apartment was, but the young lady stopped me. “We know where you live. We see you walking all the time. We’ll get her home safe, I promise.” Not only was there not room in the car for me, but also I knew that once the Elders deigned to show up, they would undoubtedly obey my instructions to wait at the bus stop until we got there. I had no choice but to leave my companion, once again, in the company of strangers and trust in God to watch over her.

I waved as they drove off, praying again that I was doing the right thing and turned to stew in misery at the lack of Elders. Ten more minutes dragged on, giving me ample time and energy to plan out several tirades to give them. A, B, and, oh! especially tirade C! That would show them. If they ever arrived.

Finally, a straggling bus came puffing down the road and screeched to a stop in front of the ice cream store. The back door creaked open and down came two young Elders, all dressed up in suits and ties, with hair freshly combed.

“Finally!” I screamed. “What took you so long?” I didn’t even wait for an answer. “She’s not here. Some nice people gave her a ride to our apartment. I can only hope she made it there alive!” They explained that when I called, they were already in bed. They had to get dressed and ready. Also, neither of them had ever given a blessing before. They had to track down some consecrated oil and look up in their handbooks on how to give a blessing. I could see in their recently wetted hair and brushed teeth that they were extremely nervous.

I let them off the hook with a watered down version of tirade B as we ran up the hill and got on the elevator. The whole ride up, I kept praying that she’d be home and safe. Why had I let her go? Again? What if they had robbed our place? Okay, probably not. We didn’t have much in the way of material goods. Unless you count skirts that had been through four sets of missionaries.

I put the key in our lock, took a deep breath, and opened the door. I called out to Sister Basker and she answered with a sweet grunt of pain. She was lying on her bed in agony, but she was there, safe, and alone. I said a prayer of gratitude for that young couple and for all they had done for us. At least we had given them one of our Books of Mormon. It was the best (and only) repayment we had.

Our apartment was a studio apartment and the only place to sit was on our beds. Awkward. Not only was it weird having these two Elders in our apartment, but they were in our bedroom, sitting on our unmade beds. I thought about how many more rules we were breaking and then decided to stop keeping track.

After oohing and aahing (more like eewing and eeeehing) at Sister Basker’s ankle, the Elders sat back down on our beds. And sat. And sat. They started asking about the accident, about our appointments, about our evening. Sister Basker was trying so hard to maintain some dignity, sprawled out our her bed, crying. The Elders were so nervous, they were just stammering small talk. Finally, I shouted, “Look! We didn’t invite you over here for punch and cookies! Just give her a blessing and leave!”

It got their attention. They produced their oil and proceeded to bless her sincerely and powerfully. She was promised that she would regain full use of her ankle in time and our work would not suffer as a result of her injury. After they were done, they started to sit back down on our beds. I’m sure they had read in the handbook that you should visit with those you are blessing, or something like that. I finally had to shoo them out, and promise that we’d call them in the morning to let them know how she was doing.

I found some aspirin for Sister Basker and eventually she fell asleep. As I lay on my straw mattress trying to calm my brain down, I realized how the Lord truly watches over his missionaries. Even when they forget to put money on their phone cards or leave their companions alone, or go into bars, or curse Elders in their minds. I was reminded of the scripture in 1 Samuel 16:7; “but the Lord looketh on the heart.” Even though I had knowingly broken enormous rules that day, I knew the Lord saw my heart, and all was well.

Untitled

2011-03-23T08:21:00.001-07:00

(Part 1 of 2)

There are certain cardinal rules to be kept by missionaries: Never leave your companion. Don’t get into cars with strangers. Be home by 9:30 p.m. Don’t have physical contact with men. Don’t enter bars and night clubs, especially alone. Never let the Elders into your bedrooms, let alone your apartments. By the time I fell asleep that night. I had broken all of them, multiple times.

I rarely woke with the intention of breaking any rule, let alone five or six major ones. It wasn’t looking to be a rule-breaking sort of day. We had zone conference scheduled for all morning and afternoon. And, we had two appointments scheduled for that evening. Two appointments! A day with just one actually scheduled appointment was a treat. But two appointments in one evening? Well, that was South America.

And, oh! what a spiritual feast of a zone conference it was! Caught up in a wave of religious fervor, my companion, Sister Basker, and I both stuffed our backpacks plumb full of pamphlets and Books of Mormon after it was over. Even though we had two appointments (two appointments!), we weren’t going to let a minute of our missions go to waste. We had half a dozen bus rides between now and the end of the day. We thought of all those wonderful sitting ducks just waiting to bloom spiritually. We made sure we had plenty of tools at our disposal to make it happen.

As if taking our positive cue, both our appointments were not only home, but also excited and ready to meet with us. We stayed too long at our final appointment, and it was almost 9:30 by the time we were walking to the bus stop. Our appointment had been on the outskirts of town, and we needed to take three different buses to get home. But, it had all been worth it! We had return visits scheduled for both our appointments.

As we waited at the bus stop, my companion turned to me and said, “It has been such a good day! Interviews with the President, Zone Conference, I didn’t have to give a talk, I memorized Doctrine & Covenants 4, we had two awesome appointments. NOTHING HAS GONE WRONG ALL DAY!!!”

“Be careful, Sister Basker,” I replied, “it’s not over yet!” But, I didn’t really mean it. It had been a most perfect of days.

At that exact moment, I looked up and saw our first bus approaching. It was yet another good sign. We situated ourselves comfortably on the near-empty bus and reminisced on our wonderful appointments. After riding it a few stops, I looked behind us just in time to see our second connecting bus. At this time of night, it was the last bus of its kind. If we didn’t make it on that bus, we’d have a long, long walk ahead of us.

I grabbed my overstuffed back pack and jetted to the back of the bus, shouting to my companion to hurry or we were going to miss it. I waved frantically at the bus behind me to get the driver’s attention. He saw me and, instead of pulling out of the bus stop, he opened his doors again and waited for me to get on the bus. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sister Basker rumple off the bus as she tried to zip up her back pack.

I was in the middle of thanking the second bus driver for waiting for us when I realized there was no us, just me. Our previous bus was pulling away from the stop and there was no sign of my companion. Had she not made it off the bus? Impossible! I had seen her start in her seat and follow me to the back. I was sure she made it off. Where was she?

The bus driver stared at me, as I had stopped speaking mid-sentence when I realized I had no companion.

“Samo malo,” I murmured, just a second. I turned around, and started to descend the steps I had just sprinted up. And then, I saw her. She was sprawled on the sidewalk of the bus stop. Her back pack had fallen open and Books of Mormon and pamphlets were everywhere. Before I could even laugh or get frustrated with the thought of picking up all the fallen paraphernalia, I heard her cry out and I knew something more serious than scattered papers was wrong. I quickly exchanged glances with the bus driver and he nodded his understanding. I jumped off the bus and helped her gather up our supplies and get to her feet. Leaning slightly on me for support, she made her way up the stairs and onto the bus while the driver graciously waited.

It was adrenaline that had helped her up the stairs. As soon as we were safely on the moving vehicle, she sunk down into the nearest chair and clasped her ankle. I looked down and gasped. It looked as if her leg had attempted to swallow a tennis ball, but it had got stuck in the crook of her ankle.

This was no ordinary sprain. Half panicked, and half laughing at the absurdity of the situation, she just looked up at me in pain and confusion, pleading to know what to do. All I could think was ‘elevate’. Elevate. How do you elevate someone’s ankle when they are in a dress and you are on a dirty, moving city bus, full of only men, late at night? She leaned up against the window and put her ankle on my lap. I could see the pain registering deeper and deeper with each breath she took. I didn’t want to look at her ankle, but I couldn’t take my eyes of it. It already resembled a mottled palette of reds and purples.

Think. Breathe. Think.

“Is anything else hurt?”

Slight shake of her head.

“Your bleeding. Your chin and your ankle.” I had removed her shoe, as the swelling was horrendous by now and was causing further pain.

She wiped at the blood on her face and winced with the slight movement that rippled through her body.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried. The guilt for making her race off the bus swelling as much as her ankle.

No response. I wanted to pull out a vacuum and suck away her pain, and the swollen ankle. I donned the role of senior companion and resorted to figuring out our immediate plans. Even if she could get off this bus and up onto the next one, we still had a three-block walk uphill to our apartment. We were not going to make it. We needed help.

Approaching our second connecting stop, a man, as if he heard my silent plea, came up and offered his help. I knew we needed it. Disregarding the rule of not letting strange men have physical contact with us, I gladly accepted. Balancing both overstuffed backpacks on my opposite shoulder, I got one side of Sister Basker, and let the stranger take the bulk of her other side. I glanced up at the bus driver and he waved, to let us know we could take our time going down the aisle and off the bus. Those three steps down seemed like cavernous abysses. Finally, we were off the bus and on solid ground. Our assistant helped us over to a sign post indicating the bus schedule and bid goodnight. I thanked him for both of us, as it was all Sister Basker could do to grabbed onto the post with both hands to hold herself steady and try keep her weight off her ankle. Now what?

Our not-so-little adventure off the bus quickly confirmed that we would need help getting off the bus at our final stop and getting up to our apartment. Sister Basker was bigger than I was. We needed help. The Elders! Of course. There was a set of Elders that only lived one bus stop away from ours. But, how to get ahold of them? The public phones were in the post office and that closed hours ago. Nothing was open. It was almost 10:00 p.m. There would be one, maybe two buses left that could get us to our apartment that night. But we needed help once we got there. Before I could even think long enough to change my mind, I turned to Sister Basker.

“Stay here. Hold onto that pole. I am going to go find a phone to call the Elders to meet us at our bus stop.”

“Ask them if they will give me a blessing.” She said as she slumped down on the cold cement. No resistance to my abandoning her in the middle of downtown, late at night. She understood the gravity of our situation as well as I did. I waved acknowledgment and crossed the street. I looked right and left. No lights. No open doors. No sign of life anywhere. The few people out on the streets were back at the bus stop. I knew I’d have to start going down some of the dark streets to find anyone who could help me with a phone. I turned around and took one last look at my companion, gripping the pole like a child clasps his mothers leg in a crowded store. I sent a prayer out into the night, hoping she’d still be there when I came back, turned and ran away.

Three Hours

2011-02-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

Missionary work in Europe is like plowing a drought-ridden field with a plastic fork. Some missionaries serve their entire missions without any baptisms. Ours was no exception. During a particularly parching absence of baptisms, our mission president challenged us to fast and pray to find those prepared to hear the sweet but life-altering message of the gospel. Our whole mission, comprised of over 200 missionaries, was going to fast for 24 dedicated hours. Following that simple sacrifice, we all, including our president, were going to tract for the same three, consecrated hours.

About this time, I received a letter from a dear friend. She sent me a powerful article by Elder Alvin R. Dyer, an apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the 1930s. It was so inspiring that I made a copy for everyone in my district, which included 6 Elders, my companion and me. I shared it with them at a meeting we had to kick-start our momentous mission-wide fast. (It is a lengthy article, but I need to share a taste of it to depict its flavor).

The Challenging and Testifying Missionary” by Alvin R. Dyer

“We think we learn the language and a few lessons and this prepares us to teach the gospel. This is a serious mistake. Were I a young missionary again I would challenge almost everyone I met and I would do it almost every hour of the day. I wouldn't care how many would turn me down.

“You actually do not know when you go to a door whom the Lord has prepared for the gospel. You must approach each door with the idea that here is where people who are prepared for the gospel live. You must do it without fail at every home because you do not know if these people have been chosen by the Lord.

“I remember as a young missionary we left the city of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to go northward. The sky was blue, it was a beautiful day. It was so still it was almost dull. We had gone about one-half mile on a dirt road when a tremendous whirlwind came up and almost turned us off our feet. I said, "Brother John Clark; we must be going the wrong way." We turned and went the other way and had gone almost a half day into the country when we turned down a farm lane. I can still hear the dogs barking as we opened the outer gate and approached the house. The man said, "I have been expecting you young men." He had a neighbor who had dropped by and left him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Some missionaries had given it to the neighbor and he was not interested in it and had left it with him. "I have been praying every day that someone would come to tell me about this." Would you go into a lengthy series of lessons with that man? We did not. We went out and dammed the creek in back of his place and baptized him before we left.

“I can tell by the look on some of your faces that this goes against the grain. You still like it nice and easy, where you go in and teach the lessons. Teach by the spirit when you go into the home, and have the spirit so strong it comes out of your fingers and they feel it so strong they say, "I know what you say is true." I think the day will come when we will go to the doors of people and testify that we are the servants of God sent to them, call them to repent and be baptized, and I don't believe that day is too far away. We must be more courageous, more definite. We must be the "Challenging and Testifying” missionary. We know it is true. We know that the Lord knows that we know that it is true.

It was such a powerful article and it just added fuel to the fire of our fasting. The excitement of knowing that everyone, everyone was going to be out tracting at the same time was palpable.

We prayed intensely. We read the article. We fasted. We read the article again. We prayed more. We pondered and deliberated about where we should spend our precious three hours. We wanted to be ‘led by the spirit, not knowing beforehand the things {we} should do’ (1Ne. 4:6).

The awaited day arrived. We arrived at the buildings we had spirit-picked. The first building was open. It was a sign. We pushed the button for the elevator and waited like kids on Christmas morning while it leisurely descended to our level. We opened up the outer door, then the inner door and got in. Would it be the very first door? Who would we meet today? Who’s life was about to change? We rode the elevator all the way to the top. No door would go unknocked today.

We said another prayer after exiting the elevator. After our ‘amens’, we looked up and smiled, scanning our cement surroundings. This was going to be an incredible, fireside-worthy experience. We had done everything we needed to do to have the Spirit as our constant companion. We were out here, as two soldiers in a literal army of God throughout Slovenia, Austria, Croatia, and Serbia. Over 200 of us were knocking on doors at the same moment. It was exhilarating.

We knocked on the first door. No one home. No matter, there were still 2 hours and 59 minutes of invaluable finding time left. We approached the next door. Joy! We could hear someone! Would this be it? No. She wasn’t interested. We took the cement stairs down as fast as we could, wasting no time on in between. We had floors and floors to go. On each floor, at each door, we’d get the same reverie of anticipation. We were lost in the Spirit. Miracles were going to happen today -- to us!

However, nothing happened in that first building. We knocked on every door, on every floor of the building. No one wanted to let us in and share our message. But, the one good thing about being rejected fast is that we had a lot of time left to seek out those who were primed. Onward to the next building we went like the Christian soldiers we were. We had prayed about the entire street; possibilities ad infinitum.

We knocked on door after door, in building after building. Nothing. We still had over an hour left. We would not loose faith. We were Challenging and Testifying Missionaries. We rejected failure.

We ran out of buildings before we ran out of time. We had knocked on every door in 7 huge apartment buildings. With about 15 minutes left of our three hour slot, we had a decision to make. Should we give up? Or, should we go to another area and start anew? Despair and disappointment awakened inside us, but I knew we would forever regret it if we went home now, without anything to report at our upcoming district meeting.

We pulled out our map and quickly relocated to another area that we had felt good about when we were initially praying. There were three smaller buildings in this area. We committed to knocking on all the doors, even if we went over our time. Each building was only three stories high, which meant no elevator. We raced up the stairs, caught our breath, and knocked. No one was home. Door after door never opened. If there was someone home, we would get one of the usual rejections through the slit of opened door restricted by chains.

We had only one door remaining...

The following day at our district meeting, I was a music box cranked to capacity. Our district leader could tell I was about to explode with enthusiasm, so he let me share our experience first. I regurgitated our regrettably typical afternoon of rejection to them and waited until they were all listening before I moved on to the final door.

“Our three hours was long gone,” I spoke in an undertone as if our lives depended on their strict attention, “but we still had one more door. The final door in the final building. We approached it. Plastered right below the peep hole was a familiar sign, “Pozor, hud pes” (Danger, Evil Dog -- Beware of Dog). We did not falter a single step. No evil dog was going to stop us. We were missionaries on a very specific and important mission. We knocked. We waited. We heard the dog barking....

“Then, the dog seemed to quiet down as we heard a young female voice approaching. She opened the door just a crack and asked ‘Who is it?’

“It was my turn to give the door approach. For what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, I smiled and said, ‘We are missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. We have an important message for you. Could we come in and share it?’

“ ‘Who?’ she repeated.

“ ‘Have you ever heard of the Mormons?’ I asked.

“‘Yes! I have!’ Her eyes lit up immediately. ‘Just a second. I have something.’

“She closed the door again. But, we were not going anywhere. We stood in silence, each with a prayer raging in our hearts. This was it!

“When she returned two minutes later, she held an English Book of Mormon in her hands. She had put the dog in another room and removed the chain on her door. She opened the door wide and stood in the doorway.

“ ‘Is this book from your church?’ she inquired.

“ ‘Yes! Yes it is!’ we both responded a little too enthusiastically.

“ ‘Oh! This is wonderful. I’m so happy to find you!’ She was hugging the book to her chest, like she somehow understood how precious it was.

“ ‘I went on vacation to California last year to see Disneyland and visit some friends that had moved there,’ she looked lost in her memories as she spoke. ‘While I was there, my friends gave me this book. I think they are part of your church now. I speak English pretty well, and so I started to read it on my plane ride home. I have now read it all the way through two times. I love this book! I have been wondering how to find out more about this church and if there was even one in Slovenia, and here you are knocking on my door!”

“We were stunned. Was this really happening?

I looked around the small room at our district of Elders. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. No one was looking anywhere but at my face. Some of their jaws were slightly open. Nothing like this ever happened to any of us. Ever.

“So,” I said to the room full of awaiting missionaries, “Do you think we wasted any time teaching her all the discussions? We did not! We went out back, dammed up the creek behind her place, and baptized her before we left!”

Silence. I struggled to hold in my laughter at the confusion that was slowly working its way over their excited faces. Our stalwart zone leader had jumped up off his chair.

“Sister Groberg! You are not supposed to baptize....”

That was when my companion and I lost it. Our laughter was enough to jolt him back to reality.

“I didn’t baptize anyone!” I explained between breaks of laughter. Everyone was either mad or laughing by this time. “No one was home at that last door. The dog barked and barked. End of story. We didn’t find anyone. But, I just couldn’t come here today and say that. I just couldn’t.”

I’m not sure if my zone leader ever looked at me the same way again. I’ve often wondered what lesson I was supposed to learn from this whole experience. We had followed every step of the law, done everything right, and yet no blessings came. It is one of those incidents that I will ask about in the hereafter. But, for now, it sure makes a good story.

Miracle in the Mountains

2011-01-23T15:37:00.000-08:00

Miracle in the Mountains

I tried jumping up and down in place, just to get some blood moving. Anything to distract me from the cold, so wet it was suffocating. But, the sloshing and squishing of my wet boots was worse than just standing still. Heavy, wet socks bristled against my almost-numb toes.

“What time is it now?” I shivered. I was being annoying, I knew. But, it had to be close to 5:15 by now. Time could not move this slow, not even on a day like this.

“It’s only been ten minutes since you last asked. 4:45.” The Elder rolled his eyes at me as he replaced his soaking wet glove. I could have mentioned his fingers would warm up faster without the wet gloves, but emotions were already tenuous.

We tried playing games, quizzing each other on movie lines from classic 80’s films, singing our favorite songs, anything to pass the time until the bus came. The sky was finally darkening, slightly. It was the first time all day there had been a change from the ominous cloudy gray color.

What an adventurous P-day. I knew it would be when I woke up to rain in the valley. What hike up a mountain in rain wouldn’t be an experience? But, we all needed a break from the city and the monotonous tracting, so no one backed out. Thick, wet fog accompanied us all day, draped around us like layers of gauze. Halfway up our hike, the rain had turned into stinging snow. We didn’t let it stop us, and hiked for hours until the snow was up to our thighs and we were so helplessly lost we finally came to our numbed senses and turned around. We ended up sliding down the mountain in the snow, soaking every part of us the rain hadn’t previously claimed.

Five o’clock showed up. Only 15 more minutes and then warmth. Well, the beginning of our journey to warmth. The bus wouldn’t be heated, but we would be out of the wind. We had to take three different buses before we’d get back to our apartments. Ten more minutes. We played more games. Finally, 5:15 came. And then went. No bus. No worries. They were just running late because of the weather.

No. No bus. 5:30. No bus. 5:45 p.m. Still no bus. Six o-clock came. At some point, we all realized there would be no bus. We were at a reclusive bus stop up in the mountains in a rainstorm. It was pitch black. We didn’t know what to do. Not only had no bus come, we realized we had not seen a single vehicle of any kind pass us going either direction during the two hours we had been waiting. We were freezing, wet, hungry, tired and completely stranded.

With no other options, we started to walk down the road toward the nearest city. We knew it was a little over 15 kilometers (about 9 miles) down a serpentine road, the only one for miles in any direction. I kept trying to grasp the gravity of our situation, knowing I should be panicking.

The newest missionary in our group suggested we offer a prayer. We stepped off to the side of the road to pray. Not that we needed to step off anywhere. There was no traffic to worry about. It was a simple prayer, offered up in faith by a group of missionaries who were without other recourse. Then we continued walking. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes you pray and then you just have to keep going in the right direction on your own.

We hadn’t been walking for very long, however, when a supply van passed us going up the mountain. We all got excited simply because it was a sign of life! We had seen a car. Who cares that it had been going the wrong way. Maybe that meant another car would come down the mountain and stop for us!

We kept walking. And walking. And walking. For long stretches of time, the only sound was the squelching of our wet boots on the road. Then, we heard it. The faint sounds of a motor approaching. We turned back and saw a pair of headlights coming towards us going down the mountain. Without even saying anything, we all turned around and held out our thumbs.

As the headlights drew near, we noticed it was the same van that had passed us earlier. It started to slow down. As we let out a collective sigh, it rolled to a stop. One of the Elders explained our situation to the driver. He got out of his car and said he’d give us a ride to the nearest town. He opened the back of his supply van and we piled in. It was cramped, and there were no windows, but there was enough space for all five of us. One of the Elders rode up front.

It was a miracle, especially considering the type of cars in Slovenia. Most people do not have cars, they simply rely on public transportation. If they are fortunate enough to own a car, it is a simple two door Fiat or Yugo, or some other tiny car that makes the US compact cars feel like sedans. When we’d occasionally get rides from members or investigators, one of us would sit up front with the driver, and the other of us would crouch down in the back, all curled up for the duration of the ride. Cars were just tiny.

Even after we prayed for help to get home, I realized there would be no car driving by that would be big enough to fit all of us. There were five of us. Cars fit two people, three, at the most. The most I hoped for was a car to send some of the missionaries on ahead and they could call some members for help. I never imagined a car big enough to fit all of us would ever appear.

Perched on some boxes I couldn’t see, I kept thinking -- no one owns a van! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever even seen a van in my months so far in Slovenia. It was so miraculous and rare that this van was on that road at that time. And, what was this inexplicable van doing on this winding deserted stretch of a mountain during a storm at night? These thoughts were voiced aloud among us missionaries as we sat there in the pitch black riding down the mountain.

We expressed our gratefulness to Heavenly Father for answering our prayer so immediately. I said another prayer of simple gratitude because I was so overwhelmed by the situation. The van started to slow down. We heard the front doors open and shut and then the van doors opened. He had driven us straight to the bus stop in town. We thanked him as best as we could and gave him a rather soggy Joseph Smith pamphlet. He accepted it graciously and our angel of mercy got back in his supply van and drove off. We never saw him again.

As we waited for the last bus of the night to take us back to our home city, the Elder who had ridden up front, told us our rescuer’s story. Apparently, this man normally drove a tiny two-seater like every other Slovene did. He owned a supply van, but the engine wasn’t working and the van had been sitting out front of his house for months. Then, the day before our adventure, he decided to get the engine fixed on his supply van.

Then, that night, he felt like he needed to go check on a shed located by a property up the mountain. Twice he almost backed out because of the weather and the time of day. But, he eventually decided to go. Since his van was now fixed, he decided to drive that instead of his normal car. He drove all the way up the mountain to the shed, only to realize that he had left the key to the shed at home. He turned around and came back down the road and that is when he saw us and gave us a ride.

It was a miracle. By any definition. We had been rescued by a miracle. We prayed in faith, and Heavenly Father orchestrated this perfect miracle of events to answer our prayers.

Now, whenever I feel metaphorically stranded, I remember to pray. Pray and walk. For Heavenly Father knows me. My van might be just around the bend.

Seriously?

2011-01-02T15:48:00.000-08:00

Things you might need to know to appreciate this post:

1) I love grapefruit

2) I love candy

3) I hate shots/needles

4) Six years ago, my body was diagnosed with "Hashimoto's Thyroiditis" (a condition where the immune system attacks good organs... in this case, my thyroid).

5) Every year on Christmas morning, we have grapefruit, followed by cinnamon rolls. It is pretty much the only Christmas day tradition I have.

6) In May 2010, I found out my body has diabetes

7) I'm trying to distinguish between who I am, and what my body is. That I am not my body. It's all part of this life coaching technique my older brother is helping me with.

Four days before Christmas, I had my three-month checkup with my endocrinologist. If you don't know what kind of doctor that is, it is for the endocrine system, and I've been seeing him regularly for six years now for my Thyroid issue, and now diabetes. At this appointment, he said my numbers weren't going anywhere good. My sugars were up (despite diet and exercise), and my cholesterol levels were really high (despite diet and exercise). He also showed me this number for this specialized test he had run on my pancreas months earlier. Normal levels for this test are 1.0 or less. My number was 30. Basically, he said my immune system has turned on my pancreas and is attacking and killing all of the beta-islet cells -- the ones that produce insulin that help the body to absorb sugar. Another effect of all this is essentially the early signs of heart disease. He said over and over and over again, how people who are not overweight, who exercise, and eat healthy, can have heart disease.

As a result of my numbers, he said I will most likely be insulin-dependent in about 12 months. Maybe a year and a half. Other doctors, he said, would have me strictly on insulin shots already, but he wants to postpone it as long as we can. He doubled my oral medication, which makes me extremely nauseous, and prescribed a new one for cholesterol.

My doctor was pretty nice to say over and over and over again that there is nothing I am doing that is causing all of this. My body is not behaving the way it should be under normal circumstances. I guess that helps to relieve the would-be guilt factor. I was handling all of this in stride, as best as can be expected. Then, I went to pick up my new medicine that night.

As the pharmacist was running my credit card (for the enormously HIGH co-pay on that cholesterol medicine), she handed me the medicine and almost as a last-minute comment, said, "Oh, and no more grapefruit."

"Seriously?" I blurted out.

"Yes. For real. No more grapefruit. For life."

"Seriously?" I thought she was joking. Had Dave called her in advance and told her about my love of grapefruit, and my Christmas morning tradition that was just days away?

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm serious."

I couldn't believe it! As I drove away from the pharmacy drive-thru window, the reality of everything just came crashing down. I laughed out loud the whole way home like some maniacal creature. Oh, the irony of life.

Soon (though hopefully not until 2012), shots every day. And no more grapefruit? Seriously?

Before I pulled into my driveway, I had already made one critical decision. High cholesterol levels or not, I was going to have my grapefruit on Christmas morning. So, Dave went and bought plenty of big, juicy ruby reds. I postponed taking my medicine for a few days. And, Christmas morning, I woke up, and had a grapefruit; section by juicy section. Then, I squeezed out every drop of juice and drank it up. It's going to have to last me a lifetime.

Seriously.

All we NEED for Christmas

2010-12-20T17:08:00.000-08:00

I spoke in Church on Sunday, after two wonderful youth speakers and three beautiful choir pieces. I say, "I spoke", but really, "I cried" in church on Sunday. I was so emotional. Now, I feel completely spent. What a blessing it was for me to concentrate and focus on the Savior the entire month of December as I prepared this talk. I had at least 5 different versions of my talk written up in my head and in bullet forms on different sheets of papers. Then, a few days ago, I took a really long shower, and a new idea came to my mind. I sat down to my computer shortly thereafter, and, with a prayer in my heart, typed out my talk -- an entirely different talk than all five versions.

This is the reason I haven't blogged in over a month. This is the reason I haven't even thought about Christmas Cards yet. So, with gratitude to the Spirit, and to my hot water heater (it was a long shower).... Here is my talk. Merry Christmas!

All We Need for Christmas

Jerusalem, just over 2000 years ago. The people were struggling. They were unhappy with their current political regime. They felt oppressed. They were over-taxed and under-paid. The economy was terrible. Does any of this sound familiar?

The people of Israel -- God’s chosen people -- wanted a deliverer. A new King. They wanted a Redeemer from their current troubles, woes, and sufferings. The people knew the Scriptures. They understood that a Messiah was promised. But most of them confused their wants with their needs. They wanted a deliverer from their political and economical strife. They needed a deliverer from their sins.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

The promised Messiah came. As a baby, born in a stable. But, many were too focused on their wants to see the miracle right in front of their eyes. To truly see and understand that their needs were met in a small child, sent to us from a loving Heavenly Father.

Despite the countless wants of the Israelites, the Savior came to meet their needs. Among many others, they needed to learn three important things that we still need this Christmas. They needed to learn to forgive, to serve, and to love. He knew, that if they learned those critical things, they would come to know Him, and to accept Him, as their Redeemer. Then, they would be saved.

First, they needed to learn to forgive.

The Roman empire taxed the Israelites at insane levels. They forced them to be almost slaves to an emperor in a far away land. They smote them and whipped them, and treated them like less than human beings. And, Christ, whom they wanted to help free them from tyranny, taught them, “Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt ^alove thy ^bneighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, ^aLove your ^benemies, ^cbless them that ^dcurse you, do ^egood to them that ^fhate you, and ^gpray for them which despitefully use you, and ^hpersecute you; That ye ^amay be the ^bchildren of your Father which is in heaven.”

They wanted retribution. They needed forgiveness.

A few years ago, a stalwart, LDS family was living in Southern Idaho. Suddenly, their youngest child, who was 18 years old, got very sick. After several doctor’s visits, she was diagnosed with a serious life-altering condition. Treatment was possible, but they were told not to get their hopes up. The entire family and many, many friends fasted and prayed. This girl went through treatment after painful treatment. Months went by and they finally started seeing some progress. Gradually, she started getting better. Her health was improving daily. The doctors were amazed at her miraculous recovery. She was scheduled to finally go home with a perfectly clean bill of health. The doctors wanted to give her one last ‘precautionary’ treatment, for good measure before she was released.

Then, through miscommunication and miscalculations, the ‘precautionary’ dose of medicine this girl was given was in reality an enormously high amount. A lethal dose. By the time the staff at the hospital realized their mistake, it was too late. The death-delivering dose was coursing through this girl’s veins. They only had time to call the family, who rushed to her side to say goodbye. This beautiful girl, who just hours earlier was planning on leaving for home after endless painful health issues, now had to be ready to leave for a different home, her Heavenly home. She leaned over to her father, and whispered, “I know it was an accident. Please, please forgive them.”

She passed away just a few short hours later. Over the next few days, the family was inundated with calls from lawyers across the country who had heard of the situation. I can only imagine those conversations. They had been wronged, in the most grievous way possible. Would they chose retribution? Or Forgiveness? My father was working in the temple later, when the entire family was there to do the work for their beautiful daughter. This family knew what they needed in their lives. They needed forgiveness. They needed the Savior.

Second, the Israelites needed to learn to serve one another.

The people of Israel wanted a new leader, one who would stand up to the Romans and the ruling class. One who would take back their rightful property. But, what they needed was to learn how to serve. The Savior taught them, “And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.”

Alma taught us, “Now if a man desired to serve God, it was his privilege; or rather, if he believed in God it was his privilege to serve him” (Alma 30:9). King Benjamin further explained this truth. “For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served, and who is a stranger to him, and is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart?” (Mosiah 5:13) Do we desire to come to know our Savior and be like Him? If so, then how? The answer is simple. Serve Him. And, how do we serve Him? “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings, ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17).

When we think of service, do we think of wants or needs? When I think of what I want, I want to pass around a sign-up sheet in Relief Society to feed the Blaser family for a week. That is what I want. But, what do I need? I do not need side dishes and salads. I need a smile. I do not need freshly-baked food, I need a friendly word or a phone call -- just because. That is what I need. I am not alone in that. Many of us do have temporal needs at this time, in this economy, but ALL of us have emotional, social, and spiritual needs that ought to be addressed as well. And, all of us, regardless of our income, marital, health, or spiritual status, can provide the service require to fill those needs of one another. THAT is what the Savior taught. That type of service -- the giving of one’s self, of one’s heart, of one’s time. That is what the Savior did. His atonement was the ultimate give of one’s self, of one’s heart.

During Lucie Gallman’s funeral, I witnessed a selfless act of service. Carlie Welling had just been in our ward a short time. She came to the funeral, as most of you did, out of love for the Gallman family, which she barely knew. She then saw a need. Several of you had young children you had brought to the funeral. Carlie decided to open up the nursery room and offered to watch all of your little ones so you could attend the funeral and be a part of the spiritual outpouring that it was. No one asked Carlie to do this. She saw a need. She saw an opportunity to serve. She followed through. That is true service. That is understanding and acting upon the vital difference between wants and needs. That is coming to know the Savior.

Five and 1/2 years ago, my best friend, Trudy Barrett, died in a car accident. I was devastated. I didn’t know how to begin to cope with the loss of someone who was such an integral part of my daily life. I didn’t even know what to pray for. But, the Lord knew what I needed. I needed service. I was soon called to be the compassionate service leader. Bishop Williams asked me to oversee taking meals to Aaron and the boys for an entire year. After just a few weeks, Aaron pleaded to reduce it to three times a week, as they could not possibly eat all the food they were receiving before it went bad. So, we started bringing in meals every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. For one whole year. Every few weeks I would pass around a sign-up sheet in Relief Society to cover the next month. Many of you, who never even knew Trudy, signed up regularly to bring in meals to the Barrett family. In all that time, for over 150 meals, guess how many times the sign up sheets came back with a blank slot? Zero. Never once did I have to ask twice for help. This ward knows how to serve. Through these acts you have come to know your Savior and to be like Him.

The only possible area where we could improve in our service is to look around with a closer eye at the more subtle needs surrounding us. There are people who need friends, phone calls, and a person to sit by during a lesson. There are children who long for your faithful testimonies as you teach them the gospel. There are hugs that need to be delivered, and shoulders to cry on. As we learn to serve, with our focus on the Savior, we will see needs around us we might have never realized were there. And, we will have the strength and the desire to fill those needs.

Finally, they needed to learn to love.

John 3:16

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

This is true love. To give up something of yourself that is so precious because you love someone so much. That is how much our Father loves us. He gave us His only son. His ONLY Son. He knew what the Savior would go through. He knew the suffering and the heartache and the lonely, necessary journey His ONLY Son would have to take. Yet, He sent Him here -- for You. For Me. For each one of us. And, I’m positive that our Father in Heaven is full of love towards us when we pray and express our gratitude and appreciation for that gift of Love. But, I’m also sure that He is just as full of love towards those of our brothers and sisters on this earth who have never even had the thought of praying and thanking Him for that most wonderful of gifts. He loves them just as much as He loves you and me. That, that level of love, is the type of love we need to strive for in our lives.

Our Savior understood and answered with that level of love. The Atonement, in its infinite and eternal nature, could not have been performed by anyone who did not have a perfect love for us. The Savior knew us. He knew we would make mistakes. Even after we knew better. Yet, his love for us remains.

It is easy to love someone who loves you back. That level of love is something we can all experience when a child cuddles up to us, or a friend does something out of the blue and extraordinarily kind. But, as we come to know our Savior, and strive to be like Him, we need to learn how to love on a completely different level. With a Christ-like love. Sometimes you can learn to love someone so much that it is physically painful to see them make choices you know will lead to a life of unhappiness. But, the key to having Christlike love in our lives, is that when this happens, our love for that person increases, rather than decreases.

I served a mission in Slovenia, a small country nestled in the Southern Alps of Eastern Europe. The church had only been there a year or two when I went. There were very few members. The work was hard, and we often went months without meeting anyone who even want to listen to us. Towards the end of my mission, we met a wonderful lady named Marija. She immediately latched onto the saving words of the gospel. The gospel is perfect for everyone, but sometimes, there are certain people who are just perfect for the gospel. The struggling branch needed Marija and her faith. We met with her often, reading from The Book of Mormon, teaching her the various discussions, and sharing testimony of the restored truths. We always left her apartment uplifted and excited that we had found someone who was ready to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ. We had talked seriously about baptismal dates. She had already chosen the place, a beautiful little pool at the base of a small waterfall in her favorite mountains. We just needed to firm up the day.

Just before Christmas, we were in her apartment one day, and I noticed a beautiful nativity set on a dresser. She showed me each piece, the shepherds, the angel, the wise men, Joseph, Mary, and the baby Jesus with careful attention. They were made out of clay and quite breakable. I absolutely loved them all, loved the way they looked, and told Marija just that.

At our next appointment, a few days after Christmas, Marija gave me a small little package, a late Christmas present. It was a tiny tin box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was the little angel from her Nativity set. I gasped out loud in delight. She smiled and said, “I could tell how much you loved it. Well, you have been like an angel to me, so I wanted you to have my angel.” I thanked her profusely and carefully wrapped it back up to bring it home.

And then, a few weeks later, just four days before I left the mission field to return home, we went to see Marija. She was somber as she let us in and we took our usual seats around her dimly-lit table. She had all of the pamphlets and her copy of The Book of Mormon stacked neatly in a pile. She proceeded to tell us that she had made the decision to take a different path in life. One that did not include the Church.

Stunned, we tried to understand what had happened to cause this enormous shift in her life. She did not want to share any more with us, but let us know we were not to return there to teach her any more. I couldn’t hold back the tears. Even as we were led out of her apartment, I turned around as if to make sure this was really happening. It couldn’t be. My companion and I both bore solemn and bold testimonies of The Book of Mormon and of the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. She smiled, but then said good bye and closed the door.

We had no choice but to walk away. It was a bitter cold January morning and the wind seemed to mock my tear-stained cheeks. We got a few feet onto the icy sidewalk and I just stopped and turned back towards her apartment building. We had been rejected so many times on my mission. Why did this hurt so bad? And, then, I understood something eternally important. I had come to love Marija. To love her the way our Savior loved her. I saw her through the eyes of our Savior Jesus Christ and saw how He was crying for her as well. He loved her so much. It was so painful because of the love. But, the pain did not decrease our love for her.

It has been 15 years since that windy, sad morning. But, every Christmas, as we get out our increasingly large amount of decorations, there is one small tin box that I keep for myself. Inside it, wrapped in tissue paper that is now quite yellow and brittle with age, is a small clay angel. My angel. And I carefully set it up high on a shelf and am filled with love. I remember the wind. I remember the tears. And I remember the piercing love for one of our Heavenly Father’s children. That love has not faded in the slightest with time.

Oh, how we NEED that love in our lives this Christmas. As we strive to learn how to freely forgive, with no conditions, to truly serve and not just with our wallets and watches, and to really love, we will come to know our Savior.

As parents, we understand how vitally important it is to give our children what they need -- love, safety, structure, yes, Josh, even carrots, and not just what they want.

The Savior taught, “If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will ye for a fish give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give good gifts, through the Holy Spirit, to them that ask him?” (Luke 11:11, JST included).

Our Heavenly Father knows what we want. But, of infinite more importance, He knows what we need. We need the gift of His Son in our daily lives. We are not that different from those, the chosen people, of Israel over 2,000 years ago. The economic situation is bleak. We are over-taxed. We feel frustrated. But, are we crying out for a Deliverer from our temporal trials? Are we focused on our wants? Or, do we remember what we really need. Forgiveness, Service, and Love.

What do you want for Christmas? It is a question oft repeated, by Santa Claus to little children as they sit on his lap, by strangers waiting in line at the post office, or to friends and family alike. And, I hope that everyone within the sound of my voice does get something that they want this Christmas. But, my prayer is that we will all receive something that we need. That we will receive the Savior into our lives. That we will learn to forgive, to serve, to love, and to come to know the babe born in Bethlehem. And, really, all of those are actually the same thing.

Moroni 7:48 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, ^apray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true ^bfollowers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall ^cbe like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be ^dpurified even as he is pure.” In the name of Jesus Christ Amen.

The flies on the wall were cracking up!

2010-11-03T16:26:00.000-07:00

This is guaranteed to summon a few snickers (not the candy bar kind), a giggle or two and and least one good snort.

This is what the flies heard Monday night:

(At dinner)

Josh: "What do you think I'll be when I get up?"

Eden: "Get up?"

Josh: "I mean grow up. What do you think I'll be when I grow up?"

Dave: "A doctor."

Me: "An engineer."

Josh: "Nope. I don't think those will work out."

Dave: "What are you going to be, then?"

Josh: "An Illustrator"

Eden: "You mean an artist?"

Josh: "No, an Illustrator:

Me: "Drawing pictures for books."

Dave: "Just as long as you can make enough money doing that Josh, you'll be fine."

Josh: "Money isn't the most important thing, Dad."

Me:(Laughter)

Eden: "Fun is the most important thing."

Me: (Laughter)

Dave: "No, that's not right, Eden. But, Josh, I know money isn't the most important thing..."

Me: (interrupting), "Josh, so what is the most important thing?"

Josh: "Love!"

Teya: "I know how to make paper dominoes!"

Two pleadings with the kids to please eat their dinner later...

Josh: "Does it cost money to get something fixed at a hospital?"

Me: "Yes!"

Dave: "A lot of money!"

Josh: "Do you have to pay for it before they will fix you?"

Dave: "Yes."

Josh: "Even in an emergency?"

Me: "Yes."

Josh: "What if you don't have any money?"

Dave: (insert small discourse on how hard-working people pay health insurance every month, and they are the ones who have to pay for those who don't have health insurance, but still expect to get treated)

Josh: no more questions.

Scene II: Cut to me reminding Josh he has the lesson for FHE.

Me: "So, Josh, what are you going to teach for the lesson?"

Josh:"I don't know."

(Three minutes later)

Me: "Josh, have you decided what you are going to teach for FHE?"

Josh: "Yeah. Just go on Netflix and instant stream the VeggieTales movie about the 2,000 stripling warriors."

(There are several things wrong with that sentence. Can you find all of them? None are grammatical in nature, hopefully. Answers listed at the bottom of the post.)

Me: "Josh, there isn't a VeggieTales movie about the stripling warriors."

Josh: "Why not?"

Me: Because the VeggieTales movies are made by a Christian company that just believes in the Bible, and the 2000 stripling warriors' story comes from the Book of Mormong.

Eden: "Yeah, they are Christian, Josh!"

Me: "So are we, Eden."

Eden: "I thought we were Mormon!"

Sigh.

Josh instead reads the chapter from Daniel and the Lions Den aloud to us for FHE. We are trying to elicit a decent discussion afterwards.

Dave: "So, what does this story teach us?"

Josh: "Well, there is this VeggieTales movie about chocolate bunnies..."

Me: "That's about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, not Daniel."

Eden: "They had to go in a furnace."

Teya: "And it happened to fruit, not real people!"

Me: "No, it happened to real people, and an angel came and protected them in the furnace."

Josh: "It was VEGETABLES, not fruit."

Dave: "Teya, do you think it is more important what happened to real people, or to fruit?"

Teya:"Fruit."

Josh: "They were VEGETABLES!"

Me: "Let's just say the prayer."

Tucking the kids in that night:

Me: (to the girls) "Remember, NO candy when you wake up in the morning!"

Teya: "Pixie sticks aren't candy."

Me: "Yes, they are."

Teya: "They are just plain sugar. Sugar isn't candy."

Me: "Go to bed."

Dave: (to Josh) "Just close your eyes and go to sleep!"

Josh: "But closing my eyes doesn't make me fall asleep! It just makes everything go dark!"

And, that was just Monday. Between the hours of 6:30 and 8:00 p.m.

Answers to above question: 1)I'm just not used to my kids demanding we instant stream anything yet. They are truly part of the "I want it here and now and I don't want to wait" generation. 2)Since when is a VeggieTales MOVIE a FHE lesson? 3)VeggieTales make Bible stories only and have no affiliation with the Church, or Book of Mormon Stories.

Halloween, Groberg style

2010-11-01T20:07:00.000-07:00

For my mother, it was no coincidence that the words sugar and sin started with the same letter. Carob was more commonplace in our cupboard than chocolate. I was a teenager before I realized they were not the same thing. Everything was made from scratch, picked from our garden, or ground with our wheat grinder. We made our own yogurt from cultures grown on light boxes. Alfalfa sprouts grew underneath our sink. We purchased preservative-free peanut butter in gallon sizes. When we needed a new jug, we had to expend significant elbow grease to reunite the oil and the mushy nuts before it was cloaked in spreadability. Cold cereal only existed in the form of oatmeal that was ready to eat before I was. Vitamin C pills were as close to treats as we ever came.

So, when Halloween dared to come around, my mom had to get creative. While thoughts of candy bars and lollipops danced in our eyes, she was busy figuring out a way to thwart the sugar that would infallibly fall into our digestive tracts through school parties and the t-words. Trick or Treating. She came up with a meal stuffed with an assortment of the most disgusting vegetables, as if filling us up with vitamins and goodness would make us recoil at the sight of a Snickers bar.

She called it “Dinner in a Pumpkin”. The very phrase still gives my stomach nightmares. It was a goulash of meat and peppers and other spices cooked inside a real, down-to-earth, squashy pumpkin. We would scoop out the seeds, (to be roasted and eaten later, instead of our candy). She would slice up the fleshy pulp and inject all the ingredients. Then, our oven would host the unwelcome gourd for an hour or so while everyone but me dressed up in costumes and giddiness.

Every year I begged for an alternate meal. I offered to eat an entire plate of just green beans, or three corn on the cobs, or five bananas. I begged and begged. I hated pumpkin. I hated all stringy, pulpy squash. But, the rule of no substitutions applied on this night as it did on every other night of the year. There would be no mercy, no advocate would come to my aid. I had to eat the pumpkin or stay home from the one night where adults who normally intimidated and scared me gave me candy.

So, I would always eat it, trying my best not to chew. I would take the smallest of bites, and chase them down with water, choking and gagging my way through my alloted portion. When my plate passed inspection, off I would trudge to the nearest bathroom, each step echoing my displeasure with ‘dinner’.

The bathroom’s wallpaper was beige with pictures of planes, trains, cars, and boats. It spoke of happier times and carefree hobbies. It shuddered when Halloween came around. It knew why I was there. I would pull my hair back into a ponytail, kneel down and lift up the porcelain lid to evacuate the contents of my dinner and sometimes my lunch.

Stomach freshly scoured of any traces of vitamins and nutrients, I donned the hand-me-down costume earmarked for me and joined my siblings for our adventures in begging. We couldn’t go trick-or treating ad hoc. We were to go up and down our little street, and maybe, just maybe, hit a few houses on the side. But, any candy we got was like manna from heaven. For about an hour, we were the official owners of contraband. When discretion was our friend, some of the candy never quite made it into our bags.

Upon our return, we were allowed to select a few pieces. I would both savor and devour those favored items. Then, we dutifully turned the rest of our candy over to senior patrol. After that, I’m not sure were it went. Perhaps some of it was doled out periodically over the next few weeks. I’m more inclined to think my parents ate it surreptitiously. I think some of the less popular pieces made it all the way to our Christmas stockings.

As a mother of three perfect-for-trick-or-treating aged children, I am now faced with the dilemma. What do I feed them on All Hallows Eve? Dinner-in-a Pumpkin? Never. In fact, I’ve been tempted to tear ‘Dinner-in-a-Pumpkin’’s page from our family cookbook and offer it up in some fiery ritual. But, it would probably catch my hair on fire in some final act of vengeance. So, I reflect on my many trips to the wallpapered room of doom and always end up making macaroni and cheese -- their favorite. Better to stuff them with food they will actually eat, right? Then, when their little feet have had all they can of our vast neighborhood, home we go. They get to choose a few pieces to eat right then. The rest? Well, I’ve graduated now. I’m senior patrol. Surreptitious is my middle name.

P.S. While my childhood mind felt tortured by the lack of sugar, my mother obviously knew best. She has never spent a day of her life overweight. And, even though she had 11 children, and is now well into her 70s, she still doesn’t have any grey hair. Maybe there is something magical to Carob after all.

Lesson learned from Disneyland

2010-10-15T09:36:00.001-07:00

We just returned from a wonderful trip to Disneyland and California Adventure for Fall Break. Here are a few things I learned during our vacation...

* Rarely is any ride ever worth an hour-long wait. The Toy Story Midway Mania ride is the exception.

* Sometimes the look on your daughter's face during the ride is better than the ride itself.

* When the concierge at the Grand Californian Hotel chooses your family as the "Grand Family of the day" and then forgets to tell the people in charge of the 'fireworks from the top floor balcony and dessert bar' party about it, they are trained to cover it up really well. We still got to eat chocolate-covered strawberries and fruit tarts to our hearts content and view the fireworks, even though we were now part of 3-year old Ariana's private birthday party.

* If you sit side-saddle instead of straddling your sea-horse on King Triton's Carousel ride, the workers will push the emergency stop button in the middle of the 2-mph ride and come over and help you straddle the sea horse, even if you are a full-grown man. I doubt he will show his face in the undersea kingdom for quite some time.

*Eight-year-old boys are equipped with amazingly high level of immunities. Josh must have purposely opened and closed every trash can in both parks.

*People are slightly insane to bring one and two year olds to Disneyland. Especially when they have no older kids. The small ones will never remember the trip. What a waste of money. I was comfortable resting on my soap box when all of a sudden I remembered that Dave and I took Eden to Disney World while visiting Dave's parents when she was only 9 months old. I was just about to start in on my humble pie when I also remembered that my father-in-law footed our entire bill at Disney World. Mental equilibrium and judgement was restored.

*Having stayed at the Grand Californian Hotel, we are now destined to spend our well-earned dollars there on every future trip to the area. Staying anywhere else would be like using rough brown paper squares for toilet paper when you know that Charmin Extra Soft is in the stall next door. Fortunately, we know to wait for certain promotional mailers giving us great discounts. In fact, when we checked in, the clerk said, "Wow! You have a really, really great rate!" Made us feel much better.

*When you decide to splurge and use valet parking for your arrival and unloading, remember to go and move your car into the self-park lot, or you will be charged the valet fee every day, even though your car just sat there for 4 days straight.

*It is part of a mother's job to ride the Carousel and other kiddie rides while the Dad takes the older kids on rides like "Tower of Terror" and "Screamin" for the 5th and 6th times. I was perfectly fine with my role.

*Sometimes you make really wise financial decisions. Two years ago I bought a used ipod for $25. I've used it hundreds of times since. Every time I think, "This was a smart use of money!"... And, then, there's Goofy's Kitchen.

*Texting reaches its true potential for parents in Disneyland. I texted Dave more in the three days we were in the parks than I have texted my whole life combined up until that point. It was too loud to actually talk on the phone and a quick note to say where I was, or where we were planning on meeting was just the perfect way to communicate.

*My tolerance for high-speed roller coasters really has gone down with each child I've had.

*Fast Passes are Disneyland's greatest invention.

*Getting into the park one-hour before it opens is worth buying the 5-day pass, even though we were only there 3 days. (We sold the other two days, so it was really worth it!). We went on more rides in the first two hours that day than we had the entire day before.

*After having spent 99 consecutive hours all together, including travel time. We came home tired, but ready to do it all again (in a few years). Perhaps there really is something magical about Disneyland after all!

Lagoon (part 4 of 4)

2010-09-17T15:58:00.000-07:00

THE FINALE!!!! Make sure you've read parts #1, #2, and #3 first! So, you will probably think differently of me once this is over... Remember, I did get my Bachelor's and Masters degree in Finance... This might explain that. Thanks for taking the time to read. If you enjoyed this, please spread the word. And now..... part #4.

-------------------------------------------- (this is an actual photo of me and my siblings weeding)

I looked down into my adolescent palm and saw a shiny 1979 quarter staring back at me. A quarter! In that exact moment, Newton and his gravity-defining apple had nothing on me. It was more than a lightbulb. The sky parted and inspiration poured down on me in the form of quarters.

A quarter! The granddaddy of all coins. Half a churro. One-quarter of a cotton candy.

Growing up in a family with eleven children, we were never given allowance for our weekly chores. While our friends were paid for good grades, my straight-A report cards earned me a hug and a pat on the back. If we wanted to earn actual money, we had to apply for extra jobs -- above and beyond the normal call of familial duty. Weeding was always a reliable source of income. But, my parents didn’t just throw money at us. If we filled up a old 5-quart ice cream bucket with weeds, we earned a quarter. I would work my little fingers to the bone for the better part of an hour to get my bucket full, fluffing up those weeds to get to the top rim sooner. I’d take my trophy of accomplishment to my dad and hold out my hand for my quarter.

“Just a second,” he would say. And then, before I knew it, the bucket was on the ground, my weeds suddenly greeting the bottom of his size-11 shoe. Instantly he had turned my almost-overflowing bucket of profits into a less than 1/2 full bucket of shame.

“Keep going”, he’d say as he handed me both my squished dreams and weeds. “Remember to get the roots.”

I’d trudge back to the garden, kneel down, push up my velveteen sleeves with a heavy heart and start all over, wondering why I thought maybe this time I could have pulled off the fluff job.

A quarter equaled over an hour of back-breaking weeding, and here it was, sitting in my hands and all I had done to get it was ask. That first quarter was born of innocence. But, in the few seconds it took me to return to Viki and explain that Mom was not coming unless we called again, I had formulated an entire business plan, replete with provisos, exceptions, and rules. A Rockefeller was born.

It only took the promise of all the churros we could eat (she was feeling much better) to get her to go along with my plan. I would continue to ask various people for quarters, explaining how Viki had been sick and we needed to call our mom. Effortless. How quickly I rid my mind of the shame of begging. The thought of more quarters was simply that powerful.

The first step was to locate the perfect victims. We targeted middle-aged mothers who were not weighed down with little children taxing their patience. We didn’t want the distractions. Older couples were also acceptable, especially those dressed in polyester and grandparenthood.

Step two was the approach. While Viki writhed in apparent pain in the near background, I would advance. I had to time it to appear frantic and panicked.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” I’d begin and then point over to my sickly sibling. “My little sister just threw up. I was wondering if you had a quarter so I could call my mom.” Within seconds, I had a quarter and was off to the nearest phone booth. Of course, I never actually made it to the phone booth. I’d wait for my target to pass on, and circle back to Viki, the banker.

Within half an hour, we were skipping down the road to affluence. But, apparently Viki wanted to sprint. She suggested we split up and double our money. Brilliant! Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner? In no time, our pockets were anchored with those silver gods of the coin world. In less than an hour, without pulling up so much as a single root, we had amassed over five dollars. But greediness is not easily satisfied, and we found ourselves wanting more and more. And that is how we brushed noses with disaster.

I had spotted them next to the carousel. Their faces painted with that smile that only comes from watching a grandchild. The carousel was just starting up its circular ride into fantasyland. I squared my shoulders and began the approach.

“Excuse me,” I began. But that is as far as I got. At that exact moment Viki’s frantic waving caught my attention and my words were tackled to the ground. Something was terribly wrong. I stood there frozen while my benefactors looked quizzically at my behavior. Time took a turn for the worse as I concentrated on the words Viki was mouthing in slow motion. With jarring fright, I realized what she was shouting.

“I. AL-READ-Y. ASK-ED. THEM.”

Panic. Guilt. Shame. We’d been found. Everyone in the park knew our crimes. Lagoon security was on its way to lock us up in a cell behind the haunted house. My parents were already being informed. I could see them wringing their hands in front of the judge crying, “Where did we go wrong?”

And then, I realized they hadn’t seen Viki. They were still looking expectantly at me. The whole interchange had lasted less than ten seconds. Life was handing me a second chance. Would I turn over a new leaf and repent?

“Sorry,” I said, and turned around searching for any crack in the pavement big enough to swallow me whole.

Just like that, we decided we had enough money. Funny how things like that happen. One minute you can’t get enough, and the next you are weighed down with quarters clinking, “guilty, guilty” with each step.

We went to the nearest food booth, got a table and counted our profits. Six whole dollars. The entire plastic lettered menu was ours to consume! What would it be. Pizza? Ice cream? More churros? Why not all of the above! Viki’s stomach was long past queazy. Within seconds our six dollars became a mound of deliciousness.

We were casually eating our winnings, enjoying the fruit of our labors, when I looked up and spotted them. Tom and Emily! They were headed our way. What could we do? They’d already seen us. My first reaction was to devour the churro in my hand and I started pushing it in my mouth faster than I could chew. But it was no use. There was too much cinnamon-sugary goodness.

“Hey! Where’d that come from?”

“How did you get that?”

“Gimme some!”

Siblings. Allies or enemies? Both. We confessed to our crimes while we shared our loot, what was left of it. Surprisingly, they were both jealous and stunned. Mainly jealous of our ingenuity. We sat there sharing some of our funnier encounters and experiences of the past few hours. Laughing till our stomachs started to hurt. Or maybe it was from the cotton candy.

For the next few years, the four of us had a semi-lucrative, very hush-hush side business to pay for our sugar habit: panhandling.

Lagoon (part 3 of 4)

2010-09-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

BEFORE you read this -- make sure you read parts #1 and #2 or this will make no sense.... Try to put yourself into the mindset of a bossy 13 year old older sister when you read this. Maybe one day Viki will forgive me for how I treated here in part #3...

I was in shock. Instinctively, I went to the sink to wash off my face and arms. I shuddered out of my clothes and went into a stall for privacy. Anger was waiting inside. Viki hadn’t stopped apologizing this whole time, so I decided to let her show how sorry she really was for using me as target practice.

I made her stand there at that miniscule-sized porcelain sink and scrub out every bit of my clothes by hand. The only cleansing agent available was that white powdery substance that clumped out from the dispensers located periodically above the sinks. Grit. White grit. She scrubbed her little fingers away on my clothes, washing them with sink water and grit until the smell and stains were gone.

In between my complaints from the stall, I also demanded a fresh supply of wet, brown tri-fold paper towels so I could sponge bathe. After I felt sufficiently cleansed of puke, I sat there alternating between anger and annoyance. Every so often, I’d flirt with remorse, but never enough to give it words.

Once my clothes passed inspection, I forced her stand there and hold them up, part by tiny part, to the hand dryer and push the button over and over and over again. Towards the end of this task, remorse tickled at my edges and I, belatedly, apologized to Viki for making her go on that ride. As I watched her slave next to the dryer, I felt bad that there wasn’t a chair for her to rest on. I guess the restroom wasn’t expecting too many work-weary laundresses that day.

When my clothes were just damp, Viki brought them to me and practically begged me to say ‘enough’. I put them on, thanking my lucky stars that I chose to wear my training bra that day. Whether or not I actually needed one was still to be determined. But the only thing worse on a teenage girl than a damp white shirt with a bra showing through is a damp white shirt with no bra showing through.

After what seemed like hours, we emerged from the restroom. Now what? Viki was feeling much better, having evacuated everything that was bothering her. She still wanted me to call Mom and see if she’d come pick her up early.

“Gimme a quarter.” I insisted. There was no way I was going to foot this bill. Apparently my sub-conscience had not received enough penance from her laundering labors. Besides, my dollar had long since fallen prey to a sugary siren called cotton candy.

“I don’t have one! I already spent my whole dollar.” Of course she had. She was a Groberg too. Free money plus anything whose first ingredient was sugar was no match for our weak wills. Give a Groberg a quarter, and he or she will find the nearest candy vending machine.

“How are we supposed to call Mom?”

“Beats me,” Viki said. She sat down, finally, on a nearby bench and sighed, exhausted. Remorse came back. I felt bad about making her scrub my clothes for so long. I’d make it up to her by remedying our lack of the larger coinage.

“I’ll go ask someone for a quarter. If I explain the whole situation, I’m sure they’ll understand.” By ‘whole situation’, I meant leaving out certain parts that were non-essential to accomplishing my monetary goals. Parts like me forcing my sister to ride and making her clean up with grit.

I sat down next to Viki and studied my surroundings. Who is the least intimidating person here? Who would have a quarter they would be willing to part with? There she was, sitting in the shade just waiting for her family to finish a ride nearby. Her short brown hair was spritzed with gray, meaning she was probably rich. No one was around her. She had a purse that no doubt housed more than our junk drawer. Surely there would be a spare quarter in there for the needy.

I took a deep breath, got up and walked speedily over to her before I could change my mind.

“Um, Ma’am?” I was new at this -- asking complete strangers for money. In about three seconds, I would be an experienced beggar, an accepter of alms. “My little sister got sick and threw up. I need to call my mom, but I don’t have a quarter. Do you have one?” I used the sweetest voice in my arsenal. The one I reserved for my Dad when my Mom had already said no.

Her face smiled. “Of course, honey.” With those three words and her accompanying action, I brushed off the worst of the shame that had hovered over me like an umbrella. I awaited my handout with true gratitude, both to her and to how easy it had been. “Here’s two quarters, dear. Just in case the first one doesn’t work. I hope your sister feels better.” Acknowledging she knew more of the waywardness of phone booths, I thanked her sincerely and walked off to find a phone.

The first quarter worked fine. No defects. My mom was naturally worried when I explained what had happened. I told her Viki wanted her to go home, but that the rest of us wanted to stay.

“Are you sure she wants to come home early?” She asked. But what she was really asking was that if there was any way I could keep Viki there, she would be infinitely grateful. I could hear in her voice she had plans for the day which didn’t include an extra trip to Lagoon.

“Actually, Mom,” I hesitated, looking over at Viki, “I think she’ll be fine. She is feeling much better. We’ll just go on slow rides and take it easy.”

“If you’re sure.” She answered, with a thank you in her tone. “Call me again if you change your mind.”

I hung up the phone and turned around to find Viki. But I didn’t turn around empty-handed. ......

Lagoon (part 2 of 4)

2010-09-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

STOP! Before you read part #2, make sure you've read part #1. It will make much more sense! Warning: do not read this section on a queasy stomach. Also, this is my favorite of the four parts, but still not the most 'surprising'! Isn't the suspense just getting to you???? Enjoy.... Jennie

Part #2

“I think I’m going to throw up!” She gagged out between fingers covering her mouth. About two seconds later, she could have dropped the “I think” part. Fortunately, she caught the majority in her hand, but not before a few drops of proof fell on the seat. I hoped no one was correctly guessing that they’d get cart number 16 next. I grabbed her available hand and yanked her away from the scene of the crime. We mingled in with the rest of the victims and made our way safely through the exit path and out into open air.

I ran to the nearest authority figure to ask for directions to the bathroom. About ten yards in front of me was a row of game booths. The one closest happened to be “Whac-a-Mole”. The booth lodged three nine-patch holes side by side, waiting for gullible passerbys to drop a dollar for the opportunity to hit some ill-meaning moles who popped up more irregularly than popcorn kernels. There was an overly enthusiastic teenager operating the booth. He saw me approaching and mistook my eager gait for an keen desire to throw away money.

“How about a game of Whac-A-Mole?” he shouted into his make-shift microphone.

“Where is the bathroom?” I shouted at him. Viki’s stomach was not done punishing my manipulation. We needed sanctuary in the form of a backless toilet.

Either he hadn’t heard my plea, or he was more interested in refereeing a silly game, because he shouted out to the park, “Step right up! We have one player! Come try your hand at ‘Whac-A-Mole’. Only one dollar a game!”

“PLEASE!” I was screaming at him now. “I NEED to know where the nearest bathroom is!” I was whacking the game top with enough force the scare any moles back in their holes, should any rebellious rodents dare show their annoying plastic faces. I think Enthusiastic Teenager was scared for the safety of his game, but still he refused me passageway to the restroom. By this time Viki had made it to the booth and was tugging at my shirt, afraid to open her mouth for fear of what might come hurling out. I looked up, begging with my eyes for aide.

What happened next will stay with me until my deathbed, and probably well into the next life. If I grow old and get Alzheimer’s and forget my own children’s names, I will still remember the stark details of the next ten seconds of infamy that sunny day in Lagoon. It felt like the world was suddenly turning in half speed. Everything occurred in slow motion, but it still wasn’t slow enough for me to stop it.

I was facing Enthusiastic Teenager head on, willing him to point me in the right direction. He was a typical employee of a local amusement park, too tall for his body. His standard Lagoon-issue striped shirt was short on him, but practically fell off his shoulders. His hair was full of unruly brown curls and his face was blotted with acne. His red bow tie was crooked and partially undone. But, in his booth, he was king of his dominion. His fist-sized microphone was a scepter that bestowed power he would never find in the halls of High School. He was determined to get people to play his game, as if that was the entire purpose of life and he was our guide.

Viki was facing me, on my right side, impatiently pulling at the sleeve of my white cotton shirt with green rims. Enthusiastic Teenager could see Viki’s side profile perfectly as he continually tried to lure people to the game.

And then, Viki could wait no longer. Out came everything she had digested for the past 24 hours at least. Out it came, and found a home all over me. She was just a few inches shorter than me, so it perfectly drenched me from the tops of my shoulders to my shoes.

Enthusiastic Teenager still had his fingers on his precious microphone and had just started over on his sales pitch.

“How about a game of “Whac-A-WOOOOAH!!!” He screamed into the speaker. I finally had his undivided attention. Unfortunately, thanks to his announcement into the microphone and Viki’s display of undigestibles, I also had the attention of every person within a 50 foot radius.

“Looks like YOU need a bathroom!” Enthusiastic Teenager was still holding the button that relayed his voice for all to hear, but at least it was in response to our situation.

I didn’t even nod. I didn’t speak at all. I couldn’t move. I just wanted to disappear, to blink my eyes, which were the only part of me not covered in stinking puke, and magically vanish. I’d willingly join those pesky brown moles in their protective holes now. Bring on the whacking.

When he finally pointed us towards the bathrooms, I waited two more seconds and then I started to move. I didn’t bother to thank him. I just moved away, letting the sick and whatever pride I had grown in thirteen summer seasons on earth fall off me. Someone was speaking, but I couldn’t process the words.

“so, so, sorry.... didn’t mean..... please..... sorry...... Jennie...... so, so.” Viki was following me, apologizing her apparently-working-just-fine-now mouth off. I couldn’t respond to her. I made a beeline for the bathroom hoping to get out of my clothes before I added to them with my own vomit.

Lagoon (part 1 of 4)

2010-09-12T14:02:00.000-07:00

The Centennial Screamer. Just swishing those words through my lips sent alternating ripples of bravery and shivers down my spine. The Centennial Screamer. It was the newest attraction at our local amusement park, Lagoon: mecca for all children in the greater Salt Lake Valley. And today, today I was going to conquer it. Of course, I still had to convert my little sister to the gospel of The Centennial Screamer. But, I had a plan.

Lagoon was a once-a-year-at-most prize and I was going wrap my arms around it and soak it in like a bee collecting pollen. The sun was shining, accompanied by a slight breeze, making it the perfect background for a day spent outside. My mother dropped us off at the entrance gate loaded with sack lunches and enthusiasm. Before she left, she gave us enough money for admission fees plus one entire dollar for each of us to spend at our leisure. At our leisure! She probably said something like, “Save some in case of an emergency.” But, I stopped listening once the coin was in my palm.

“I’ll pick you up right here at 8:00 tonight.” And then, she was gone. Gone! I turned around to face the enormous entrance gates and smiled. The world behind the metal bars was mine to consume. I was thirteen and primed for the task. There was four of us; my older brother Tom, me, my 11-year old sister Viki, and my 9-year old sister Emily. Immediately, we divided up to attack the park. Tom went with Viki and I had Emily. We set up a meeting place for a few hours from then and ran as fast as we could to wait in the nearest line.

Emily would have been easy enough to convince to go on The Centennial Screamer with me, but I couldn’t fool the height charts posted periodically throughout the park. She wasn’t tall enough. So, ‘The Ride’ would have to wait until I was with Viki, harder to convince, but several inches taller. Time launched by and soon we were meeting up and trading siblings. I didn’t waste anytime approaching my first order of business: The Centennial Screamer.

“No way I’m gonna ride that one!” Viki said.

I expected as much. She hated these rides. She got sick easily, and no one willingly repeats that exposure. So, I had to convince her to convince herself. I had to make her believe she would not get sick. If I was overly confident, my conviction might bleed onto her. If she just got into line, more than half the battle would be won. We’d be committed. But, I had to completely manipulate her without her being aware of it, and she was no idiot.

“You can do it! It’s not really that scary. Besides, you’re almost twelve years old.” The difference between eleven and twelve was so much more than a single digit. Twelve meant responsibility and dependability. Now, I needed to stay quiet and let my infallible logic sink it. Would she take the bait?

“I really don’t want to, though.” She almost sighed, as if preparing for resignation. Wow! This was going better than I thought. She had catapulted from ‘No way’ to ‘I really don’t want to’. Just a few well-placed shoulder taps, words, and smiles and we’d be wasting the near future waiting in a long line.

“Of course it seems scary, but look how many people are in line! And, you know how fast these rides are. It will be over before you know it. You’ll probably wish it was longer.” I playfully hit her arm and stifled a laugh to make sure she knew I meant no foul.

“But I might get sick. I..”

“Hey!” I interrupted before we went too far down that literally slippery slope, “You won’t get sick. It’s all in your head. Just tell yourself you won’t get sick and you won’t be sick. I promise.” My logic was impressing even me! Mind over matter. Simple as that.

“Can’t we just go on another ride instead?” Viki asked, with both hope and defeat in her eyes.

She paused on the word instead. It was her tell. She’d been had. I’d won. But, just to play it safe, I pulled out my trump.

“Look, if we get all the way up to the front and you are still scared, we don’t have to actually go on the ride.” Before I had even finished, we were moving toward the target. We both knew we’d go on this ride before the hour was out. There was no way we were going to spend time in a line without payoff. And the condition I slipped in? She had to admit she was too scared. It was never going to happen. I smiled inwardly at my sales skills.

The line was longer than the Oregon Trail. Everyone wanted to test their bravery on this ride. ‘You will Scream’ the tag line promised. And scream they did. And scream and scream and scream. Group by daring group, the passengers got into carts which would spin and spin, then, usurping the magic that only exists in metal form at amusement parks, the entire contraption would slowly rise up on its side and spin not only horizontally, but vertically as well.

As we got closer to the no-backing-out-now point, even I started to panic. There was a lot of screaming going on. But, no amount of money in the known world would have convinced me to walk away from what lay ahead. Okay, I’m sure anything over about twenty dollars could have lured me away, but no one was offering, so I was staying put. But, Viki was getting more and more scared. I could see it in the whites of her knuckles and how sub-consciously one hand would hold her stomach, as if trying to send it calming signals. One thing always worked well in situations like this one. A wonderfully useful friend called Distraction.

“Let’s try and guess which cart number is going to be ours!” My voice was falsely enthusiastic. “Winner gets to choose the next ride.”

It worked. Before we’d had time to change our guesses more than three times each, it was our turn at destiny. Neither of us guessed our cart number correctly, so ride dictatorship was still up for grabs. Number 16 was our home for the imminent future. We secured both the bars and our seat belts. It should have been a sign of potential disaster that there were two methods of protection. I had time to flash Viki one last smile and slough off some sincere words of encouragement before we started to spin.

We hadn’t been spinning more than two or three times, however, before my concern for the state of Viki’s stomach was thrown from my mind with overwhelming concern for the state of my own. It was well-past too late to do anything about it now. It’s all in my head. I tried my ‘mind over matter’ logic out. Yeah, right. This ill feeling is definitely NOT coming from my head. More like my stomach, esophagus, no wait, back down to my stomach, ooh! up it goes, this is never going to end. If I actually scream, more than a scared voice might just come out.

But, as all amusement park rides do, this one ended in just over a minute. As we started to normalize, I turned to Viki with a smile etched on my face from sheer necessity. If I got that sick, then how was she handling it?

Apparently, she wasn’t.

depressing poetry

2010-09-08T13:26:00.000-07:00

senseless

so much sadness. unnecessary sadness. not from sickness or scraped knees or life with its highs and lows.

stupid people making stupid decisions. they don’t see. don’t see.

do they hear?

the screaming voices

i do.

screaming

at me to stop playing solitaire

senseless

waste of time

when there is so much sadness.

but this is how I deal with the sadness. so much sadness. unnecessary sadness.

tears don’t come anymore. anger boils too easily. stupid. stupid. stupid.

deal again?

I’m stuck.

so I deal.

Ten Random things I love

2010-08-31T16:00:00.001-07:00

1. Oversized towels

2. Anagram solvers

3. Standing over the sink, biting into an oversized, freshly-washed, extra juicy strawberry

4. 5-year old grammar: Eden was teaching Teya how to 'hula hoop'. At one point, Eden said to me, "I think she's getting the hang of it!" For the next few days, Teya would hula hoop and say, "Watch me have the hang of it!" or "Mom, the hang of it is mine!"

5. The embarrassing fact that I spelled grammar in point #4 as grammer, and then spell check had to correct me... Apparently my grammar is in need of some help as well.

6. A sturdy pair of tweezers

7. Libraries: A few years ago when I was excitedly going across the street to our mailbox to get our latest Netflix disc, I marveled at the convenience of it all. I seriously thought to myself, "I wish there was a service where you could rent books and read them and return them and get new ones to read." ooops.... Sorry Library. I truly do love you. I'm there several times a month. I promise. I might even check out a book on grammar.

8. The sound of children laughing so hard they have to beg you to stop so they can catch their breath.

9. Random lists of things that leave you hanging....

Sometimes...

2010-08-25T11:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I steal fruit snacks from my kids' lunches...

Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and the world around me would go instantly quiet, kind of like those clapper on/off lamps....

Sometimes I blow my nose so hard I see stars...

Sometimes I save all the socks from all seven loads of clean laundry until the very end, then I get a little giddy, sit down, and play my own version of the memory matching game with socks...

Sometimes I feel like I spend all my discretionary income on buying more toner ink...

Sometimes I sit down while taking a shower and just cry, letting the water wash away my tears...

Sometimes I sit down to play the piano and am shocked at how years of not practicing can really affect my ability to play the Children's Songbook songs...

Sometimes I wonder...

Sometimes I wander...

Sometimes I wonder as I wander...

Sometimes I feel like a good banana split really can solve all of my problems...

In his own words: Josh's baptism

2010-08-21T18:18:00.001-07:00

In case you can't read his writing:

I felt good, new, happy, loved, and great.

I took step by step going into the water my dad came in after. The water was warm and cozy. My dad took my hand. I was excited. My dad said a prayer. I was about to go under when, ppppppppppp I was laughing so hard trying to hold it and before I knew it I was under the water getting baptized. It felt good when I came out. It felt like I was with the holy ghost, which I was. And when I got confirmed it felt even better. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

A Single Word

2010-08-13T00:11:00.001-07:00

After a particularly difficult day in the mission field, all I wanted to do was withdraw, retreat. It wasn’t just the lack of progressing investigators, I was struggling with my companion. And, even though the language was coming along, the intense fire and desire to shout the gospel from the rooftops I had when I first came to the field was cooling, requiring constant effort to stoke the dying coals. I had a year left on my mission, and I didn’t know if I was going to make it through that week.

I dropped my backpack, heavy with pamphlets, books, and defeat, just inside the front door. I didn’t say anything to my companion. The slightest wrong tone could lead to another argument. In my state of mind, I could not trust my tone. I kept my coat on, the chill of a foggy February day still present in our little apartment. I burrowed out of my oversized boots and wriggled up on my little bed. I lay there, hugging my knees, wanting to give up, at least until sleep could offer safe cover.

As I longed for rest, I started listing all of the things that were going wrong. Like kindling, my faults caught fire and spread quickly to every aspect of my life. I was a complete failure. I was self-righteous, judgmental and a hypocrite. The road before me was too steep and unknown. I would fail. I started mumbling to myself over and over, “I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

And then, a single word pressed upon my mind so quietly, I knew it came from the Holy Ghost. “Alone.”

Stubbornly, I silently shouted to my knees, “I CAN’T do it!”

Again, I heard the forceful nudging of a single word. “Alone.”

“I can’t do it,” I said, again, but with an edge of curiosity. Why was the Spirit telling me that word over and over?

“Alone. Alone. Alone.”

And then, an understanding sigh, as I put the two phrases together and understood.

“I can’t do it alone.”

There are rare moments in life when learning takes place in an unearthly way. Where a principle taught is of such an eternal nature that it can only come directly from the Spirit. Such was this moment. I felt at once both the desire to jolt up out of my bed alive with new insight and the need to lay still, letting eternal knowledge etch its way into my spiritual DNA. The hot tears of frustration that were building up fell freely now, but they were tears of understanding, outlined in hope.

What a difference a single word can make! “I can’t do it” was the fruit of despair and discouragement, failure and forfeit. As I spoke those words, I was giving in to depression and defeat. However, “I can’t do it alone” represented humility and teachableness. “I can’t do it alone” implied that I could do it with help; that a solution was very possible. And it filled me with a desire to try.

I thought again of my current situation and realized not only that I couldn’t make it better alone, but also that I shouldn’t even try to do it alone. I needed the constant help of the Spirit. I needed the strength of my companion. I needed the power of prayer, always. I was completely dependent on others for any success. And, they were dependent on me. The Lord needed me to be His mouthpiece there. And I needed His help to want to be just that. I could not overcome my bitter feelings towards my companion without the help of the Spirit. But, with the help of the Spirit, that was entirely possible and achievable. The lessons and implications from that single word kept pouring in, and my soul opened up to receive them.

The very next morning, before the sun had even made an appearance, I apologized to my companion and, with a prayer in my heart, planted seeds of forgiveness. To this day, we are still close friends. And, not only did I make it through that week, I went on to enjoy my mission more than I ever thought possible.

Since that foggy February day so long ago, I have relied on the lessons learned dozens of times. Depending on the situation, I have cherry-picked the application of the difference that single word made. It has come as an impression to involve my husband in a particular decision. It has prompted me to teach my children household chores, knowing I do not have the time or energy to do it all alone. It has gently reminded me ‘they are called counselors for a reason’. And, more times than I remember, it has caused me to fall to my knees for a third or fourth prayer for help with a specific trial.

We were never meant to be alone in this life. We came as a part of family, immediately outnumbered by those watching out for us. Two parents for one child. We have siblings, friends, parents, and teachers. We are given the gift of the Holy Ghost as a constant companion as long as we are worthy. We have the light of Christ in us from birth to help direct our decisions. We have scriptures to teach us everything we ever needed to know. We have modern-day prophets to guide us with their advantageous viewpoints and insight. And, always, always, we have prayer and the atonement. Two reasons we are never, ever, truly alone. And, with those powerful tools, we can do anything that is right, anything.

A single word. Just five short letters. And, a lonely word at that. Yet, when coupled with the eternal knowledge of the Spirit, that single word has made worlds of difference.

The Standard Works

2010-08-09T15:43:00.000-07:00

Josh recently turned eight, so his grandparents gave him his first set of leather-bound scriptures. So, now he has the complete Standard Works that he takes to church each Sunday.

Guess which one he reads most fastidiously during Sacrament Meeting?

100th post: A Beautiful Day

2010-08-07T15:47:00.000-07:00

(My beautiful daughter, Eden)

In honor of my 100th post, I thought I’d just share a few things (no, not 100) that make an ordinary day a beautiful day for me:

Escaping into a good book
Hearing the pitter-patter of tiny feet running to use my bathroom (since it is so much cooler to use Mom and Dad’s bathroom)
Filling my ‘extra milk’ up with a second helping of my favorite cereal
Having all the appropriate ingredients to make my kids’ lunches
Having my children remind me to say family prayers
Watching my children race each other down the street to school
Hoping no one else is watching me watch my kids race each other down the street to school (I’m still in my PJs...)
Catching my latest favorite song on the radio
Getting a spot next to a friendly face at gym class
Actually making it to gym class
Making a smoothie with one part protein, four parts fruit, and using two small hands so eager to help
Sharing that smoothie with the girl those small hands belong to
Getting good e-mail (not junk, bills, political agendas)
Getting good voice mail (not junk, bills, political agendas)
Getting good mail (not junk, bills, political agendas)
Taking too long of a shower
Wearing (again) that pair of shorts that is so comfortable, you constantly thank your lucky stars you bought them all those months (okay, years) ago
Catching up with friends (old, new, borrowed, blue)
Emptying a clean, slightly warm load of laundry, and inhaling the clean smell for a few seconds
Letting that clean, no-longer warm, load of laundry sit there for days and fishing out of it until it’s empty
Pretending not to be watching ‘Phineas and Ferb’ while I’m supposed to be cleaning the kitchen
Opening the garage door in anticipation of the return of the kids from school
Hearing the door crash open, a backpack slam against the floor, and the sound of my boy running to the bathroom as fast as he can (apparently school bathrooms aren’t cool either)
Asking that son where his sister is
Having him tell me she is talking with friends, again
Being incredibly grateful for such a friendly, social daughter
Being incredibly grateful for a son who is completely content to not be as social as his sister
Eating after-school snacks
Not feeling too-guilty that I ate more of the snacks than my kids did
Helping kids with homework
Being incredibly grateful that I can still figure out their homework enough to help them
Hearing my son play his piano pieces as fast as he can, and then faster
Pretending not to watch iCarly while I’m supposed to be getting dinner ready
Having an answer to the worst question in the world, “What’s for dinner?”
Watching my picky-eater of a son finish his dinner, despite his earlier complaining
Realizing I’ve become my mother when I tell him about all the starving children in the world
Having a husband who has a job, even though it means he has to work late, again
Having a husband who knows how to work, even though it means he has to work late, again
Having kids who don’t complain about reading scriptures together
Hearing what my son will pray about in our family prayers (that he won’t sprain his ankle, that the Wii remote will work right, that Mom will buy some of his favorite food at the store next time)
Sending my kids running upstairs to see who can get their teeth brushed and in their pajamas first
Realizing that brushing your teeth probably shouldn’t be a timed activity
Being in my pajamas by 8:00 p.m.
Turning on my DVR
Welcoming home a work-weary husband
Settling on a sugar-free popsicle instead of a bowl of ice cream (curse you diabetes)
Enjoying that sugar-free popsicle, because at least I have a sugar-free popsicle
Wondering where I’ll find my youngest daughter sleeping when I go to kiss her goodnight (she has fallen asleep in a myriad of random locations (hallway, under sister’s bed, brother’s closet, the couch in our bedroom)
Wondering if she’ll still have her pajamas on (she gets bored with clothes)
Kissing each of my sleeping children on the forehead
Escaping into a good book

Here's to hoping you have a Beautiful Day

Bandwagons

2010-07-28T19:21:00.000-07:00

I submitted this essay to a few online sites, and was rejected from them all. One of them said "It sounds too much like a blog", so with that in mind.... I decided to post it on my blog. Enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lights finally dim. For a split second there is silence. And then, the screaming begins. I can’t help myself. A shriek erupts from my throat, framed by a grin I dusted off to use. The teenager inside has come out to play.

I will deal with the dichotomy later. For the next few hours, I am no longer a stay-at-home mother of three, burdened with a mortgage, meal time, and mold growing in our pool. I have my black t-shirt on, the one I wear only once a year. I have declared my intentions. I have leapt on the Twilight bandwagon, Team Edward all the way.

Remember the roller coaster? At long last I am at the front of the line. I climb down into the seat and fasten the bar too tightly. After the usual “Keep your hands inside the cart at all times” warning, I lurch forward. Inch by inch it crawls up and up. The anticipation builds. I try to prepare my stomach for what is coming. The cart is slowing down now, as it nears the precipice. Any second now, I’ll be moving too fast to enjoy it. Remember that feeling?

I try to quell my shrieking, and keep my hands inside my cart. I’m 36 for crying out loud. I take a brief second to recognize that, and choose to scream anyway. Reality doesn’t matter in this moment.

For, in this moment I’m here to see the next of the Twilight movies. Some close friends have rented out an entire theater and hundreds of us moms and teenagers go nice and early, as if the better the seat we have, the more devoted to the cause we are. One of my friends has taxing trivia about the saga and we try to answer for prizes. I eat it up. I jump up and down, going through the trivia line multiple times, acting less than half my age. But, I love it. Every part of it. I’m not there for the movie. The movie is the rest of the roller coaster, that fast 45 seconds that races by too quickly. I’m there for that initial climb: that anticipation.

I’ve counted down the days to this event. As I shove peanut butter sandwiches and juice boxes into lunch bags, I walk past my calendar and think, “Four more days!” Then, I make sure my kids are dressed appropriately and send them on their way. Living life in the present and looking forward to something are not mutually exclusive feelings.

I went to the midnight release of Harry Potter #7 at our local book store. What a fun bandwagon through Diagon Alley that was. I participated in all the games, applauded those dressed up in extravagant costumes, hung out with friends and soaked in the experience for all it had to offer. After it was over, I simply slept in the next morning. Not a steep price to pay for a truly unique experience. Sure, I had to do the dishes that next day, and mop the floor, and didn’t even get a chance to read the book for several more days, however, for those few hours, I was in another reality. I was carefree, in the best sense of the word.

There are so many bandwagons out there, vying for my frivolous attention. No one has the time or energy necessary to jump on them all, but I have learned to choose a silly few, grab hold, and live out loud. These superficial rides that just go around in circles can make life so much fun. To those who condescendingly label these adventures shallow and immature, I have one word:

And?

Life is serious all on its own. There is nothing silly about getting that phone call from a college roommate saying she has breast cancer. There is nothing frivolous about helping family members deal with job loss, divorce, or problems with children. Life will provide the drama, the tears, and ample opportunities to be mature and sensible.

I could wait until the hype is over; until the books are out in paperback and the movies are on DVD. But that is like skipping from Thanksgiving to December 25th. I still get Christmas, but I miss the best part!

So, I’ll continue to jump onto a bandwagon. Or two. Or three. I can keep my hands inside the cart and my scream inside my throat. Or, I can dust off that grin, take a deep breath, and Just. Let. Go.

catching up

2010-06-26T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm not even going to apologize for not blogging in so long. My blog, my schedule. But, I do go to bed most nights feeling bad that I haven't written down (again) all the clever things my kids come up with.

I'd love to spend a day inside Josh's mind, just to see how it works. These are just a few of the comments he's said lately:

"I'm sure glad I'm a human, and not a bunch of lice." (He went on to explain how he didn't think he'd like to eat scalp for his whole life).

"How do you make green bubbles?" "Toot in our pool" (It was greenish at the time).

"Mom, do you think some of my ancestors helped to build the Great Wall of China?" (Me: "No", Josh, "But, they might have, right? They could have gone over to China and helped all the peasants there build the wall?")

Teya comes up with her share of laughs as well. The other night she was whining at bedtime, saying, "But I always brush my teeth. Why can't someone else take a turn brushing my teeth? I always do it. Not fair!" In fact, she was so adamant about it, she refused to brush her teeth until I did it for her. She ended up crawling up on our piano bench to wait for me to finish whatever I was doing on the computer so I would brush her teeth. She fell asleep (w/o brushing her teeth). I guess she won!

Eden gave a tremendous end-of-year recital with her 'show choir' group. She looked beautiful and can really dance!

Eden and Josh are busy with daily swim team practices and weekly swim meets. It is sure fun to watch them swim. Eden's butterfly stroke is a thing of beauty! At her last meet, she was swimming breaststroke in the lane closest to us, and as she passed us, Teya shouted out for everyone around to hear, "Eden, you're not going to be last place! You're not going to be last place!" (she was around the middle of the pack). To Teya, not being last was just as good as winning! Everyone around was laughing.

Teya graduated from preschool and is very excited about Kindergarten! They decided to only offer all-day at our school, so that will be a big adjustment for both Teya and me. She's mainly excited to eat lunch at school.

We are all excited to escape the awful heat that finally showed up for good here in Arizona. We have our Groberg family reunion at Aspen Grove next week, and I'm SO excited about it. Dave is training for the St. George Marathon and doing GREAT. He ran over 10 miles this morning and said he loved it all. It is 'his' time. I'm so proud of him. My only physical accomplishment is now I can do around 15 'real' pushups (not on my knees) before I die of exhaustion! I just swam one mile this morning, so that makes 284 miles out of my 400 done so far this year, and we are just half over!

Well, off to a wedding reception and then to see another great summer movie. Dave has a list of movies to see that will keep us busy every weekend this summer!

I love this kid

2010-05-20T11:56:00.000-07:00

It is sure entertaining to be Josh's mom. He recently lost one of his front teeth. It took several days to fall out, despite his constant wiggling and turning and pulling. He even let me have a go at it several times. One day, he came up and showed me how he could practically turn his tooth completely around inside his mouth. I knew it had to go. I got a good hold and yanked. No blood, no foul. He was glad to have it out. Here are some pictures of his new smile.
He also recently brought home a little book that he made about me for Mother's day. (He forgot to bring it home FOR mother's day). In it, he described his view of me. I thought I'd share some gems:

My mom works at home and earns $30.00 every day. I love her best because she cleans the house while I'm at school. My mom is 5.13 feet tall and probably weighs 71 pounds. Her eyes are green (they are blue). My mom's hair is long, curly, and brown. The best present I could give my mom would be a heart of love.

Her favorite sport: baseball. (no)

Her favorite color: red (blue).

Her favorite pet: none (correct)

Her favorite food: veggies (not really)

Her favorite TV show: Heroes (I finally finished watching last season)

Her favorite dessert: ice cream (correct)

Her favorite book to read to me: One from her writing group (true!)

Her favorite game to play with me: Ticket to Ride (correct)

For fun, my mom likes to: SLEEP. (I laughed out loud at this one -- so true!)

If my mom had a million dollars, she would buy: 'house keeping'.

Nothing gets past Josh -- except maybe my eye color and my apparently anorexic status. He truly is a joy to have in our family, even if he was patient zero for our recent round of the stomach flu. We'll take him and his smile any day!

The shoe dropped

2010-05-11T11:56:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

So, over the past several months, life has been pretty smooth. I've had several family and friends who have gone through unexplainable ordeals, and I've felt blessed that I was able to help them however I could. In the back of my mind, I've sort of been waiting for the shoe to drop, knowing that my life couldn't stay all peaches for too long. I know, it is sort of a pessimistic attitude. But, I did try to keep it in the back of my mind.

Well, yesterday, it dropped. I went to my thyroid doctor, and he let me know that I officially have Diabetes. As of now, it is Type II and we are treating it as such -- oral medication, diet control, increased exercise, testing my blood sugar twice daily, etc. He did mention that there is a 'newer' type of Diabetes that I might have -- Type 1.5. It is diagnosed in adulthood as Type II, but after 4-5 years, progresses to Type I, which will require daily insulin injections. I hope it doesn't go there, but honestly from the research I've done, it seems more likely that this is what I have. I don't really fit the poster child for Type II diabetes. I'm not overweight (though my doctor told me it wouldn't hurt to lose 5-10 pounds.... ouch), I exercise regularly and eat (somewhat) healthy. I have low blood pressure, etc. All these symptoms fit the Type 1.5 diagnoses.

There is also a strong correlation between my Thyroid disorder (which is immune related) and developing the immune-related Diabetes -- Type I. My doctor felt either it was genetic (which I have NO family history of at all) or immune related. The only way to tell is to treat it as we are doing and keep an eye on various markers throughout the months.

It kind of serves me right -- in a way. I'm in love with carbohydrates. My life philosophy has been "Exercise to support your eating habits". I have never had any sort of will power to go on a diet. So, now, all of a sudden, I'm supposed to severely limit my carb intake, drastically increase my exercise, and watch what I eat, 24/7. So not what I want to be doing. But, whoever said life is fair. I always knew life wasn't fair, I just made sure I had a supply of Sour Patch Kids to help me deal with the unfairness. Now that is taken away from me as well....

So, if you have any tried and true and delicious diabetic meals, snacks, even desserts -- send them my way. If not, I'd appreciate your prayers and support as I tried to change my eating habits overnight.

Eat a piece of toast for me, or a bowl of cold cereal, or a bagel with cream cheese, or a piece of chocolate, or a bowl of ice cream, or pasta, or a baked potato... I'll just go chew on a stick of celery.

Fun with Photoshop

2010-04-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

I have been teaching myself little bits about Photoshop Elements. Here is one of my latest experiments. This was during our annual Easter Egg hunt. This is such a typical Teya smile!

If anyone out there is a Photoshop Elements pro. I would pay for some hands on lessons. These tutorials are time consuming and not as easy as I thought they would be.
One of my favorite new blogs that I'm now following is this girl that posts about wall decor. So, here is the link. Hope you get some fun ideas!

http://decorallure.blogspot.com/

San Diego

2010-03-11T17:20:00.000-08:00

We recently returned from a fabulous trip to San Diego -- just our little family. We bought these "Go San Diego" cards and really got our money's worth out of them. For about $85 each we did the following:

Lego land

Wild Animal Park (which included a safari)

Belmont Park (this awesome little boardwalk amusement park with the best roller coaster)

Whale watching cruise

Tour of the USS Midway (aircraft carrier)

Birch Aquarium

We were going to go to the zoo, but the weather turned on us. So we did all the above in 1 1/2 days! We had a blast and ended up going to sleep by 8:30 each night, exhausted!

Here are some fun pictures and stories from our trip:

The first ride we went on was a big roller coaster at Lego land. When we were done, Teya exclaimed, "That was too freaky for me." Dave had to agree with her. She rode the carousel while the older kids went on it again.

At Belmont Park, we were almost the only ones there. As a result, Teya got to ride her favorite ride all by herself several times. It was one of those rides where five people sit across and the whole thing goes all the way up then falls a few feet, then goes up and falls again, up and down, up and down. Teya was right in the middle, all by herself, and every time the ride would drop, she'd squeal with delight. You could hear her squeals (screams for those who were not related to her), across the whole park.

Josh and Eden's favorite thing was the roller coaster. It was a large, old rickety wooden one. The height requirement was 50 inches. Josh only made it because he hadn't had a recent haircut. Seriously. His hair was standing straight up and it barely brushed the 50 inch mark. The two of them rode that ride over 10 times. They would get off, run around, and get right back on -- there was no line. Dave and I had to take turns going with them and watching Teya, until our adult stomachs could no longer hang in there. Then, they just went by themselves. They would have stayed there all night riding it!

Teya was her own version of daring. On the carousel and the other little kiddie rides, she would sneakily let go of the pole or the bar and hold her hands up. What a little Evel Knievel! She thought she was so brave! It was hilarious watching her.

On our whale watching cruise, Josh saw a poster showing the migration routes of the whales (from up north of Alaska to down past Baja California). It was a pretty long cruise (about 4 hours). When we'd been gone about 2 1/2, Josh asked me "Well, do you think we've at least hit Canada yet?" "What?" I said. Then, he showed me the map. He was under the impression that we were following the entire migration route of the whales! Not quite. I showed him the tiny dot portion of the map that we were actually covering. His response, "Wow, things in real life are a LOT bigger than they are on a map." Astute observation Josh.

By the way, we did see two large humpback whales. They gave us a wonderful show, one of them breached (where they go most of the way out of the water and turn around) four times. They both kept spouting and come up and showing off their tails. It was great! We were so

close, we didn't even use the binoculars we had brought along!

One of my personal favorites was seeing the mesmerizing jellyfish at the aquarium. I could have stayed there and just watched them much longer than we did.

On Saturday evening there was a deluge and it stayed that way the rest of our trip. We got a rainy picture of us at the San Diego Temple and got wet in the rain going to the beach on Coronado Island, but it was still fun!

Halloween

2010-02-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

Several months ago I joined a writing group. It has been a wonderful experience so far. I've decided to start sharing some of my stories on my blog. I've even submitted a piece for publications. But, I'm not planning on it being accepted. They get 1200 submissions a week and only choose 5. However, I have a goal to get 100 rejection letters over the course of my writing career, so better start somewhere. Hopefully I'll get some acceptances along the way as well. Here is a short story about Halloween in our home growing up in a family of 11. Enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

For my mother, it was no coincidence that the words sugar and sin started with the same letter. Carob was more commonplace in our cupboard than chocolate. I was a teenager before I realized they were not the same thing. Everything was made from scratch, picked from our garden, or ground with our wheat grinder. We made our own yogurt from cultures grown on light boxes. We grew alfalfa sprouts underneath our sink. We purchased preservative-free peanut butter in gallon sizes. When we needed a new jug, we had to expend significant elbow grease to reunite the oil and the mushy nuts before it was cloaked in spreadability. Cold cereal only existed in the form of oatmeal that was ready to eat before I was. Vitamin C pills were as close to treats as we ever came.

Stomach freshly scoured of any traces of vitamins and nutrients, I donned the hand-me-down costume earmarked for me and joined my siblings for our adventures in begging.

We couldn’t go trick-or treating ad hoc. We were to go up and down our little street, and maybe, just maybe, hit a few houses on the side. But, any candy we got was like manna from heaven. For about an hour, we were the official owners of contraband. When discretion was our friend, some of the candy never quite made it into our bags.

2009 Movie for non-facebookers

2010-01-15T13:26:00.000-08:00

I had to blog with our 2009 movie that I made for those rare friends and family members that are still not on facebook! Enjoy.

New Years Goals

2010-01-03T16:40:00.000-08:00

So, I'm thinking about all the things I want to accomplish this year. I love the enthusiasm that comes with January 1st -- the endless possibilities, the limitless energy. Or, maybe that is just the sugar high from all the Christmas goodies I devoured.

Anyway, I want to do so much this year: learn to play the cello, relearn the guitar (especially playing tablature and hymns), run/bike 400 miles, (by the way, I made my goal of 200 miles in 2009 -- I even ran 204 miles last year -- I know -- OVERACHIEVER!!!!

I also want to take up oil painting -- but not your typical style. I love my older brother's style and he is going to mentor me. Here is a link to some of his stuff. If I learn it well enough, I'd love to paint you a picture for your home... :) http://www.johngroberg.com/John's-Artwork.html

I also need to get back into practicing piano, and reading all sorts of wonderful books that my mind hasn't discovered yet. Oh, and I'm in a writing group that I LOVE and I am making all sorts of goals and working on that as well.

See what I mean about the sugar high?

So, I decided I need to list all the things I HAVE to do in 2010, and then maybe I'll get a bit more realistic:

Things I HAVE to do in 2010:

Make dinner 365 times

Buy enough cereal for 365 x 5 meals -- and clean said 365 x 5 bowls

Make 270 x 2 Peanut Butter Sandwiches (Actually, come August, that will have to be multiplied by 3 -- Teya starts all day Kindergarten then!!!!)

Shower at least 300 times (let's be realistic, there are days I just don't make it to a shower)

Sleep 365 x 8 hours -- this has to be an actual goal, because I struggle with sleep, and it won't happen, unless I make it a goal!

Do 295 loads of laundry (just a guesstimate)

Sweep the floor 300 times

Mop the floor 50 times

Replace chlorine tablets 1 x a month from Jan - April and then 3 times a week for the rest of the year.

Liquidate all my ribbon -- PLEASE let me know if you want any -- I'm selling it for at or below my cost -- so, it will be a great deal. I've even started up my ebay auctions again! Aargh.

Well, I'll stop boring you. I'm really looking forward to this year. So much to learn, so little time....

A little present for you

2009-12-17T15:42:00.000-08:00

Hopefully this will bring a big smile to your face!

Some new Christmas decor

2009-12-10T14:47:00.001-08:00

Just thought I'd share a few pics of some of the Christmas decor I added to my repertoire this year.

I hosted our "formerly known as Enrichment" dinner on Tuesday night for over 50 ladies. Dinner -- we had tables and chairs everywhere! So after cleaning straight for 10 days, I had a few hours before the actual event and I rewarded myself by making these two new decor items. I really like how they both turned out.

Now, I need to start thinking about our Christmas Cards, the picture for it, neighbor gifts, teacher gifts, etc. I actually love all this part of Christmas, and I try involve the kids in it, so it is a fun thing and doesn't add stress too much! Bring on the Christmas music.

apologize??

2009-11-25T12:38:00.000-08:00

We were driving in the car and the song by One Republic "apologize" was on. I was singing along to it, as were Josh and Teya. When we got out of the car, Teya was still singing. Her version was something a little different:

"It's too late for Papa Johns"....

Hmmmmm.

Halloween 2009

2009-11-02T09:47:00.000-08:00

So, Teya is spoiled. She couldn't decide on a costume this year. And, since I didn't plan out anything in particular, she ended up being four -- yes 4 -- different costumes this year for four different parties/events we had.

Eden was a Zombie Princess and Josh was Frankenstein.

One of our events was a tap recital for Teya. It was to the song "Ghostbusters". It was the cutest thing. Later that night we had a school party "Monster Mash" and Eden was front and center the whole night dancing. I had to put the two dances (Teya's recital and Eden's dancing) together on a video to show the difference 5 years can make. Eden is 5 years older than Teya.

Also on the video is Eden when she sang the solo for "surfin' USA" for her school musical. Just to show that she isn't always so crazy and scary looking!

Enjoy!

36, Splits, Hair cuts & 21 miles

2009-10-26T19:20:00.000-07:00

Hey all! I did it! I made the silly goal to do the splits by my 36th birthday (today). I was actually able to do them for a few months ago, and then I stopped stretching so much and lost the ability, so I've had to stretch like crazy this last week and I had to run a few miles this morning before my legs were warmed up enough to do the splits. But, here is proof! I can do the splits. Now, I'll probably never do them again. So, goal #1 accomplished. Physical goal #2 for 2009 is to run 200 miles. This morning, I ran miles # 177 and #178, so just 21 miles to go, and I still have over 2 months! Yeah! I probably would not have run a single mile this year if I hadn't made this goal. Since joining my gym 2 1/2 years ago, I pretty much just go there and work out via their classes, which I love. So, while 200 miles to run in a year is a paltry sum, I guarantee it is 200 more miles than I would have run had I not made the goal. Just goes to show that goals make things achievable. (something to do with mindset...)

So, to celebrate my special day, Teya decided to give herself a hair cut. I have to say, three kids, and this is my FIRST experience with the self-inflicted haircut of any of them. I only realized it when I went to throw something in the garbage and I saw chunks of beautiful blond hair in there. She had tried to clean up her mess -- she even got out the broom and swept it up. I found more hair in the broom. Fortunately she just cut some random pieces random lengths throughout her hair, and not one big chunk. She'll have to wear hair clips daily for a few months until those little bits that were cut grow back, but we'll survive.

What was I doing while she did this? I treated myself to reading "The Lost Symbol" by Dan Brown. I had plenty of other things to do, but hey, it was my birthday....

Thanks to my friends for a delicious brunch of Blintzes today, and thanks to Joe's BBQ which feeds you for free on your birthday, I haven't had to cook all day. Now that's a present I'd take any day!

Driving in India

2009-10-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

My friend's husband just returned from a trip to India and seeing his pictures brought back memories of a 10 day trip to India that I took with my parents in 1997. I came home to Hong Kong and wrote all about it in excruciating detail. I've extracted just a portion of it to share -- all about the driving in India. One day we hired a car and driver to take us the 3 1/2 hours from Delhi to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. This is what I wrote about. I hope you enjoy it! (This is my way of being lazy about coming up with current material to blog about. I'm sure you are sick of my primary training notes...)

“In India, there is no discipline in driving” our driver explained to us. He went on to tell us how he had been driving for 20 years, knew every road in all of India, and how he was a very good driver. This he bragged as he perfectly straddled the lines in the road.

Traffic lights in India are for decoration only, and lines in the road do about as much good as a garbage can in New York City. The shoulder is used as much, if not more than the roads. If, by chance, you come to a red light, and do not wish to stop, don’t. If other cars in front of you have stopped, and you wished to go through, simply go onto the left shoulder of the road (all of India drives on the left side of the road), make a left turn, flip a quick U-turn, make another left, and you are successfully through the red light, leaving the waiting cars to quake in your wake. The pedestrians are warned about this problem with signs of “Do not take green for granted!”

Mom had a few observations about the driving there. She said that she felt like we were playing a four hour game of ‘chicken’. We rarely lost. Because, you see, we were in a Mercedes Benz. It was as if the caste system applied to driving. The better or faster car you had, the more rights you had to make others move into the gutters so you could pass. The caste system, while technically outlawed, still plays a central role in India. It is basically the idea that you are what you are born into. If your father was a working man on the farms, so are you. While learning to drive in Argentina, Mom had come to the conclusion that the driving code there was “if there is space, take it”. In India, that code is slightly altered to, “If there isn’t space, make it”.

Lest you think I am exaggerating, I asked Dad, the epitome of a world traveler for me, if there was anywhere he could think of where driving was worse. He said that Bangkok and Indonesia come close, but India, tops them all.

Case in point: our driver was telling us that one of the lines of buses, the “red” line, was notoriously known for the high number of casualties it caused. The phrase “Red line, dead line” was known throughout Delhi. So, they painted all the buses blue. However, little did they realize that blue paint doesn’t stop death. The number of casualties continue unhindered. I didn’t know how seriously to take the driver until the radio on the way home that night announced the death of a 17 year old boy, crushed by a blue line bus just that evening.

All of the taxis, trucks and buses have huge painted letters on the backs of their vehicles reading “KEEP DISTANCE” and “BLOW HORN”. No one pays attention to the first warning. Instead, they double their focus on the latter. A car without a horn is much more dangerous than a car without lights driving at night. If I ever find myself jobless and in desperate need of money in the future, I think I’ll invest in a horn company in India. I don’t know the shelf-life of car horns, but I am positive it is cut in fourths in India. Our driver would lay on the horn for fifteen seconds at a time to get the attention of a bus or truck that was impeding his path. More than once (more like ten times), we would be in the middle of passing a large truck, when the truck would decide to join us in our lane. The driver would honk like a mad man and continue trying to pass the truck. I would watch in horror as the space twixt me and the truck narrowed to inches, and hoped the driver realized that a horn, while it makes a lot of noise, wouldn’t save my life from being crushed by an intruding truck. Our driver would hug the middle gap (or the opposite side of the road, depending on where we were), and push the gas to the floor, all the while honking insanely. Invariably, the bus or truck pulled back at the last second, sparing my live.

I kept on waiting to hit the highway, or at least a freeway on the way down to Agra. I was disappointed. The road, at best, was two lanes with a divider in the middle. Most of the time, it was just two lanes, with no divider, making it perfect for playing chicken, pretending like we were downhill slaloming, squeezing in between oncoming traffic and traffic going your same way. It would amaze me how our driver could fit into spaces the width of compact car parking spaces, only doing 70 mph.

In India, cars are not the only objects on the road. In fact, they are by far the minority. Let me just list some of the things that shared the road with us. First of all, there were hundreds of auto rickshaws, or “duk-duk’s”. For those of you who have been to Asia, you know what they are. They are three wheeled motorized vehicles without windows, and with a tiny seat in the back. Two people fit in “comfortably”. Three is the ‘legal’ limit in Delhi. Once we left the boundaries, we were astonished to see up to ten people crowed in, on, and hanging out the sides and back of one of those duk-duks. They run on a two stroke motor, similar to old fashioned lawn mowers that mix gas and oil and control the acceleration by the handle. These, numbering 85,000 in Delhi alone, are the number one cause of pollution. The emit streams of disgusting black exhaust. There are also cycle rickshaws. These are also three-wheeled, but, as the name would suggest, they are powered by the driver’s legs, rather than a motor. Obviously they are better for the air. The back two wheels house a tiny seat if it is a passenger rickshaw, or carry humongous loads of hay, logs, or other goods if it is a cargo rickshaw. There are hundreds of these on the roads as well. Then, there are the stray cows. Since cows are sacred there, they wander without restraint. Bulls, oxen, calves roam busy streets as if they were country pastures. They lie wherever they can find shade, even if that is in the road next to a parked truck. They are some of the country’s most efficient garbage disposals as well. There are also tractors driving down the main roads. Horse-drawn carts, ox-drawn carts, camel-drawn carts also fill the narrow streets. We saw several camel trains pulling carts of cloth-covered animal seed in bundles one and a half the camel’s height and five or six times its width. Elephants, normally ridden by about four or five young men, would also parade down the streets, right next to the bikes, cars and trucks. Donkeys and dogs pranced about slowly as if the streets were their domain. In addition, there were hundreds of ordinary bicycles, loaded with people, and dozens of buses, vans, taxis, and all sorts of cars. The newest edition of Indian-made cars are literally 1997 made models of the 1950 Nash Ambassadors. There were handcarts and pushcarts using the exact same lanes as our Mercedes Benz. Motorcycles and scooters careened through tiny spaces in between all the other piles of traffic. On these vehicles, there would be up to six and seven people. Entire families would ride from place to place on a motorcycle. One time, we saw the father driving, the mother riding side-saddle in her beautiful saree (all women ride side saddle on the back of motorcycles, scooters and bikes), two kids shoved in between the mother and the father, and one more little youngster sitting in front of the father, holding on to a big doll. Wild goats, pigs, mongoose, and chickens also invade the roads completely oblivious of the traffic. We saw one car the size of a jeep with at least 20 people in there (we counted). In addition to all of these things, there are all of the pedestrians. India has a sixth of the world’s population in a country a third the size of the United States. The per capita population is much higher than even China. These people have to cross the streets too. So, now, you know why driving down these roads at an average speed of 50 to 60 mph, I simply couldn’t take my eyes of the scenes surrounding me. The drive to Agra alone was worth the trip.

Everyone in India has the same color of dark black hair and the same shade of dark and shiny brown eyes. But that is where the similarities end. Here, the modern world meets the middle ages to produce a unique blend of culture. I saw an advertisement for estate planning, a relatively new financial sensation, spray painted on a rock off of a dirt road. There are camels and cell-phones, turbans and tye-dyes, sarees and Sonys, monkeys and Mercedes Benzs, Sikhs and Seventh-day adventists, intricate idols and the internet, arranged and autonomous marriages, Moslems and Mormons, billionaires and beggars, pacifists and pollutants, Sheratons and shanty-towns, fragrance and filth, helicopters and handcarts, and bombs and brotherhood. Yet, with all these stark contrasts, the hope of India resides in a small poster hanging randomly throughout the County. It has a picture of the flag, with these simple words, “We are all Indians. Let none divide us”.

2009-10-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

So on Sunday night our Primary Presidency did a training for all the teachers, scout leaders, achievement day, nursery, etc. I think it went well. For the benefit of my friends and family that are currently in Primary, I thought I'd post a few of the ideas I shared. I just copied and pasted my notes, so its pretty rough, but you get the general idea.

TRAINING NOTES

We’ve all heard the phrase “Magnify your calling” and the first thing we think of is “I’ve got to be doing more, more, more”. But, think of a magnifying glass and a plant. If you use the magnifying glass to magnify that plant, you are not making the plant larger, you are actually focusing on a very small part of the plant, the root, a portion of the stem, a petal, a leaf, etc., and honing in on the details of that smaller portion. So, when you hear ‘magnify your calling’, I want you not to think of “doing more”, but in a sense ‘doing less, but doing it better -- more focused’.

And, what should we focus on? That is what I want to talk about tonight. I’m focusing on training and from all the manuals, handbooks, talks and articles I read on Primary training, there were always TWO things in common.

1) Love those you teach “Every member of the Church is important to us. Indeed, every person—member or not—is important to us, but surely among the most significant of all our responsibilities is the responsibility to protect and nurture the children of the Church. . . . We care so much about you and about the children you are teaching. Prepare well to bless these little ones. Give it your best effort. Your influence will, quite literally, affect these children for eternity. Enjoy the assignment that you have, and discharge it faithfully. . . . However much we love and admire children, I am certain we underestimate who and what a child is and what in the hands of God he or she may become. May God bless you always in your sacred opportunity to help save the children of this Church” (Jeffrey R. Holland, Message to Primary Leaders, Mar. 2006).

2) Use the scriptures:

(For this part, I talked about how we can and should use the scriptures in all aspects of teaching in Primary. I promised to use them every sharing time somehow. As I was preparing for the training, I was trying to think of a good way to break it down for all levels of primary. Using the scriptures in a Sunbeams class and using them in a Val 11 class mean different things. So, I came up with this 'chart' for lack of a better word of how if each level of primary focuses on using the scriptures appropriately, that the end result will be self-reliance in the gospel for the children as they enter the YM/YW program.)

I used "Daniel and the Lions Den" as my example

Nursery / Sunbeams: Learn stories (use pictures) -- At this point, realistically all you can do is tell them the stories and get them excited about it. They can just learn about Daniel and how the Lions didn't eat him.

CTR 5/6: Learn that they are real (show them the scriptures) -- Here the teachers can tell the stories while explaining that this really happened, that Daniel really lived and open the scriptures to show where theses stories come from and that they aren't from a book of fairy tales, etc.

CTR 7/8: Learn how to find the story, read it for themselves (using the table of contents): By the time the kids reach this level, they are learning to read and excited about it. Use this excitement to teach them how to find the stories, for example that the story of Daniel is in the Old Testament, using the index or tabs to find and read it.

Val 9/10: Learn the principle behind the story (courage) As the kids are growing, they will be able to understand that there is more to a story than just a story. The Scriptures teach us life lessons. In this example, the lesson was courage to stand up for your beliefs.

Val 11/12: Learn to apply that principle in their own lives: As the kids prepare to leave Primary, they can learn how to apply the scripture stories to their own lives. At this point, they probably will be in a situation similar to Daniel, where they might be teased for their beliefs. They can choose courage and know that they are following the lesson the learned from Daniel.

Thus, by the time they 'graduate', they will have learned how to use scriptures to get own answers (self-reliance in learning the gospel). I think this is the best possible gift we could ever give the primary children of the church. Imagine a ward full of beehives and deacons who know the scriptures, know how to use them, and know how to learn and get answers to their own questions from the scriptures!

If we all just focus on magnifying our own little section in our class, we can accomplish wonderful things together.

Well, that sums up my training. Obviously this is just my own opinion, so take it as you may. Hopefully it will be helpful to you somehow, whether you have primary aged children, are working in primary, or know someone who is!

Josh's prayers

2009-09-24T16:07:00.000-07:00

Josh is saying the most interesting prayers lately. The other night at dinner he said, "Help us all to never, ever die, expect when we get really old -- just too old to live."

He had a lesson on prayers in Primary and came home with a list of things he can be thankful for and list of things he can ask for. Here it is in its entirety:

I thank thee:

friends, family, church, animals, food, clothes, water, body, eyes, mouth, nose

I ask thee:

knowing the ways, a bigger brain, a better president, more clothes

quite insightful if you ask me. He must be listening to talk radio along with his dad! :)

He also asked me if I earned any money. When I explained that I didn't get paid for what I did exactly he said, "So, do you feel okay about stealing money from dad?"

I think Dave needs to sit down and have a talk with him.

Letter to Stanford

2009-09-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

Recently I've been transferring over old files from my dilapidated PC to my fancy new Mac. I've been going through them to clean them out, delete ones I don't need, etc. I stumbled across this letter that I actually sent to Stanford back in 1998.

Gall anyone?

Stanford Graduate School of Business

518 Memorial Way

Stanford University

Stanford, CA 94305-5015

Dear Admissions Committee,

I recently received my notification that I will not be able to attend the Masters of Business Administration Program at Stanford University. I want to thank you for taking the time to review my application. It was a learning and growing experience to apply to such a reputable school. You most likely receive many letters from rejected applicants inquiring further explanations as to why they were not accepted into the program. This is not one of those letters.

In fact, the reason I am writing will hopefully bring a smile to your face that will provoke some follow-up action. I spent several months and about $200 dollars studying for the GMAT. I also spent two months writing, re-writing, editing, and re-writing my Stanford application essays. I mailed off a large-size application envelope with a check for $140 enclosed. In return, I received a thin envelope costing all of $.32 to mail. I am asking for a little bit more in return for the effort I expended in applying. I am asking for a T-shirt from Stanford University, please. Any kind will do. I just want to be able to have something other than a single sheet of paper to show for the time and effort allotted to the Ivy League King of the West. I wear a size medium.

Thank you so very much.

Sincerely,

Jennie M. Groberg

Teya's first day of pre-school

2009-09-13T21:21:00.000-07:00

Isn't she adorable? She just started pre-school this week and she loves it. It is only twice a week for 2 1/2 hours, but it is perfect for now. She woke me up on Thursday and asked if it was time to go to pre-school yet. It was 6 a.m., so I told her "No, not until after lunch" (She goes in the afternoons). She quickly replied with, "Can we eat lunch now?" Me thinks she likes it! The first day she was gone I took a nap since I hadn't slept well the night before (That darn no-sleeping thing is returning.... aaaargh! I was on such a good run!). The second time she went to preschool I went to the gym and swam a mile and ran errands. I am amazed at how many errands I can run when I'm not buckling kids in and out of car seats and walking at their pace, etc. WOW!

Shots Fired!

2009-09-08T21:23:00.001-07:00

Did the title catch your interest? Well, it really happened. About 1:33 a.m. this morning I heard 5 LOUD gun shots. It sounded like they were in our back yard. They were SO loud I immediately woke up and so did Dave. I can still hear them in my head -- BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM.

I attempted to fall back asleep after Dave and I discussed what it could be. (I was convinced they were gun shots, he wasn't as sure). That day (Labor Day) I had worked for hours cleaning our downstairs windows -- in and out, screens and all -- so they were very clean. I remember at one point thinking, "Maybe a bird flew into my clean windows" ! (you are supposed to laugh). But, then I dismissed it, because 1) It was 1:30 a.m. and dark and 2) Like 5 birds would do that one after another.

Then, JUST as I was about to fall asleep again, our doorbell rang. I woke back up and said to Dave, "Was that the doorbell?" It was 2:00 a.m. Dave told me to get up and come down with him. We went down and sure enough, there was a police officer at our door. He apologized for disturbing us in the middle of the night. He said, "There was a gentleman who discharged a weapon repeatedly a little while ago. I'm checking to make sure that everyone in your house is okay. Is anyone shot or wounded? Was your house hit?"

We told him we'd heard the shots, but we were all okay. We went out back to check out if the house had been hit, but couldn't see any bullet holes. I checked on the kids -- they were sleeping soundly except for our light sleeper Eden who was wondering what was going on. The officer told him to contact the police if we found any bullet holes or damage to our house.

I went out again today to look, but can't find any. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for! It took me at least two hours to fall back asleep after this encounter. We really live in a very safe neighborhood. Our house does back up to a 'brownbelt' (utility area) so they figured that someone was back there firing a weapon. We don't have any other information for now. Crazy night!

To end on a lighter note, this is what Josh said the other day out of the blue:

"Dad, if you are still alive when I go on my mission, can I drive to the airport so you can see how good of a driver I am?"

At Last

2009-08-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

I had so much to blog about... so you are getting the SHORT version in pictures. We had a FABULOUS trip to Utah and Idaho in July/August. It was just so good to get out of the heat. Here are the highlights:

We stopped by Bryce Canyon on our way up. It was a beautiful day and we enjoyed spending time together. The kids loved Bryce.

Up in Utah, we had fun 'washing' Grandpa's car (i.e., playing with the hose). Viki and her family and Uncle Tom and Aunt Sue and her kids all came up and we went to LAGOON. It was really fun. I don't think I've been there since I was a teenager. I had fun going on Colossus, Wild Mouse, The Roller Coaster, Tidal Wave, etc.. ahh! the memories. I also went on most of the new ones, but ONCE only. My stomach is no longer made for roller coasters. We also went to "Lagoon-a- beach" and had a good time. It was a LONG, but fun-filled day.

Up in Idaho, we had a great time! We had an impromptu garage sale that the kids loved. With the money they made, we went our for ice cream! I also went with my brother Tom and some of his friends on a white-water rafting trip down the Snake river -- up in Wyoming. It was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO cold! We didn't get on the river until about 7 p.m. It was a couple of hours and we hit some pretty big rapids (the biggest was a ' class 4'). We got soaked! It was lots of fun -- but I was so cold!

We also went to the Zoo. It was lots of fun -- not too big and the animals were out to entertain. They did this 'enrichment' activity with the bears and the lions that we got to see. The bears were trying to get at their food that was inside this PVC pipe. The lion was given a paper mache zebra filled with zebra manure. It was funny to see the lion tear that thing apart. I got it all on video and made a little movie for you. The monkeys were so entertaining and so LOUD.
Later that day we went to Rigby Lake and went swimming and played in the sand. Most everyone took turns getting buried in the sand. Here is Eden and Sadie after they got out!

The next day I got to go eat dinner with one of my oldest and dearest friends - Angie Whetten Farnes. Angie and I were friends in high school and then roommates at BYU after our missions. We had so much fun catching up! Here is me, Angie, and Viki.

Back in Bountiful, we celebrated Joshua's 7th birthday. He requested a volcano cake. So, I complied. Since we had over 30 family members coming, we also decided to celebrate all the rest of the August birthdays, including Eden's. She wanted a butterfly cake. I recently learned this cool technique for decorating cakes -- so I tried it out on my kids! It turned out well. Here are some pics.

My sister Sue gave Eden and Josh some real 'veggie tales' for their birthday -- straight from her garden! They are huge! We enjoyed eating part of them for dinner a few nights later, and then enjoyed zucchini bread with the rest of it!

Then, just a few days later the kids started school -- Josh is in 2nd grade and Eden is in 4th grade. So far so good! They are doing really well!

Well, here is the video of the zoo as promised. Eden chose the music! Enjoy!

Becoming Christlike

2009-08-17T10:56:00.000-07:00

Sorry, this blog isn't going to be any deep, spiritual message, but hopefully it will lighten your day!

On my new Mac, which I love, there is this cool feature on iPhoto that has facial recognition software. So, you let the computer know which face is Eden's, for example, and then it goes through all your photos and chooses out what it thinks looks like Eden. Then, you can search and bring up all picture of Eden. Sometimes it is right (more than not), and sometimes it is not.

Yesterday, Eden and I were going through a few photos and I turned on the facial recognition software. We were going through and correcting some of the computer's wrong assumptions (it gets Teya and Eden mixed up). For example, it has a little box by each face in the picture and asks "Is this Eden?" and you hit a check (yes) or an X (no). So, one picture was of me, my mom and my sisters on the day I went through the temple for the first time. We are standing in my dad's office. On the wall behind us is a framed picture of Christ -- the one where he is wearing a red robe.

The computer has recognized my face and labeled it as Jennie. Then, next to the picture of Christ it says, "Is this Dave?"

so sweet

2009-08-11T09:19:00.001-07:00

I'm so behind on blogging about all our birthdays, our vacation to Idaho/Utah, school starting, etc., but I just had to take a picture and share what I found by my bed last night.

The kids were just on one last night -- right about the time I was cooking dinner -- so I sent them to their rooms -- not as a punishment -- just to get them out of the kitchen and to quiet them down.

When I went to bed last night, I saw this little note that Eden wrote.

It says, "For you Mom. I'm sorry about what happened tonight. Love, Eden". She had given me a necklace that she made out of beads and dental floss. (Her very own creation).

Isn't that just sweet!

Josh & Eden in the swim finals

2009-07-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

Here is a fun short video of Eden and Josh in their various swim meets and the finals for their swim team this summer. They both did AWESOME! They got up every morning (MON - FRI) and swam at 7:45 a.m. Then, they had meets each Saturday. They swam in the preliminaries and Eden qualified for the Butterfly (out of more than 60 girls her age). Josh qualified for all 3 strokes he tried out for (Backstroke, Freestyle, and Butterfly). They only take the top 16, so it was great for them to get to swim in the finals. They did awesome! We are so proud of them. The song in the background is from the movie "Henry V" -- and I LOVE this small section of it.

A picture is worth 1000 words

2009-07-15T09:20:00.000-07:00

Eden is in a dance/music class for 2 weeks and today was 'crazy hair day'. She won one of the prizes:

Teya -- who turned 4 on Monday (more on that later) got a crown and earrings from her big sister. Last night as I went in to check on her before I went to bed, this is what I saw:

$400 or $10

2009-07-06T10:14:00.000-07:00

This has been my latest project.

I saw this on the Pott. barn website for $400 (it was much larger), so I decided to make my own! $10 and a few hours later... here you go!

It was actually quite fun to make. Now I want to make more! I redid the downstairs bathroom -- so this is the central decorating theme -- I'm going for a sea scape look. The wall is a hazy blue and the towels are sage green. Now I need to redo the mirrors and lighting. One thing at a time.

Going Public

2009-06-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

Ha! Do you like my title? No, this post has nothing to do with the status of my blog. But, I decided it was time to 'go public' with a few of my fitness goals for the year. I know myself, and know that I work much better under pressure. So, I figure that if I announce my goals, than I will be more apt to actually accomplish them!

I have two hopefully achievable goals:

1) Run 200 miles

2) Be able to do the splits (front and back, not sideways) by my birthday!

Like I said -- achievable -- I'm reaching for the sun (the stars are too far away). I just came back from a good 5 mile jog/walk, and my total is now at 90. I'm just a few days away from 1/2 way through the year, so I'm just a little behind. However, I took the months of March and April off due to lack of sleep, so I think I'll make it.

My friend Liz ran 800 miles last year. She inspired me to set a goal this year. So, after realizing that I go to the gym and do cardio classes (dancing, weight training, etc) 3 times a week, I knew I wouldn't be able to come anywhere close to 800. So, 200 is my goal. Little steps.

As far as the splits -- I've NEVER been able to do them. So, why now? I've been going to a dance class each week and we do these great stretches when we are done. I started noticing a month or so ago that I was getting pretty flexible. So... I turned it into a silly little goal for me.

I promise to post a picture around my birthday (end of October) of me doing the splits -- just to prove that I have achieved it (assuming I have by then).

Well, thanks for indulging me and my desire to 'go public' with my silly goals!

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there!

A few weeks ago, Eden wanted to make a movie for Dad, so we went outside and the kids spelled out the word "LOVE" with their bodies. I filmed the whole thing and put it to some music -- added some special effects and... here you go!

We love you Dave -- you are a wonderful father!

Teya's broken wrist and the VIDEO

2009-06-12T17:20:00.000-07:00

Hey all!

So, I've had my mac just over a week now -- and I've spent SOOOOOO much time playing with iPhoto and iMovie. Lovin' it so far -- despite some frustrations that come with learning anything new. Here is our fun video of our trip to Hawaii: enjoy!

In other news.... A week ago Teya fractured her left wrist while playing on a slide at the day care at my gym. They came and got me saying she had hit the wall and had a bump on her head and she was acting really sleepy. Sure enough, she was so lethargic and wouldn't react to me or anything. We got our stuff, and I was trying to prepare myself for a long day with 3 kids at the ER. Instead, I drove to the doctor's office and asked if there was any way he could just see her and let me know if I HAD to go the ER. He didn't have a patient, and we got right in. He said she had a mild concussion at most, but sent us for x-rays to make sure. While checking her reflexes, she was holding her wrist and wouldn't let him near it, so he added that to the x-ray list.

They called me back a few hours later confirming no skull fracture, but a wrist fracture. Here she is sporting her new accessory:

It is so cool, my friend informed me that Josh and her son were even trying to break their wrists the other day! please no!

As if this post isn't long enough already, here are some gems from the kids:

At dinner, I was asking everyone (my in-laws included) what they had learned that day. I had taught the kids some math and typing skills, so I was hoping Eden would comment on that. Instead she said, "I learned that if you watch TV for too long, your neck gets sore"

We were in the produce section and there was a display of those small white onions. After walking past them, Josh said to me, "Man! Those golf balls sure smell like onions!"

Teya came down wearing a very colorful outfit. Flowered shirt, striped short, purple socks. I tried to convince her to at least change her socks, which REALLY clashed. She protested, saying, "No, my socks match my underpants!" (Sure enough, her purple Dora socks matched her Dora underpants). So, do you coordinate your outfits to match your underwear????

Happy day to all!

Hawaii etc.

2009-06-02T08:42:00.001-07:00

Let the updates begin....

I've been postponing my blog report about Hawaii until I could buy my Mac, edit all the fun videos we took, put them to a great Hawaiian song, and upload the video. But, it still might be awhile before we take the plunge, so why make you suffer! :)

Here are some pics from Hawaii. We had such a great, relaxing trip. We flew over (1st class) direct from Phoenix to Maui. We stayed in one place the whole time, ate Mahi Mahi every day inone form or another, and went snorkeling every day except Sunday! It was our kind of vacation!

Another day we took a boat out to snorkel different sides of the island. We signed up to do the 'snuba' diving, which is a mixture between snorkeling and scuba diving. You are attached to a 25 foot hose that hooks into an oxygen tank that is floating around up on top (see pic). So, you are free to hang out 25 feet below water for 45 minutes or so and explore! It really was unique. Dave LOVED it and ended up doing two dives (I just did one).

We biked down Haleakala one day -- on our own this time -- with no group -- so we got to go at our own speed, stop when we wanted to, etc. It was great! The weather was perfectly cloudy -- not too hot or too cold or too sunny!
Another day we met up with Marilyn (my sister) and Matt -- who were there for their 25th anniversary. We went zip lining with them! It was lots of fun -- it went from really short and easy zips to a really LONG one over a canyon! Just wait for the video that will be coming soon!

Here is our sweet Teya in her dress that we got her in Hawaii. We got little plumeria flowers for her hair also! So fun!

Over Memorial Day weekend, we went with our dear friends The Barrett's up to their family cabin near Show Low. The weather was wonderful and cool. The kids did some zip lining -- even Teya -- on their home-rigged lines on the property.

One morning, they caught a baby bunny (named Bugsy) and had him for a pet for a few hours. We had a great time, saw several hail storms, deer, elk, blue birds, and even snow!

bedtime stories

2009-05-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

Last week when I was away for Pack Night, Dave put the kids to bed and told them part I of this 'awesome' story! They have been BEGGING for him to finish the story every night since. Because Dave flew out to Florida last week (just to be picked up at the airport by his dad) and drove back to Arizona together -- along with my in-law's two big dogs -- and church meetings, etc, Dave is finally finishing the 'story' tonight.

I was wondering what story was so incredible that me kids were just on pins and needles waiting for it to finish. I just walked past him telling them the rest of the story... here is what I heard,

"So, Josh told the professor, "Before I came back to the 1950's, you told me I needed 1.21 gigahertz of power to get back." "1.21 Gigahertz! That only comes from plutonium -- and you can't get that in the 1950's, unless you know when lightening will strike!"

I was laughing so hard -- nice imagination there, Dave! I guess I know what movie we will be adding to our netflix queue! :)

That reminds me of this guy I knew in college who was really handy with cars. He was quite popular with the girls in his ward when they needed car help. If he thought he was being 'used' or if he thought he could get away with it, he would send the girls to the auto parts store with a list of things they needed to buy and would put on the list, "One flex capacitor"! Ha!