Happy St. Patrick's Day

          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 genius.  He could spit out answers faster than the calculator could.  This first clever joke came after I had checked Jenna’s math homework

          Me:    Jenna, that is great.  You got all of the answers correctly.

          J:       I know.  I must have Grandpa’s genes

                   Oh, wait.  Grandpa’s jeans are probably too big for me.

Jan 28, 2012

          Tony:  Why did the chicken NOT cross the road to the other side?

          J:       Why?

          T:       Because he was chicken

Feb 12, 2012

         

          I had made comment about an art model that Roland had purchased and Jenna had played with and had obviously NOT put away.

          M:      why is there a modle in the bowl with the fruits?

          J:       What’s a model?

          (I throw her a questionable stare)

          J:       I don’t know.  What’s the model with you?  Get it?

Giving Girl Scouts Another Try

          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.  A desire for more patches.

          At the end of the night, Roland and I signed her up to be in a troop – I thought it might give her more exposure to finding friends.  Only the leader of the troop we had signed up for had health issues and after only a couple of meetings and six cancellations (not having learned this until I had literally driven out of my way) we dropped our attempts to be included in the troop – which turned out to be okay – as Jenna still wasn’t comfortable with the girls in her assigned troop.  She felt like an outcast.

          I signed her up for activities as a Juliette but still used the troop number. After Tony returned home from his mission, he and Roland helped Jenna plant a tree.  Her second badge.  And it was fun.  She loved meeting new girls and climbing hills with them.

But when it came time to renew her membership, Jenna just didn’t seem interested anymore.  And because I had transferred schools, I was hoping to find a troop near where she goes to school.  But it didn’t work out for us.  So we went an entire year without girl scouts.  And last month she decided she’d like to start back up again.

And so last night we went to our first girl scouts activity for over a year.  Jenna made crafts for St. Patrick’s day: a badge, a hat (visor) a wand and a finger puppet.  She had a great time.  We learned a song and steps to an Irish dance.  In the end Jenna received another patch to add to her collection and a t-shirt advertising 100 years in girl scouts.

Who Made the Bed?

          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.

Fading Photographs

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 photographer was really meaning to take a picture of the background but somebody’s head got in the way, or others where the entire head didn’t quite make it into the photograph.  And if she couldn’t completely identify them then, why the heck is she hanging onto them over 40 years later?

If nothing else, it is important to write down the name(s) and date of the picture.

I wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, but I would love the opportunity to organize and to scan some of the better photographs to help preserve their lives for a little bit longer. 

Across from my mom's house live our good friends Peggy and George Bird.  Our families have been friends for generations.  We were surprised to learn it had gone back even further than Peggy and mom

One day (this example is from quite a while ago; before the magnetic albums perhaps) while my mom had gone across the street to visit Peggy, she noticed several photographs strewn all over the kitchen table.  Peggy had wanted to make a special gift for George which would include pictures of his lineage (George and Peggy's mother are heavy into genealogy.  Peggy shares the same exact passion as I do - which makes it hard among family history enthusiasts)

My mom said she had picked up one of the photographs and made a comment (referring to the background) that we had one similar to it - except with different people. Peggy said the man in the photograph was George's father, but they had no idea who the little boy was.  Turns out that he was my dad's uncle.

George's father had a best friend named James.  The photograph we had was of my great uncle James and my grandmother, Helen.  My mom had been told that the little girl in the photo was my grandma Helen - but didn't know who the man was that held her. 

George seems to know more about that side of my family than I do.  So my non-biological neighbor (who I do view as a second father) became a source of information for me, and has actually given me photographs.  Isn't that interesting?

Thank Heavens for Second Hand Stores!

          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 store that has color coded tags.  Never having worked there, I don’t know if the items that are put out are marked with a different color on a daily basis, weekly basis, bi-weekly or whatever. Savers offers their 99 cent specials on Mondays.  They allow the customers to pick clean the old items by advertizing that certain color at either 99 cents or half price. 

Yesterday they had blue tag items marked for 99 cents.  I suspect next week will be grey (or silver?) and the week after that will be purple.  I did not see any red, orange or green during my blue tag search.  Most of the garments I fingered through were marked with yellow tags – I suspect they were the most recent items that were put out.  So maybe by the first or second week of April they will have yellow tagged items on Monday’s special.

I’m grateful for the opportunities that I have to donate my own clothing when I no longer have a need for them.  I am grateful to all of those that have donated and continue to donate to our cause.  And I am most grateful for 99 cent Mondays.

I Don’t Want to Be an Example!

          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 and devout member to be on.  And he knew that.  He knew he had disappointed many by spreading his wings – by taking the road that seemed more popular.  And it worked for him.  But he knew that his choices were not the right choices for people to see.  He didn’t want people to say, “He’s a Mormon” and mar the image of what some people would believe that Mormons were (or are) and so he asked for his membership to be taken away.

          He did not go into great detail about his disciplinary council.  He said it was one of the hardest things he had ever done.  He said if he had been thrown into a room with a bunch of strangers that it would have been so much easier.  But the men in the room were his friends – or had been at one time or another.  He felt like he had failed them and his mother.  But it was just something he felt he needed to do.

          He could have remained an inactive member.  The Church doesn’t excommunicate those who are inactive – even if they have a questionable lifestyle.  Active members and missionaries are asked to work with them and “bring them back into the fold” and eventually there is a repenting process – but not drastic like the active members who have done something within question that results in excommunication. 

          When I heard Dave’s story I was in awe.  What a great guy to give up his membership (hard as it was) so that he could honestly tell people that he wasn’t a Mormon nor had membership there.  Of course, the ideal thing (according to thousands of members) would have been just to give up his “wicked” lifestyle, repent and return.  But would the lessons that Dave received out of life been any different?  Surely his experiences would not have been the same, and he wouldn’t have grown into the man that I met two years later.

          Since I had arrived in Maynardsville, the small branch had made a goal to get 75 members to attend their Sunday meetings.  And each week we had between 62 and 67.  We worked with non members as well as inactive.

          I served that area for three months.  That makes at least twelve Sundays.  On the last Sunday I was served in that area, there were a number of visitors that came to the ward.  Among them were Dave’s mom and new step Dad.  They came in at number 73 and 74.  Dave walked in right behind them.  He had helped them reach their goal!  He was number 75!

          I was released from my mission five months later. And two years after that I had just returned for a visit.  My former landlady and I had gone to the strip mall to visit Dave at the sandwich shop.  Only he was no longer working at the Sandwich shop, but at an electronic franchise next door.  He had given up the green shirt and apron (which matched his tattoo) for a three piece suit (which hid his tattoo) 

He was living with a girl who he’d come to love and wanted to marry.  He wanted an eternal marriage – not a worldly one.  He had developed a love for Joy and wanted to embrace life with her.  He wanted her to learn about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

He told us about Joy and he asked us to dinner so that we could meet her.  And then he asked if we could arrange for her to meet with the missionaries.  He wanted for them to both become members and to be sealed in the temple in another year.  I didn’t get to see it.  I had heard from a few members though.

          Dave came back.  He was a strong member.  He brought with him an understanding for giving into temptations and overcoming challenges.  He had a calling to work with the youth.  He could relate to them.  He had a firsthand account of what it was like to be in the Church and what it was like to be on a worldly path.

          Dave and Joy were married in the temple a year after the branch president had married them civilly. The little branch grew into a ward and Dave served as a counselor to a bishop who had also been an inactive member. 

          Sometimes leaving the Church goes wrong for many people.  But there are just as many who become even stronger in the gospel and can build up testimonies because of their outside experiences.

          I’m not advising to go outside just for experience.  It’s not my call.  Often it’s not your call either.  But if we put our faith in God and rely on him and communicate with him, we can have our own empowering experiences.

More 25 cent stories

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.  The wizard disappeared before they could thank him.  The end.

The end is not. The wizard had come back to give even more chocolates.  This time 50.  The kids were stuffed.

Rocks

The wind was shaking. Uniqua was hurrying back home to do her chores when something distracted her.  It was a rock.  It is pretty.  She took it home.  What kind of rock is this? A geode.  She put it in her rock collection.  She had a rock collection since she was three.  It is really fun.  She had wish rocks, rubies, crystals and now a geode.  She loved rocks.

The Sunflower Seed

Once upon a time there was a farmer named Jake. [He] sold his cow for some beans.  And the beans turned into a sunflower.

You may not know this, but sunflowers are alive which means the sunflower seeds are alive. So they can talk...

The farmer didn’t know that and the sunflower talked to him.  [Jake] was scared.  He said, “How do you talk?”

And the flower said: “Same way you do.”

“Oh, I did not know that.”

“Well, it’s true”

They became friends and talked about life and stuff like that.  They became friends.

The sunflower’s seed was named Sunny.

The End.

Actually the last one she had written without dialogue until I suggested it.  I still think it could be longer.

Child’s Play

Jenna also came up with the following “made-up” chant:

Friends rule

Enemies drool

Friends go to Mars to get Candy bars

Enemies go to Jupiter to get stupider.

Congratulations to all of those who made it passed junior high

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.  But you really do have to be in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. 

I tried to read it to Jenna, but there’s too much of it that she has yet to go through and just doesn’t understand my laughter at this time – and may not get it when she is that awkward stage of her life.  I hope that I can help her overcome her struggles so that hopefully she can deal with the “pain” a lot better than I did.  But then she has always been a lot more mature academically.  Perhaps with my encouragement she will be socially, too.

The Most Awesome Principal Ever

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 encountered in my life.

Actually the principal of my elementary school may have been a loving man and didn’t fit the horrifying profile at all – but my thoughts were so much different from being a child than it is today.  It’s too bad that I never understood him or saw him as a person and could only see the terminator that the “bad” children saw.

One thing that I really do like at Jenna’s school is the atmosphere.  I don’t notice tension among the teachers or constant ruthlessness among the children or fear.  I’m not saying it doesn’t exist.  As with other schools, Vantana has had its share of bullying and discipline.  But it’s not just the “bad” children who get to know the principal. 

Mrs. Randolf makes it a point to get to know each and every student in her school.  But not just the students, but every parent as well.  What a challenge!  And yet she really does seem to be able to place over thousands of names to the faces.  And she is such a pleasant woman!

Every Monday at lunch hour “good” and honored students are given the privilege to have lunch with her in the library.  They call this event “bug lunch” though I don’t know why.  How great it is for students to look forward for getting to eat lunch with the principal!  They see her as a human being – someone they can joke with, but can also turn to for serious matters.  I admire that!

So thank you, Mrs. Randolf.  Thank you for all that you do for our children and for the teachers and for the PTO.

Origami Geese

          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)

          “I don’t know if Tony knows how to do Origami.  Your sisters do.  But who knows if we will ever see them again.”

          “I thought Tony was speaking Japanese.”

          “Oh, no.  It isn’t ‘Japanese’.  It’s called ‘Portuguese’ ”

‘

          “Oh, I knew it was a ‘geese’ ”

          So the last time we went to the library I checked out a book on 101 origami projects – figuring I should be able to figure out at least a couple of them. I have come to the conclusion that I am very origami illiterate.  Perhaps one day Jenna can learn it for real. 

Is There a Doctor in the House?

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 Jenna was even born, I was advised to seek out a pediatrician.  There were three in the same complex as my obstetrician.  Two of them had names that I couldn’t even pronounce.  Not that that should be a deciding factor – I just thought it would be nice if I could actually pronounce the name of Jenna’s doctor.  But only one of the three doctors were taking patients – the one with the four syllable name – that I still have troubles pronouncing.  I make appointments with Dr. Jill (first name) as I don’t have a problem with her first name.

Ironically it was the Dr. Morgan (the one whose name I could pronounce) who was the one who showed up after Jenna was born – to order instructions and “boss me around” – which didn’t go over greatly with me.  I decided that I was happy that she wasn’t taking new patients and hoped I would like Jenna’s doctor better.

I did.  She saw us the next day.  She was actually so different from the first.  But when Jenna was two we had to go back to Dr. Morgan because Dr. Jill had gone out of town.  Dr. Morgan was much more civil.  Nice in fact.  Much different from the doctor I had met in the hospital who was barking orders at me as though I was an imbecile.

It is always the assistants who give the shots.  Jenna cried though she tried to be brave.  When Dr. Morgan returned, Jenna smiled at her through her tears and Dr. Morgan smiled back and said she was glad to see that Jenna wasn’t mad at her. And I was glad to see that Dr. Morgan was smiling too and wasn’t the drill sergeant she had come across as at the hospital.

We start out life with doctors who are much older than us – sometimes the very age or even older than our parents.  As we get older, our doctors retire forcing us to find doctors who are often much younger than ourselves.  Like a father time and baby New Year thing. 

It’s no longer mom who takes her children to the doctor.  Her children are taking her now.  I understand that is a post all by itself.

Hitler helped me (and Jenna)

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 her that particular day.  Too cold.

          Now that she has seen me on a weekly basis, she no longer barks.  She is friendly and says “hello” and I say “Hi” back to her.  Sometimes she is so cheerful with her greeting it almost seems as though we’re best friends.  She doesn’t come to the PTO meetings and I’m pretty certain that we do not live in the same city – I’ll have to generate a thoughtful conversation next time I am making copies when school has already started

On Dec 5, I wrote the following:

          “This morning I put my dog in the car – along with Jenna and another classmate I pick up.  Just before Jenna made her tearful exit she asked where her backpack was.  I had had my hands full with my own belongings as we left the house – not to mention the dog and his blanket.  I hadn’t even noticed Jenna’s backpack still on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

          “So I dropped the two kids off, turned around to come home, ran inside to claim Jenna’s backpack and returned to the school parking behind the field (as I knew the front would be crazy) but still had the dog in the car and needed to let him out.

          “Now normally I don’t walk onto school grounds with an animal – but I had to walk to the front in order to get Jenna’s backpack into the school.  So we walked to the front and there was Sarah (without the stroller) greeting me with a smile and asking why the dog didn’t have a coat on. 

          “I held up Jenna’s backpack and said she had forgotten it.  Sarah offered to take it to her and asked for the name of the teacher.  I am very appreciative and hopefully have been humbled a bit realizing that calling her Hitler (though only in my mind) had been so inappropriate.”

Thank you Sarah.  If you happen to be reading this and have figured out our identities – I’m sorry about the nickname.  I have taken it back.