Beneath the Wraps

          Last year Jenna excitedly left the house.  She was dressed in green from head to toe (at least four shades as I recall)  I wish I would have gotten a picture of my very non-Irish looking girl enthusiastically greeting the day.           Yesterday she wore the green shirt that she had received from girl scouts the night before.           There is a parade this morning.  She wasn’t happy about the last parade that she was in.  The elements are different.  The last parade she was in was on July 17. It was hot and unbearable.  The last couple of days have been very windy (actually this entire month, I think) and probably will be today. For this post I will share a bit of my daughter’s fun personality: Jan 23, 2012:           My dad was a math gen...

          Shortly after we moved, and I could sense that Jenna wouldn’t be going anywhere with her new school (where she finished kindergarten) I decided to enroll her in girl scouts.           We’d been invited to attend a meeting for an introduction.  The theme was on culture with an added service project for the food bank.  Eleven booths were set up to represent various countries.  We sampled food from United States, China, France, Mexico, India, Scotland, Austrlia, France, England, South Africa and Switzerland           Jenna enjoyed learning and making crafts such as origami mask and cutting out shapes for the Chinese puzzle.  She also enjoyed decorating boxes for the food bank. By the end of the night she was fired up.  She had earned her first patch and that was awesome!  That alone made her want to join....

          On the day that Roland and I got married, the neighbor from across the street from my mom’s house made us a beautiful quilt done in green with some pinks.           On one side are thirty patches made up of three green prints, one green with rosebuds, and a salmon pink.   On the reverse side there is a rosebud bed outlined by a leafy green frame.   You can always tell which one of us makes the bed by whatever side faces up.           Jenna and I prefer the patchwork side.   When Roland makes the bed the patchwork is facing down.

Today I was looking through some old albums and boxes of photographs.  I remember getting on my mom’s case for having so many pictures in a box and not in an album.  I have come to learn that the box is actually better – or was rather. Remember the magnetic albums that came out in the 70’s?  All that was required was lifting the plastic and setting the photo on page and presto – it was there for life.  Who knew that just twenty years later we would be scolded for ever having considered ruining our photographs by placing them on pages chalk full of acid.  We might as well have put our photos through a shredder. I would say that at least 70% of the pictures could be thrown away.  If not ruined by acid, they just really had no business making it to the album in the first place.  But mom could never bring herself to throw such items away, no matter how blurred or butchered the picture itself turned out.  And by butchered, I mean like the ...

          Jenna is so hard on clothes – not to mention that she grows like a weed. And Jenna’s lack of caring about her appearance only adds fuel to the fire. I don’t enjoy spending money on clothes that just don’t seem to last.   I don’t think it would bother me so much if Jenna would actually take care of her clothes.   But hanging them up or putting them away is definitely NOT a priority.           Occasionally Jenna has received hand-me-downs from various family friends or neighbors – usually something that hasn’t fit right away, but perhaps two or three years later.   And there are still some things in the shed that she still has yet to grow into.   But right now she’s at a stage where everything is either too big or too small or should just be thrown out so that social services doesn’t get on my case for dressing her like a waif. Savers is one such thrift stor...

          I met Dave when he worked at a sandwich shop in Maynardsville, VA.   My two missionary companions adored him.   He was a really nice guy.   Very personable, very friendly, outgoing, full of life.   He liked to drink, smoke, and lead an immoral lifestyle.   He appeared to be happy and content.           Dave had been raised in the LDS Church – and whether he ever felt a part of it or not, I do not know.   I’m guessing he did.   I know he had lots of friends in the Church.   And out of respect to them, or perhaps for his mom, or maybe it was the Church itself, he decided to have his name removed from the membership records.           He hadn’t necessarily stopped believing the things he had been taught for most of his life.   He had just chosen a path that wasn’t very wholesome for a staunch...

all written by my daughter Jenna Shilo The sun was shining and Shilo was exploring.   We wanted to go on a picnic.   We had everything we needed but we couldn’t find Shilo. But Shilo was at the pond.   But they didn’t see him.   He was chasing the duck and swimming. He had a great time and had lots of fun.   Shilo came back and we had the picnic.   The end The Magic Chocolate Box Once there was a chocolate box. But it wasn’t any chocolate box.   It was a magic box.   Each time a person took a chocolate one appeared in its place.   And always fresh.   It was a heart shaped box.   Kids fight over it a lot.   [There was] Milk chocolate. There was semi-sweet and major mint and lots of others.   There were always 20 chocolates.   A wise wizard carved the box and gave it away to a kind family [with] two kids and [and the] one to take care of them.   Their father had died when they were three. ...

Being a youth (Jr. High age) is such an awkward part of our lives.   Everything is taken literally and there is so much tragedy and devastation.  Too young to be adults but yet too old to be considered children – or treated as such.   Often being told to “act your age” when it’s so obvious that people that age have never been that age before and have no knowledge of how to act.           As adults we can literally look back upon all those "painful" memories and realize that what we thought was so important really isn't.  I think if a person can make it through junior high, he or she has put behind the most awful part of their social lives behind them, and can move on to become actual human beings. Recently I read the juvenile fiction The Strange Case of Origami Yoda by Tom Angleberger - written from the students' point of view. I laughed so hard – not just at the words, but at the illustrations.   ...

When I was a youth, the only children that knew the principal were the ones who misbehaved during class.   And the only parents who knew the principal were the parents of the children who acted up.   I never knew my principal.   I knew his name.   I knew what he looked like.   But because the only children, who actually knew him personally, were the “bad” children, I had taught myself to be afraid of my principal.   Growing up, the principals were always male.   A female principal was unheard of.   As I have checked out schools in ours and surrounding   districts,   I am finding that it is rare to have a male principal – at least over the elementary schools. Two of the female principals I’ve encountered seem to have sticks up their butts, artificial smiles, and dagger themed tones to their voices.   Not pleasant.   But the principal at Jenna’s present school is so so different from any principal I have ever encounter...

          Jenna has always wanted to learn origami.   One day (between kindergarten and preschool) she told me that her friend Dean might be able to help her.           “Really?   Dean knows how to do origami”                     “Well, maybe not him.   But his parents might know”           “Why do you think that?”           “Because they speak Spanish.   Isn’t origami Spanish?”           “No.   Origami comes from the Japanese culture.”           “Oh, then maybe I could get Tony to help me when he comes home.”   (Tony was severing a mission in Brazil at the time)  ...

As a child I thought that going to our doctor was an okay deal.   Dr. Spring kept a treasure chest full of toys for his patients to choose from after their visits.   I don’t remember being afraid or not wanting to go to the doctors.   Going to the doctor’s also meant going downtown.   As a kid I thought downtown outings were way cool.   And so was riding on the freeway (my perspective has changed A LOT) I would much rather go to the doctor any day than to go to the dentist (even as an adult) Jenna is a lot like me in so many ways – but not when it comes to doctor/dentist preference.   Jenna LOVES to go to the dentist (seriously) and squirms at the very mention of the doctor.   I like Jenna’s doctor.   I think she’s nice.   But Jenna’s big hang up is with getting shots.   She used to be so brave when she was a baby. I don’t know why she is so squeamish about shots but has no problem with having tools in her mouth. Before Je...

I had given her the nickname Hitler because of the way she was barking – trying to keep children in line.   Okay.   I understand a little bit – from personal experience I do know that not ALL children listen.   And sometimes it is necessary to bark to be heard.   But when she barked at me, I was offended.           I was wearing the visitor name tag – only she hadn’t seen it as it was beneath my coat.   Perhaps she was just having an off day – or maybe I was.   But she didn’t make a good first impression (and maybe neither did I)   Still it was wretched of me to use a same wicked nickname on her that I do for Roland’s ex.   NO ONE deserves that!           I have repented of my ways.   I no longer refer to her as Hitler.   I think her name is Sarah – or perhaps Sarah is the tot she pushes in the stroller.   Though the Tot was not with h...