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I Am a Child of God

12/30/2013

“Are we children of God?” I asked the children in Primary.    Vigorously and unanimously they responded affirmatively.   The answer was clear to them; we are children of God. (Acts 17:27-29; Romans 8:16, Hebrews 12:9)

“How do you know you are a child of God?” I queried further.   Answers to this question varied.    Some of the younger children gave me heartfelt but irrelevant responses…. “My dog likes peanut butter” and “I am going to Grandma’s for Christmas”.   Others gave answers that were more thoughtful and more thought-provoking…. “I know I am a child of God because I have a mommy” and “I know I am a child of God because He loves me.”   [YES, He does!!]

Answers from the older Primary children varied as well, not so much in range as in depth.   Several gave superficial, rote responses, correct in content but lacking in conviction. Many others offered general answers… “because the scriptures tell us” and “we learned it in Primary”.     Yes, the scriptures do tell us that we are God’s children and we teach you this truth in Primary but how do YOU know?    How do YOU know that YOU are a child of God?     I wanted them to reach deep, to touch their centers, to really find out if they truly knew they are God’s children….

Gene (age 10) reached deep.   When I posed the question to him, he paused.   There were seconds of silence (which is a long time to be quiet in Primary!).   “Prayer,” he said finally. “He answers my prayers.”

WOW!   And YES!!!!!!!   He does answer prayers.     He answers prayers as a loving father would because He is a loving father. He is our loving Heavenly Father and His answers to our prayers are a divine manifestation both of His love and His fatherhood.

“Or what man is there of you, who, if his son ask bread, will give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?”   (3 Nephi 14:9-11)

Heavenly Father certainly gives good things to them that ask……….and to them that don’t!   I did not ask for most of the things I received this week but I certainly received many, many good things.

I am an avid non-shopper.   My girls do not share my feelings.    Michelle Drago likes to shop.   Her three children, all of them boys, share my feelings.   Michelle took my girls shopping and I stayed home, which was a very good thing.

Cymbalta, a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI), went generic last week.   This week I spent $10 for a 90 day supply of the medication.   Last week I would have had to pay $1200. Good thing!

Sports victories are a good thing, especially when your team is on the winning side.    In Grace’s last basketball game her team (SAA) trailed 22-16 with about 4 minutes to go.   With less than a minute on the clock, the score was 23-22, SAA still trailing.   SAA had possession and, with one second remaining, their forward was fouled.   Given a one and one, the little, lithe SAA player stepped to line…..and sunk both shots, giving SAA a 24-23 victory.    Grace thought it was a SUPER good thing, even though she did not get to play.

The Green Bay Packers have won a few crucial games lately—recovering from a 26-3 halftime deficit to win 37-36 two weeks ago and then last night Rodgers, who missed 7 games with a broken collar bone, found a wide open Cobb on fourth-and-8 at the 48 to wipe out a one-point deficit with 38 seconds left, giving the Packers a 33-28 point win—and Miles thinks the victories were a SUPER good thing, even though he did not get to play.

I was loving on Miles after one of the games and he called me for “unnecessary mom-ness”.   Mom-ness, my dear boy, is a good thing….and it is never unnecessary!

We are using Sean Covey’s 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens as the basis for our Family Home Evening (FHE) lessons and for the past few weeks have focused on the first habit—being proactive—discussing the difference between being proactive and being reactive.   On the way home from church Miles began telling us about one of the boys in his class. “He is just mean Mom. He is mean to me and he is mean to everyone else too.”     Attempting to implement the principles we’d practiced in FHE, I asserted that there was a proactive way to solve the problem; we just had to find it.   “Being proactive works,” I testified. “It has worked for me multiple times.”    I took in a breath, preparing to relate stories about times when being proactive had yielded spectacular results but, before I could continue, Miles interrupted me.

“I know Mom,” he said. “I know that you are proactive because you have never flipped anyone off.” Pleased that he had been listening in FHE and really pleased that he recognized the connection between being reactive and showing people the middle finger, I said, “True….I have never flipped anyone off….” and then I thought more about his comment…….. “Have you?” I asked.     Silence………….. (Oh dear!)

Children are a good thing (even those who have flipped people off).   They are answers to prayers, they are catalysts for prayers, and they are certainly a manifestation that Heavenly Father loves us.

Tanah has been planning on and saving for a Roy High sponsored, 2015 summer trip to Europe.   She was so excited to go. She received a backpack for Christmas and her two-week structured trip with friends has morphed into a four-week free-lance European backpacking trip with her mom.   Now we both are so excited to go.    WHAAA-WHOO!

Chick said to me, “Is it a bad thing that I am more excited for the clam chowder that you make for Christmas Eve dinner than I am for the presents I may get on Christmas Day?”   Either he really likes my clam chowder or he hadn’t much faith in my ability to find gifts he’d like….

Christmas Eve is definitely a good thing.   As is tradition, Parents Noel and the Stoffer family joined us for dinner and a program.   This year, as part of the program, we wrote and performed (but did not choreograph) “The Twelve Days of Gratitude” (sung to the tune of the Twelve Days of Christmas).    Some of the lines included:

“seven cussing cousins” (from Lance….only 7?)
“two wonderful daughters” (from Linda….TRUE!)
“five fingers on my hand” (from Sara….VERY grateful for five fingers, even though my youngest son may have used one of them inappropriately)
“eleven players on the offence” (from Miles, of course!)
“6 x 7 is my favorite number” (from Grace the math nerd)
“twelve Dr.’s so far” (from Chick, referring to Dr. Who)
“nine family members” (from Scott Jackson. We’re grateful he joined us AND grateful for family members, his and ours)

I am grateful for family members………….all of them (even the cussing cousins!). I am grateful for the knowledge that I am part of an eternal family and that God is THE Father, the Heavenly Father of our vast eternal family. I know that I am a child of God and I know you are too!

Love,

Teresa

"These are a few of my favorite things...." Miles and a few of his Green Bay Packer's things.

Lance asked for this hat. The really ironic thing is that it is too small for him!

Zorro, the Dumb Dog (whom we love!)

The Shopping Trio!!

Frosty, the Smart Snowman (It does not eat socks and underwear!)

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True Meaning of Christmas

12/22/2013

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Bustling busily around my classroom and feeling guilty for ignoring my colleague who was also in the classroom but not as busy bustling, I sought to make conversation.    “Do you have any Christmas gifts you are excited to give?” I opened, thoughts of the ---------- I had recently purchased for Tanah filling my mind.   [She is going to be SO excited!!!!]

“Oh,” replied my colleague, a fundamental Christian who frequently closes her emails to me with the phrase “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen, “we do Christmas a little differently in our family.   We don’t give traditional gifts to each other, instead we take the money we would have used to purchase gifts and we give it to those in need, places where our money can really make a difference.   Did you know that $35 can give five ducks to a family in the Philippines?” she concluded.   (http://donate.worldvision.org/OA_HTML/xxwv2ibeCCtpSctDspRte.jsp?section=11080)

“Oh,” I responded lamely. “Cool.”      It was the end of the conversation for us but the beginning of a lot of thoughts for me.

At first I was a bit taken back.   Am I a bad Christian because I give presents to my friends and neighbors?   If I really loved my neighbor, in the global sense that Christ taught, would I sacrifice our gift giving ritual and send money to countries and people much needier than ours?   Am I so caught up in the commercialism of Christmas that I have lost Christmas’ true meaning?    Tanah does not really need the ------ I bought her and Miles can certainly live without a Green Bay Packers Cheese Head Hat (though he claims he cannot).        Hum…… thinking………..thinking…………thinking…………..

Am I a bad Christian?    My answer to my first question is no.    Pondering our gift giving ritual brought me to the conclusion that giving gifts brings me joy. It brings me joy because I love those to whom I give gifts. I am not a bad Christian because love motivates my gift giving and love is not bad.    Perhaps I would be a better Christian if I gave to impoverished people abroad (and perhaps not…it is much easier to love people who are far away than it is to love those with whom we associate; far away people tend to be much less annoying) but my gift giving is not bad.

My musings lead to thoughts about the true meaning of Christmas.    Often I hear expressed the wish that people would feel the true Spirit of Christmas all year long.   If only, goes the lament, people would act during the non-December months as they do at Christmas time.   Undergirding the expression and lamentation is the assumption that people do NOT feel the true Spirit of Christmas all year long.   I submit that exactly the opposite is true. I believe it is precisely because people feel the true Spirit of Christmas all year long that they act as they do at Christmas time.

Because I love my neighbor all year long, I give her zucchini bread in December.   Because I love those with whom I work, I give them goodies before the Christmas break.    Because I love my friend, I search for something to give her for Christmas that is truly meaningful.    Because I love my sister, I try to torture her by sending her a Christmas gift in October.    (Failed this year. Sorry Marjorie!!!)   Because I love my husband all year long, I want to give him something super special at Christmas time.   The love that I feel during the year fuels my charitable acts at Christmas time.   Christmas is the catalyst that focuses my love and it is the event that gives me the opportunity to express it.   Love, the true meaning of Christmas, is the reason for my actions during the season.

And I do love Christmas time.   I love writing notes in Christmas cards because, at least for that brief moment in my often-too-frenetic life, I share a moment with the card recipient and re-live a memory or two.    I love feeling the peace that fourteen nativity scenes bring to our living room.   I love seeing the glow of our Christmas tree lights and the reflection of glowing lights on the upright piano.     I love that our children have contests to see who can land a golden-bead lasso around the neck of the angel that tops our tree and that they sleep under the Christmas tree every night.   I love listening to Christmas music on the radio and listening to our children sing Christmas songs on the way home from Grandma’s Christmas party.    I love the focus on Christ that Christmas brings, the reminder that all good things come from Him.

I love Christ.   I love Christmas.   And I love you……all year long!!!!!!

Teresa

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Tender and Tickling

12/15/2013

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You know that tender spot in your heart? ….the one that causes you to say “oh……..” and “ah…….” when you hear a sweet story?    I hope to touch that spot in your heart this week.     I also hope to tickle your funny bone a few times…

Tuesday morning I made arrangements for the junior high principal, Mr. Mitchell, to do my formal evaluation Tuesday afternoon.     When the bell rang, signally the beginning of that day’s final class, I secured the students’ attention and said, “Mr. Mitchell, MY BOSS—the one who decides whether or not I KEEP MY JOB—is coming to class to day to evaluate me. I asked him to come 4th period because I trust you.    If you could help me out on this, I would appreciate it.”         A few minutes later Mr. Mitchell walked in and took a seat at the back of the class.

OH MY LANDS!!!!   The kids were perfect.   PERFECT.   The room as hear-a-pin-drop silent while they did their bell work and I took roll.     It was so silent, in fact, that it was almost uncomfortable; no one said a word, the only sound was the scratch of pens and pencils on paper.   As the class progressed, so did the perfection.   During the discussion I asked some synthesis questions, questions that required them to apply concepts rather than simply regurgitate them.   They tried so hard! Concentration knotted their facial muscles as neurotransmitters leapt across their synapses.   Hearts eager to help me inspired intense mental efforts as they searched their brains for the answers they thought would make me look good.

Dee, a student who never voluntarily answers questions, raised his hand.   Cee, a student whose absence positively affects the learning atmosphere in the classroom, was on his better-than-best behavior; he did not shout out, get out of his seat, heckle me, or flirt with the girl next to him, not even once!     Jay, a student who rarely picks up her pen, diligently took notes.   For 80 minutes, from the time Mr. Mitchell entered the classroom to the moment he stepped out, they put on a perfect performance.   The tender spot in my heart was so touched.   I love my job!! And, thanks to 4th period, I will probably keep it.

Sean, our darling recent convert who has made our Sabbath worship significantly less reverent, has a soft side.   First, let me set the scene…..   Sitting still just is not an option for him.    He can fold (but usually does not fly) 45 paper airplanes during the meeting and still run out of things to do.   He and his brother fought, throwing punches and words, during the prayer last week.   He gets up to go to the bathroom or get a drink at least 3 times during the 70 minute meeting.   He stretches out full length on the bench or lies under the pew on the floor.    He does not seem to have an “inside voice”; all comments and questions (of which there are a lot) are made in his basketball gymnasium voice.    Sean is constantly in motion and his movements are not quiet.

Last week he leaned against me while the Sacrament [emblems of bread and water taken in remembrance of Christ’s atoning sacrifice and in renewal of the covenants we have made with Him] was being passed.   Absentmindedly, I began rubbing his arm.    It was as if I hit a pause button.   All activity stopped.   He melted against me and did not move a muscle.       At the conclusion of the Sacrament portion of the service (10 minutes or so) I stopped.    He whispered [WHISPHERED!!!] “Will you keep rubbing my arm?”     For the next 45 minutes I gently massaged his left arm, from shoulder to wrist.   For the next 45 minutes he was still, almost as if he were paralyzed; no words, no movement, nothing.   There is truly a tender spot in his heart…..and it seems to be connected to his left arm.

Micheal Drago, 19 year old son of Michelle and Joe Drago (our neighbors and cherished friends) enlisted in the Marines. His report to duty date was today.     Last Sunday Joe pulled me aside and asked that I be available for Michelle today; “She is going to be a wreck and I am not the comforting type,” he said.    Of course, I responded affirmatively and asked him for suggestions as to how I could “be there” for Michelle.   “That’s just it,” he said.   “I have NO suggestions—I am NOT good at this kind of thing—which is why I am asking you.”   [What a great husband, eh?]

Monday morning Joe called me from an airport in AZ where he was awaiting the plane that would take him to Mexico where he would stay until Thursday.   “Michael just received orders to report for duty at 5 p.m. today.   Would you fast forward the request I made to you about next Sunday to today?”    Of course.

Poor Michelle!     Husband in Mexico, oldest son leaving in less than 8 hours to spend the next three months in the Marine equivalent of Boot Camp, son NOT home for Christmas and, due to military regulations, NOT able to take or receive any Christmas gifts, facing the prospect of the first Christmas with a child gone……EEK!

Michelle, being Michelle, handled it with class.    When I stopped by about 4:30, an air of calm permeated their home. All was good.   In fact, it was great.    Michelle and the boys were gathered around…..a Chihuahua puppy. It is smaller than a loaf of zucchini bread but much, much more cuddly.   Already Michelle was hugging on it, holding it tight to her shoulder, caressing its back.     Michael, recognizing that the evening especially, the week particularly, and the entire month in general would be difficult for his mother, gave Michelle a puppy for Christmas.     [Oh…..Ah…..!]

A few minutes later, I left Michelle to share what we thought would be her final moments with all her boys together until March 2014.   At 5:20 p.m. I got a call from Michelle.    A week or so ago Michael had an infected in-grown toe nail treated.   The recruiting officer told him that, because the wound was not completely healed, he could not go.   He would be shipped out for duty in January instead.            [This is where the funny bone is supposed to be tickled…..]

More funny bone ticklers…..

Zorro has opened a new chapter in the “I Am a Stupid Dog” saga.    A clean glass (CLEAN—no residual food particles or odors on it) fell from the counter and shattered on the floor.    Zorro raced to the accident scene and began licking the broken glass.     Oh my.

Tanah earned a Math Excellence Award in Math II….which really is funny.   Tanah hates math and her hate is a very vocal and violent one.   Math changes our good natured, pleasant daughter into a dreadful demon. When doing math, she screams, she yells, and she throws things.   For her safety’s sake, Lance and I no longer help her with her math homework; we are afraid we might do something drastic to her.    Chick, bless his heart, braves the storm. Lance and I listened one night as she raved and he responded.   She started with simple “I hate math” comments, escalated to “That is NOT the way to do it” assertions, and crescendoed with violent, top-of-her-lungs shouts that Chick had no idea what he was talking about.   He took her abuse for a lot longer than Lance or I would have and then told her he was leaving. Her tune changed and she begged him to stay.    Once she actually listened to him, she discovered that he did know what he was talking about and, even more amazingly, he could help her understand the concept as well.   Chick is very proud of himself for Tanah’s award, which he should be.

While I was leading a discussion, my students passed me a note.    I set it aside.   “No,” they said, “Read it now.” The note read “Your zipper is down.”    It is funnier now than it was then.

Lance and I watched Grace play a basketball game against OPA. (Not the funny part yet) She was fouled while shooting and made her first free throw but it did not count because her toe crossed the line. (Still not the funny part).   She took her second shot, missed, got her own rebound, put the ball back up, and scored her first basket of the season.   YEA! (Still not the funny part)

While at the game, Franny (a former student who delighted in scaring me and successfully did so on a regular basis) snuck up behind me, put his face next to my ear, and said my name.    When I turned my head and saw a close up of his nose, I screamed. (Still not the funny part)     About five minutes later, Lance, who Franny does not know from Adam, snuck up behind Franny, grabbed his sides, and bellowed.    Franny leapt, screeched, and turned red.   (This IS the funny part!)

May this week bring you stories that touch the tender spot in your heart and tickle the funny bone in your arm!

Love,
Teresa

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Broken

12/8/2013

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Broken…………What does the word “broken” mean?    Hurt? Damaged? Fractured?   Perhaps more significantly, what does the work “broken” imply?    Repairable?   If the thing broken were not repairable, would we not say “ruined” instead of “broken”?   Of value?   If the broken item were of no value, would we not refer to it as “worthless” instead of “broken”?

In my house, broken things have value.    We do broken here.

Consider my dryer.    Its door pops open.   When the door opens, the dryer stops.   This is a problem when drying clothes; clothes tend to dry much more slowly when they are sitting in a damp heap inside an inert dryer.    One could say the dryer is broken…but not useless.     If we prop a filled clothes hamper (it helps if there is a 10 lb. weight in the bottom of the hamper) or two against the door, the door stays shut, the dryer keeps running, and the clothes get dry.    Fortunately there is never a lack of hampers filled with dirty clothes in our home.

The door on the freezer also pops open.   This is a problem as the motor on the freezer tries to freeze the entire basement when the freezer door is open.    Sadly (or gladly, depending on whether or not your bedroom is in the basement) the freezer motor is not strong enough to keep the entire basement frozen so the food inside the freeze thaws, drippings pool on the floor, and food that was formerly very valuable to my family becomes valuable only for my dog. One could say the freezer is broken…but not useless.    A simple bungee cord, hooked to a doorframe and to the freezer door handle, ensures that the freezer door stays shut.   [If only I could figure out a way to ensure my children remember to attach the bungee cord…..]

The knobs on our ONLY shower consistently strip.   [Strip as in the threading is destroyed, not as in take off their clothes….there is lots of taking off clothes that happens near our shower as well but that is a different story.]    When the knobs strip, one cannot turn on the water, which is a problem as waterless showers are relatively ineffective. One could say the shower is broken….but not useless.   A pair of pliers and a flexible wrist are all that are needed to make the shower fully functional.

We got a crock pot for our wedding that I use several times weekly. It is legless but not useless.   I simply put a canning ring and lid where the leg used to be and all is well.    The crockpot still has three of its four legs; the rice cooker has only one of its original legs but, like the crock pot, it is still valuable. Dad Noel crafted a prosthetic limb for one of the missing legs and a folded cloth napkin works well as a replacement for the other.

Upon returning home from last year’s field trip to Yellowstone, I found myself in possession of a perfectly good rainfly; some student had left it behind.    Anticipating that some parent would realize the rainfly was missing and try to track it down, I kept it over the summer.     September came but no parents came.    Hum…… The thing about a rainfly is that it really needs a tent; without a tent, it could be considered worthless.    Worthless?    Maybe.   But, maybe not.    I tried but I could not bring myself to throw it away.

After September came October and, with October, came the fourth cutting hay crop.    I purchased what I hope will be enough alfalfa to feed my sheep over the winter and stored the hay in my canvas shed which, I discovered, has holes in the roof.    This is a problem as rain and snow naturally gravitate through holey roofs. [Gravitate…..Yes, the pun was intentional. J] When rain and snow land on hay, they soak in, mold grows, hay is ruined, and sheep go hungry.    This is really a problem, especially if you are a sheep.    But it is not a problem if there is a spare rainfly lying about…….     The rainfly is stretched over the hay and under the shed roof.    Hay is dry, sheep aren’t hungry, Teresa is happy.

Our dear van is broken in too many places to list (without making this an exceedingly boring letter) so I will mention only a few.   The automatic side doors open only manually, the back bumper is on cusp of coming off, and something under the car (I don’t even know what it is) near the front tire is attached with baling twine.    Most significantly, the check engine lights are constantly on.    One could say that the van is broken…..but not useless.     We drove all the way to central Mexico and back with all the check engines lights on; the van was certainly useful. With the van, however, it has not been our interventions that made it useful.    Some things are just miracles.

I had a delightful, soul-sharing, thought-provoking chat with a cherished friend a few weeks ago.   In between munching on sandwiches, pulling wind whipped hair away from our eyes, and laughing about the ironies of motherhood, we discussed this concept of brokenness.     She views herself as broken. She comes from a family that is broken. She was abused by a person who was broken.     She is dealing now with extended family members on both sides that are broken…and their broken pieces are cutting her.      All of them are broken……but not useless.    Miraculously, she recognizes their worth through their brokenness.       Her profound statement catalyzed this letter.   “In a way, we are all broken, aren’t we?”

Yes.

In a way, we are all broken.   All of us.   We are broken in various ways and in varying degrees but we are all broken.   Broken by our own sins, broken by the sins of others, broken by health problems, broken by disappointments and despair; broken, all of us.     And we are all repairable and we are all valuable.    All of us.   Sometimes our value is manifest through help from others (clothes hampers, bungee cords, plier and flexible wrists); sometimes our value is manifest as we find a meaningful purpose (rainfly); and sometimes our value is manifest miraculously (van) but always, ALWAYS we have value.

Through the power of Christ’s infinite atonement and the grace of His redeeming love, we are repaired. His blood paid the price for our repair, His profound empathy comforts our souls and His love heals the wounds brokenness brings.

Our status as children of God gives us value. As His children, we have a divine heritage and eternal worth, worth that transcends brokenness; gold is precious no matter what its form or level of fragmentation.     And, as His instruments on Earth, we are valuable as we help others realize their worth, find their purpose, and recognize their miracles.

In God’s house, broken things have value.   He does broken here.

Love,

Teresa

Two hampers full of dirty clothes, assisted by an unseen 10 lb. weight, keep the dryer door closed.

Using a hinge as an anchor, the bungee keeps the freezer door closed. (There are some great analogies to be made about hinges and anchors....)

A flexible wrist and a pair of pliers bring water to the shower. (More analogies available about water and cleanings and life....)

This crock pot has three legs to stand on!

The rice cooker showing its original and artificial leg.

Though it only has one original leg to stand on, the rice cooker is still very useful (and frequently used!)

Hay under the rain fly which is under the shed roof which is under the sky.........and I don't know why she swallowed the fly............but I do know that the hay won't get wet!!!

Back umper about to come off....

Front window opener panel coming off....

Under the car something being held on.....

The check engines lights--three of them--and a power door light are on whenever the engine is running. The running engine, by the way, is also a miracle. Several years ago I was told that the engine could freeze up at anytime because there is insufficient oil pressure.

This stool supports me, even though it is missing one of it's supports.

Duct tape works miracles with many things.....including down comforters (yes, it made it through the wash without coming off).............

This chair functions well even with a broken arm.

.....and picnic tables (yes, it made it through the winter without coming off).

Gold is precious no matter what its form, its level of fragmentation or the container that contains it.

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Story String

12/1/2013

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“You are the most important person in our family,” Miles told me.

Not so, I denied.

“Yes, you are,” he reasoned.   “You attracted Dad and you made us.”

I am not the most important person in our family.   I am not the most important person in Roy, in UT, in the USA, or in the world. I am, however, the most prominent person in this particular epistle.    Stories are bouncing in my mind like kernels in a popcorn popper.   It is time for them to escape and this writing is the bowl that will catch them.   I am the common thread that unites the popcorn into a string of stories. May you find the story-string light and delicious and devoid of old maids!

Old……….This may be a common theme in several stories.

Antonio told me he remembers how sedimentary rocks form by relating each step to life stages in humans.   “And cementation, which is the last stage,” he explained, “is when people get old, like 40, and quit doing anything.”

Quit doing anything? ANYTHING?!!?!?!

In answer to a student’s question about my age, I told the class I am 72.

“79?” said a student who was smart enough to look puzzled even if she was not smart enough to square seven.

I am not 79.

I felt 79 this weekend.   Marjorie—my darling sister who loves me absolutely unconditionally, who never judges me, who proactively searches for ways to make me happy—invited me to work out with her.     In the gym Thursday she laid on a bench and she handily lifted a bar adorned with multiple, doughnut shaped weights TEN times.    I laid down, under the same bar, and struggled to lift it off the rack ONCE.    Then she went to a machine where she sat on a bench, opened her arms like extended butterfly wings, hooked her wings around weighted cushions and easily used her arms to bring the cushions towards her body’s core where they met in front of her chest.   I sat on the same bench, hooked my wings in the same manner and……nothing.   I could not budge the cushions.   I felt old.

Friday, having lifted a miserably modest amount of weights the day before (and having played our annual Thanksgiving soccer game) I felt a little sore so we decided to do “a relaxing jog, about 3 miles”.   We ran 5.17 miles at a pace that might have been relaxing for her but was race pace for me.   I felt older.

Saturday she did an interval workout.   During the warm-up jog, my legs felt like rebar; every step jarred my entire body.    We did five 400m intervals, 80 second pace, 400m slow jog between. I did NOT keep up. I am old.

“What was your height when you were in high school?” the woman doing my bone density test asked. When I told her I was 5’8” in high school she told me that I am just under 5’6” now. Cementation?

On our field trip to the University of Utah nuclear reactor my students learned that researchers there are developing a type of cement will not absorb radiation.   I learned that I should take my first aid kit on ALL my field trips, not just those that involve outdoor adventures.

Our plan was to walk to Ogden’s Union Station, board the FrontRunner (train), ride to SLC, transfer to a bus that would take us to campus, tour the nuclear reactor, and then reverse the process to go home.   About a half mile into our walk, two students pulled me aside to tell me that one of them needed feminine products.    I have those in my first aid kit (tampons are great for nose bleeds) but not in my coat pocket.   Union Station does not have coin operated sanitary napkin dispensers nor are there any convenience stores in the area.    We finally found a solution to the dilemma in the purse of a merciful hair stylist.

The train ride was uneventful but the bus ride provided another adventure.   Fascinated by the lack of a seat belt requirement, most of my students chose to stand in the aisle.   Soon boarding riders forced them to the back where they stood, happily enjoying their adventure.   I sat in the front, enjoying the white noise, until a message percolated forward through the pressed masses.   “James has a huge bloody nose. He is bleeding out!”    Again, my first aid kit would have been handy.

Later, in the reactor, Amanda came running toward me yelling. I was initially annoyed as I had strictly instructed the students not to yell or run but her message changed my attitude.   “Mary Kate just fainted.”   My first aid kit would not have been very useful in that situation but it makes a dramatic end to the story.

Dramatic ends…. Monday night brought an end to Tanah’s participation in Roy High’s dramatic production The Slipper and the Rose but it did not bring an end to Tanah’s drama (which will probably never end).   We did enjoy her staged drama during the run of the show.   We also laughed a little at Chick.

Sitting in the audience, waiting for the play to start, Chick asked Sandy and Bill for their ticket stubs, explaining that he would receive extra credit in his theater arts class for each ticket stub he turned in. With a twinkle in her eye and her chin pointed toward a couple cute girls sitting on the east side of Bill, Sandy said, “I will give you my stub if you will ask those two girls for theirs.”

“What?” asked Chick, totally baffled.

“Ask those two girls for their stubs and I will give you mine,” Sandy reiterated.

Completely flummoxed, Chick could not understand why Sandy would want him to speak to those two (cute) girls.   “I don’t get it,” he said.    He was right. He really did not get it….nor will he unless things change.

And some things really need to change (though not necessarily Chick’s flirting habits; they are fine for the moment).    I came home last Saturday to find the house empty and the front door wide open. Tanah had left several hours earlier and had left a trail of chaos in her wake….milk and cheese open on the counter, straightening iron and make up on the bathroom sink, pajamas on the heater vent, lights on in her bedroom, books strewn across the office, shoes and socks in the hallway.   I’d had several hours to cool my hot head and heat my cold house by the time she got home so, much more gently that she probably deserved, I explained to her the problems associated with leaving the door open when the outside temperature hovers just above freezing.   “But what about global warming?” she defended herself, “We must do our part to contribute!”     [Hold me back!]

There was absolutely no holding Chick back from seeing the 50th Anniversary of Dr. Who. He and his Uncle Kurt joined hundreds of other Dr. Who aficionados at the theater premiere showing.   He came home electrified.   “I loved it with the passion of a thousand blazing suns!” he proclaimed.

Lance also had a dramatic moment.   He performed in the school “Absolutely NO Talent Show” as a……teacher.    That is funny.

Feeding and watering 20 chickens that are not laying eggs is not funny.   Getting $5/hen for them at the auction may not be funny but it was certainly fun.

Certain fun is what we are anticipating when we go on vacation with Grandparents Hislop but we are certainly having a difficult time deciding where to go; overseas is too expensive and cruises are too common.    Our budget is $10,000 for six people and the adventure, whatever it is, must be wheel chair accessible.     Any suggestions?   (PLEASE!!!)

In this season of THANKS (last week) and GIVING (in three weeks), we are GIVING THANKS for you.   We may say THANKS to you for GIVING too, if and when the occasion arrives.   (This is NOT a hint, just an attempt to play with words.)

Smiles,
Teresa

I give thanks to HOLLY KING for this clever craft and for her constant friendship.

SISTERS!!!!!!!!!!!

Sampling Take 1

Sampling Take 2

Dog food. [Zorro puked up a pair of underwear and a sock just before we left for Thanksgiving break. On Black Friday we found an opportunity to replenish his food supply.]