Growing!

I love Spring! I love the flowers, the promise of new life, little bitty plants in the garden--all of it! Here are some pictures from our spring this year.

Heading out to the garden!

Pointing out the watermelon seedlings :D

I promise he's not trying to look grown up! He's just proud of our green blueberries

Grandma Laura's roses are really something!

This gorgeous rose bush was cut down several times in the name of the hedge, but just kept coming back! This year is its most beautiful yet. We're going to find a way to keep it from getting chopped this year.

This bush has gotten so big! 

Cucumber

Zinnias--to attract pollinators! (don't worry, I'm going to thin them)

Carrots! (also going to be thinned)

Levi's trying to point out a developing pear.
We're finally going to get pears this year! (I planted the tree at least 4 years ago)

Can you smell this picture?!
Look closely for the photobomber.

Just precious.

He looks so worried!

Levi cleared out this area with just loppers and brute force!
Before, the area was impenetrable and you couldn't see the fence back there.

The thorns on these trees are vicious. It's called Callery pear and it's an invasive species.
These trees made up bulk of what Levi cleared out, along with a fair amount of privet.

This is similar to what the other area looked like before it was cleared out.

He likes to nibble on the clover

 I have to say, my garden is coming along nicely, but I love my crop of boys even better!

God's Love

I was 12 when I first felt and understood--at least to some degree--God's love for me.

It started at least a year (or more) earlier, when my sister Becky and I started sharing a room. Becky had the habit of studying scriptures and praying before going to sleep each night. I admired her (still do!) and thought I should try it out, too.

So each night before cuddling up under the covers with my stuffed dog Cookie and turning off the light, I would read from the Book of Mormon and pray to Heavenly Father. I didn't really have much of a purpose besides doing what I'd been told was right. I wasn't searching for the truth or looking for a manifestation of the reality of God. This was just me "doing my duty," as I saw it.

After several months of this, nothing had changed. Finally, one day as I was saying my prayers (not necessarily praying), I suddenly was overwhelmed by a feeling of immense, unconditional, loving LOVE! I had not asked for it; I was not looking for love or really much of anything from my Heavenly Father, but there it was.

Since then, my knowledge of and faith in God and His son Jesus Christ has grown and matured. I have felt God's love many times since then. I feel that every good, happy thing in my life is made better and happier through my connection with Him. It's definitely a relationship worth developing, and I am so glad that I know Him.

Spending time with three of my fantabulous sisters!
I'm on the far right. I was about 11 or 12 when this picture was taken.

Snobby or just shy?

It was the beginning of my sophomore year in college, and I had made my first "D" on a test since starting college. Although most of the students in my class had made either a "D" or an "F", I was very concerned about my grade, especially since one student (helpfully pointed out by our teacher) had made a B on the exam.

There were exactly four women in the class of at least 30 students, and as was usual at my university, seating was not assigned. Three of us women sat together to the side of the middle of the classroom--girls gotta stick together in engineering classes, you know? The overachieving student was the fourth woman in a class full of men, and she sat by herself at the front of the room, on the first row on the opposite side as my group did. She always answered questions perfectly, and seemed to have a snooty air about her when she did so. She didn't seem interested in getting to know the people who sat near her. I assumed that she didn't care to associate with those of us with inferior intellect.

Anyway, back to the "D" on my test. I was very upset by it, as I was used to scoring high grades. The teacher mentioned that there was a copy of the test in the math library with all of the solutions on it. She suggested that we look over it to find our errors. Determined, I made time to go to the math library and find out what was wrong with my test so I could fix it and do better on the next one.

I entered the math library, and asked the attendant about the sample test. He said it was currently checked out, and I'd have to come by a different time. Disappointed, I looked around for a table to do some homework at, since I was already there. As I looked around the library, I saw the overachieving girl from my class. I knew she'd have more answers than I did, and I approached. I asked if we could compare our tests, and she agreed.

As we worked on the test, I started to get to know her. What a wake up call! She was the funniest person I had met in a long time. She was also smart (obviously) and interested in the same kinds of things I was interested in. I found out that she was just shy, just like me! I wanted to hit myself for that one. How many times had I bemoaned the fact that everyone thought I was stuck up just because I didn't know how to talk to people? And then there I was pre-judging her shyness for snobbery. Way to go me, right?

Thankfully, first impressions don't rule everything. Jennifer and I became close friends, and even roomed together for the first semester of my junior year (before my mission). She was so much fun. She even played my favorite game (Boggle) with me almost every night for a whole semester before either one of us got tired of it. We had so much fun together. Just think what I would have missed out on if I hadn't overcome my bias against the supposed "snob"!

Not Your Regular Friendship

So, today is the birthday of one of my friends from high school. I haven't really stayed in touch with him (except through Facebook), so I don't really know much about what his life is like now, but he was a really great friend then. He was my friend when I didn't know how to make friends. It meant a lot to me that he was my friend.

We were kind of unusual friends. I was shy, a model student, and strictly kept away from all drugs, including alcohol and tobacco. He was outgoing, an average-to-poor student, and was a regular smoker and drinker, and (I think) had tried illegal drugs a few times.

But those things, thankfully, did not define our friendship. We both got to school about half an hour early, so we'd hang out before school started. Mostly we just talked; sometimes we walked around the halls as we talked, too. He was fun to hang out with, and had a great sense of humor. He thought I was cute, and tried to stop smoking so I'd think he was more attractive. It was difficult because all of his family members also smoked, and I probably told him that I wasn't going to date him even if he stopped smoking. I liked him just fine as a friend who smoked. At that time, the term "friend zoned" wasn't in use. I liked him, but only as a friend.

One time I was working on my calculus homework when my friend got to school. He looked at all the summation symbols and integral signs and said (humorously) that it looked like satanic symbols. The summation sign ( Ʃ ) does look pretty creepy, doesn't it? Anyway, we had a good laugh over that one.

Another time when we were walking through the halls, one of my teachers saw us and gave us a funny look. I'm guessing that the teacher either had my friend in some of his classes or had heard about my friend from other teachers. It made me laugh to myself at the time, because although my friend might be considered a "bad influence," he wasn't a bad influence. He respected what I believed and cared about and didn't try to persuade me to compromise those things.

I keep hearing how important it is for young people to choose friends who have their same values. Yes, I think that's important, but I think that young people will also benefit from having friends that have different values but respect their beliefs. Let's remember to be kind and to stop stereotypes from defining our friendships with others.

Conformity vs. Growth: A 10-year-old's problem

When I was about 9, my aunt, uncle, and--most importantly--my cousin moved to within 20 minutes of my home. At the time I was homeschooled, so I didn't know very many people outside of my immediate family. My best friends were my siblings. I was incredibly shy around other people, but I longed to expand my borders and make new friends--I was an extrovert and didn't know it! I was so embarrassed every time someone tried to talk to me and I couldn't think of anything to say. I was embarrassed that I couldn't interact normally with other people. It hurt that I didn't know how to talk to others.

So my cousin moved into town. Since my family lived just down the road from my grandparents, my cousins would come over to play when their parents were visiting my grandparents. My cousin came over a few times, and we became friends. I was so excited! I hoped that she would be my new best friend. One of my older sisters already had a best friend/cousin, and so did two of my younger sisters. This would make life so much more fun and interesting!

I don't remember ever inviting my cousin over to my house, I don't really remember exactly why. She only invited me over to her house once or twice, so our friendship was only sustained by our interaction at church. I loved talking to her. I had finally found someone I could talk to! I was so proud of myself for finally being able to hold a conversation. The only problem was that all our conversations had to be during church. How could I behave, avoid being rude and talk to my cousin at the same time?

I couldn't.

So I talked to my cousin during Primary, the classes for children. Did I mention that I was proud of having a friend outside my family? That I was excited about holding a conversation with someone I didn't know intimately well? I want to stress that fact to explain why I would talk during class. One day during Primary my uncle--my friend/cousin's father and incidentally also my Sunday school teacher--tapped me on the shoulder and told me to be quiet. I was so ashamed. I was that child that wanted to please everybody, so I tried not to cause problems or misbehave. I hadn't realized that talking to someone--a good thing--could also be a problem.

I encountered a similar problem about two years after I started public school. At this point, I was about 13 years old and in 8th grade. I still struggled with social situations, and adults still told me that I needed to contribute to the conversation after I'd been quiet for 10 or 15 minutes straight.

I had a best friend, Jenny. She was my first best friend outside of my immediate family, and I was amazed at how similar our life experiences and our ideas about life were. We had similar morals. I had finally found someone who liked being around me! I felt comfortable around her. Jenny and I sat near each other in most of our classes because our last names were both near the end of the alphabet. We took advantage of this seating arrangement, and talked when possible. I had learned from my previous experience, and tried not to be disrespectful of our teachers, but sometimes it was hard to abstain. I remember one instance in our English class--everyone had been talking, and our teacher was fed up with us! She told everyone to stop, not say a word for 5 minutes, and ... I don't remember the last part of the punishment. I think it was write something about why we were talking. Anyway, we spent a really boring 5 minutes of it. I felt bad because I usually prided myself on being perfectly behaved (I was an unusual child).

So, here we are. I was so proud of myself for being able to talk to someone--something everyone said they wanted--but I didn't have a chance to practice in an appropriate environment. My parents didn't realize that I struggled so much with this. If they had realized, I like to believe they would have tried to help me. Would they have known how to help, though? I don't think either of them is a shy extrovert, so I imagine it would have been difficult for them to relate to my predicament.

Since everyone is different and has a unique personality, I think it must be fairly common that children go through at least some things that their parents can't immediately relate to. I'm pretty sure that my children will have different challenges than I had (and different challenges from their siblings). Since Levi's greatest challenge at this point is not falling while he's walking, I'm not really sure what he'll struggle with later, but since he's my son, I desperately want to be able to help him through anything he goes through. I hope that I can be objective enough to see his struggles for what they are and not project my own childhood struggles on him or any of my other children.

Summer boredom?

I don't ever remember being bored for an extended amount of time during my summer breaks from school, but I've heard it referenced as a common problem for parents and children, especially as I've been reading parenting books. I do remember my younger siblings being bored during their school breaks, however, at least at the beginning.

What was the difference between them and me? I don't think I was inherently less prone to boredom, I assure you! I think it was homeschool that did it for me.

I was homeschooled from 1st through 5th grades, so I spent a lot of time at home. I was used to being at home without very much structured time, and spent most of my free time either playing with my sisters or reading books. I was very rarely bored.

Even though we didn't have friends over very much, my siblings were always around and they were my favorite people to play with, anyway. I don't remember any instances where I wanted to play and I couldn't find someone else who was willing to do something with me, even though I'm guessing that sometimes I had to find something to do on my own. I did read a lot.

My theory is that my younger siblings--who were not homeschooled for most of elementary school--were bored because they were used to structured time and were not used to figuring out what to do with their own time. As the days went by after school let out, however, they gradually adjusted to the new schedule and entertained themselves just fine.

"And thus we see" that kids don't need structured time during the summer to avoid boredom. They need good playmates and they need skills that will allow them to entertain themselves when they can't find someone else to play with. 

The End!

Showing love to children

Lately I've been reading different parenting books to get several different perspectives on parenting and what works. I plan on picking and choosing what I think will work best from these books and combining them (and leaving out the the stuff I don't agree with).

The book that I'm currently reading has some good tactics, but there is one sentence that I just outright disagree with:

"Unless you are a grossly neglectful or abusive parent, your kids know that you love them."

Really? I have a story I'm going to share that contradicts this, but it's not this black and white. To the author's credit, the next sentence is this:

"By all means, tell them that you love them, but not when they're pulling a #4 on you." (A #4 is the manipulation tactic that the author is discussing)

___________________________________________ 

So my beef is with the first quote. "Unless you are a grossly neglectful or abusive parent, your kids know that you love them."

No, your children don't know that you love them unless you make it a point to make sure that they do! Here's my story:

Once upon a time, a long time ago when Katie was just a little girl, she didn't want to do her chores. When Mom asked her nicely to do her chores, Katie said she just wanted to keep playing. Her mom started getting upset because Katie always responded like this, and Mom just didn't know what to do. Mom wanted Katie to grow up to be a self-sufficient and responsible adult, and she knew that doing chores would help Katie to achieve this goal. So Mom said, "You are going to do your chores NOW, young lady!" 

Katie logically concluded that Mom must hate her because she was interrupting Katie's fun playing to make her do chores, which Katie didn't want to do. So Katie said what was self-evident: "You hate me! I'm not going to do my chores!"

Mom was heartbroken. How could one of her children that she treasured and adored think that she hated her? This had to be remedied. She said, "No, Katie, I love you! That is why I'm asking you to do your chores--because I love you so much."

This didn't make sense to Katie. It hurt her that her mom said she loved Katie when Mom obviously didn't love her.

(Aside: This is what the author was talking about when he said there are times when you shouldn't tell your child that you love them. Boggles the mind, huh?)

Now, if Katie had extended her logic a little further and hadn't thought about herself quite so much, she might have been able to figure out that Mom actually did love and cherish her. Mom cooked nutritious and filling meals for a crowd of ungrateful and ravenous children--including Katie--without complaining (much), she took her children to interesting places and fun parks, and made sure that birthdays and Christmases were special--which was especially hard in Katie's case, because Katie's birthday was just a few days before Christmas (Mom succeeded, because Katie never felt cheated by having a birthday so close to Christmas except for the fact that she never got summery things for her birthday, like a water gun). Mom also took Katie seriously, which was vastly important to that little girl. There were many other ways that Mom acted out her love for Katie, too many to list all of them. 

The point is that even with all this love showered on her, Katie didn't know that her mother loved her. Her mom was not "a grossly neglectful or abusive parent," but somehow Katie did not know she was loved. The problem was that her mom was uncomfortable with--or maybe just not in the habit of--telling her family that she loved them.

I believe that Katie hearing Mom say that she loved her at appropriate times would have solved Katie's problem, but not all children experience love in the same way.

I know a mother of nine children, and her children adore her. It is obvious that they each know of their mother's love. How does she do it, especially with NINE children? Well, I asked her one day. She was very modest about it and gave me some really great advice. The thing that stuck out the most to me was that she pays attention to how her children show love to her and she reciprocates love in a similar manner. If one child is always writing little love notes to his mom, then the mom writes love notes back. If one child always wants to do something with her mom, then the mom will make time to spend with that child. If a child gives gifts to the mother, the mom will give small gifts back. This really struck me because one of the biggest life lessons I learned on my mission is that everyone is different and because of that, people need to be treated differently to communicate properly with them. 

Anyway, I'm getting off subject. The point is, don't just love your children. Make your children know that they are loved. Understand that what makes you feel loved won't necessarily be the key to make them feel loved, so pay attention to how they love you and respond in kind.

Kids love to practice, so let them!

I remember when I first learned how to open a bag of potato chips. I don't remember exactly how old I was, but I was young. One of my parents had asked me to open a bag of chips and put them in a bowl to share. I struggled with the bag for a while, not knowing how to open it. Finally I approached the person who'd asked me to open the bag and asked for some scissors. Instead of giving me scissors, this person showed me how to open the bag, and I immediately wanted to practice (it looked so easy!). Every time a bag of chips was opened after that, I'd ask if I could open it. Sometimes I would be given the opportunity to practice my new skill, and other times, I think whoever had gotten the chips out either didn't want to wait the time for me to open the chips or thought that it was silly that I wanted to open them. I was always disappointed when I didn't get to open them.

The point of this story is that when I was a kid, I wanted to practice a new skill I had learned until I mastered it. Today, opening a bag of chips just doesn't have the same magical quality it did when I was 10 (or whatever age I was. I imagine at age 10 it was still magical because we didn't have chips very often). Sometimes it's inconvenient to let a child practice a new skill, or we just don't realize that that is what they want to do. Sometimes it may be annoying that every time you get ready to do something, your child asks to "help". Sometimes they may botch the job because they haven't quite mastered the skill yet. Regardless of the inconvenience it may present to us, it's important to allow children to practice and to enjoy learning new skills.

Loving Mothers

I recently (about 2 months ago) read a book--Difficult Mothers by Terri Apter. It is, of course, about having a difficult mother. The book describes in some detail how to cope with a difficult mother, but it seemed to me that for the most part, it defined what a difficult mother is and described five different ways in which mothers can be difficult. The book was somewhat instructive, but it wasn't something that I'd go out of my way to say, "Read this! It helps!" to someone who had a difficult relationship with their mother. However, the author did put forth one idea that I thought hit the nail on the head, and I paraphrase:

"There are two kinds of mothers. Difficult mothers and good-enough mothers. Good-enough mothers make mistakes and frustrate their children, but children have more good experiences and memories with these mothers than bad ones. Children with difficult mothers have had a more negative than positive experience with their mothers."

Another thing she said also rang true:

"Sometimes a mother can be good-enough for one child but difficult for another." 

_______________________________________

For me, I had more good experiences than bad with my mother. She was good-enough. Yes, there were odd things she did and restrictions out that wazoo, but I knew she loved me. I knew she appreciated me. I knew that she prayed for each of my siblings and me individually every night, which is saying something, since there are 10 of us. I knew that I was important to her.

I remember her calling me her "jewel" many times when I helped in the kitchen.

I remember her singing "When We're Helping We're Happy" when we did work around the yard when I was little. I would sing, too, and I was happy.

I remember her playing games with me when I was little, and giving me "horsey" rides on her leg.

I remember her staying up late so she'd be awake when I got home from a social event when I was a teenager or spending the summer at home when I was in college.

I remember her encouraging me to have root beer floats in the kitchen with my friends after a group date while she went to a different part of the house and did something else.

I remember her knowing everything about birds and flowers--or at least what seemed like everything! I loved it when she'd spend time with me telling me about the different varieties of plants and animals that surrounded us.

I remember picnics in the park after kindergarten while we waited for the other kids to get out of school. The big kids were so jealous.

She helped me forge incredibly strong ties with my siblings by encouraging us to play and spend time together.

I remember going on field trips with her and the other kids that I'm sure required a lot of planning.

I remember that Mom waited on my siblings and me hand and foot when any of us were sick.

Mom taught me honesty. She taught me integrity. She taught me to love the Lord. She gave me the tools to become the person I am today, and I like the person I've become.

There are a lot of good memories. However, several of my siblings have or had a difficult relationship with our mom, and I understand why. I think the hardest thing about having her as a mother was her unpredictable mood. If she was in a good mood, then it was usually pretty easy to get along with her. If she was in a bad mood, we warned each other about it and tried to stay out of her way. She would yell at us and yell at us some more to get us to do things she wanted. It got especially bad as Dad and Mom's relationship started to deteriorate more and more. I felt so bad for the younger kids who still lived at home. Mom was frustrated because they were rebellious and disrespectful, and they were rebellious and disrespectful because they were yelled at and criticized all the time. I talked to Mom about it and told her that the kids would respond better if she used different tactics. She told me that she had tried other tactics, but they just didn't work. The only thing that got the kids to do anything (chores, homework, adhering to Mom's moral standards) was intimidation. I tried telling her that she needed to be more consistent, but I'm sure it was incredibly difficult to change an ingrained habit that seemed to have results (at least in the short term) when she didn't have anyone she could turn to emotionally that could buoy her up when she got discouraged.

I never before realized how isolated my mother was. She didn't have a good relationship with Dad by that time. Her children avoided her. She didn't have friends from church (Mom has always been kind of shy). Her brothers and their families were all busy with their own things. She didn't have friends at work because she didn't work outside the home. No wonder she was always cranky.

Anyway. I'm rambling now, but sometimes I am afraid that I will resort to the same tactics that Mom did. Even though I logically know that other tactics work better, what if I let frustration get the best of me when Levi is misbehaving? That behavior is what was modeled for me. It would be so much easier. Lately, I've caught myself becoming really frustrated when Levi has been cranky all day and nothing I do helps. How do I stop the cycle?

It's a hypothetical question. I know how to stop the cycle. Learn all I can from parenting books about positive discipline, and apply it. Make sure I have reminders where I'll see them frequently. Recognize the built-in rewards my beautiful, trusting, and well-adjusted (or at least that is how I hope they'll turn out!) children give me when I apply the principles well. Teach my children as Heavenly Father teaches his children--teach them what is right, but let them make mistakes. Make sure that my emotional, spiritual, and physical needs are met as well as theirs. Lean on my husband for support. Talk to him openly about my fears (which I have done), ask for advice, and get reassurance. Pray for help.

______________________________

There is a dual meaning in the title of this post. You can interpret "Loving Mothers" as mothers who are loving or as children loving their mothers. I think this post is about both.

On Thick Skin and Hurt

I read this today. It was written by a friend in reference to verbal and emotional abuse she experienced at the hands of a family member:

"My skin needs to be 1,000x thicker if I'm to live in this house."

I'm quoting it here, because lately I've been thinking about an experience that illustrates my "thick skin" -- or at least the illusion of it. This isn't really the kind of thing that I usually post, but for some odd reason, I feel like it should be posted. Here it is:

As many of you know, I graduated with a BS in mechanical engineering. What you may not know is that in a discipline (engineering) that is known for being mostly dominated by men, the more specific mechanical engineering is the major that statistically has the smallest percentage of women in it. I have been the only woman in a class of about 30-40 students. Usually there were one or two other women in my classes, but most of my classmates were male. This meant that I was the only woman in most of the class groups I was in and I was the only female in my study group. Sounds great for dating odds, right? However, I was not attracted to them, and if any of the guys were attracted to me, they didn't let me know. The closest any of them came was one guy that I considered my friend who told me (voluntarily) that he could never date me because he'd hate to be in a relationship with a girl that was smarter than him. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

Anyway, since there was such a small percentage of women--and especially women that they weren't trying to impress--the guys seemed to feel free to do and say guy things. Remember that I went to school at a secular university, not BYU. I got used to ignoring most of what they said that wasn't related to class work.

I found it difficult to find friends, since I didn't have similar interests to the people in my classes. Maybe my classmates thought I was stuck up, but I tried hard to let them know that I wasn't. Thankfully I earned good grades, so a lot of the guys were nice to me so I'd help them study. The study groups were helpful to me, too, don't get me wrong! I would have done much more poorly in my classes if I hadn't studied with them. However, the guys felt like I was doing them a big favor by studying with them, so I guess they appreciated it.

One time during finals as my study group was studying, one of the guys who was prone to lewd comments started making "jokes" about the usual things. I tried giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that the jokes didn't mean what I thought they might, and laughed at them half-heartedly in order to fit in. I was uncomfortable with his jokes, but didn't want to show it.

Finally, he made a lewd suggestion to me. I was horrified, but was so used to ignoring comments and pretending that I didn't notice certain things that I wasn't sure how to react. I wanted to let him know that that kind of talk was COMPLETELY unacceptable and that I wouldn't stand for it. Although it was (and still is) utterly against my nature to make a scene, I knew that was the only way to get through to him. I told him never to say something like that to me again, picked up my things, and left the room with as much dignity as I could. At that point, I wished I was the kind of person to yell and deliver scathing remarks to make him feel as bad as I wanted to. However, I never had much gift for good comebacks. Nonetheless, I hoped that my actions made him feel as awful as I wanted him to. That experience was awful.

I had such a yucky, dirty feeling even after I left the room that I couldn't concentrate on studying for my next final, which was in about an hour's time. During the time I was trying to study, a member of the study group that was actually my friend had found me and apologized for what had happened. I appreciated the gesture, but since he wasn't at fault it didn't make me feel any better. After about 5 or 10 minutes of trying to study in one of the computer labs, I gave up and went to the LDS Institute building.

It was like night and day! As soon as I entered the building, one of my friends greeted me with a smile and told me how happy she was every time she saw me (thanks, Megan Prack!). My spirits were uplifted. After some visiting and de-stressing by playing the piano, I was able to do some more last-minute studying and took my final with an undisturbed mind.

The classmate that had made the lewd comments still made the same kind of comments after that incident, but none of them were directed at me, thankfully. At one point, I remember him telling me that I was a really kind person. At the time, I didn't connect it to this incident (and it may not be connected at all), but maybe, just maybe, my actions made him think twice about what he'd said. When he told me that I was a kind person, I remember replying, "Well, I try." I didn't expect much of a reaction to that, but he looked at me like it was a novel idea. "Nice people try to be nice? Who'da thunk? I thought they were born that way!"

Stories with Granddad JC

Granddad J.C. is a soft-spoken Southern man. He is kind and thoughtful, but oh! can that man have a good laugh! Many times his jokes will sneak up on you, and all of a sudden you're laughing about something he just said. I can picture the scene now: a group of my siblings and I are visiting with him and Grandma. Granddad is telling a story about his childhood in his deep, rumbly voice. He and Grandma both were excellent story-tellers and Granddad was particularly good at getting us to laugh.

One particular story I remember Granddad telling was from Christmastime when he was a child (if I remember correctly):

One Christmas when Granddad J.C. was small, his parents bought a HUGE bunch of bananas -- we're talking the size of the ones you see on the tree -- for a Christmas treat. Unfortunately, his parents got the bananas a week or so in advance, so all the kids were salivating as they waited for Christmas to finally come.

Picture from here

Sometime before Christmas, my great grandparents had to go on a day-long trip. They knew the bananas were in danger of being eaten, so they put the bananas in their bedroom and locked the door.

Well, one of Granddad J.C.'s brothers couldn't stand the temptation any longer, so after he tried the door, he tried the window to his parents' room. My great uncle could just barely wriggle through because it was a very small window, but he made it!

Well, if a boy ever had a feast, that boy did! He ate and ate, and then ate some more. He ate all the bananas that he could hold. He ate so many bananas that he couldn't fit through the window again! He just had to wait there until his parents got home, and take his punishment.

When Granddad told us this story, he had our sides aching from laughter! He's told some other good ones, like how he had Grandma convinced that 'J.C.' stood for Julius Caesar until their wedding day, when the preacher read, "And you, Julius Clyburn Connell ..." Another good one is the story of shortly after their marriage, Granddad took Grandma to a work party and couldn't remember her name when introducing her to his boss because he'd always called her "Honey."

What a great set of grandparents I have! I couldn't have picked better ones myself. And since I have such wonderful grandparents, that means they raised their kids right, so I have amazing aunts, uncles, and cousins. I am a lucky woman!

Muggins with Grandma Kathleen

Grandma Kathleen is one of the sweetest women I've met. She is very soft spoken, but a great disciplinarian. You know, one of those where the soft, serious voice is scarier than yelling.

She fits the description for the ideal grandmother: she has a stock of sugary cereals just for her grandchildren, a candy bowl, treats after every meal, AND lots of games and kids books. She was always up for playing games with us, even when other adults might find our games childish and tedious.

My favorite game to play with Grandma is a card game called Muggins. I think it's a pretty old game, because they don't sell the cards anymore. I just did an internet search for it, and there were no results for the particular card game I'm thinking of. However, we played the game with cards from the game Flinch:

Picture taken from here

The gameplay is very similar to the game described in this Wikipedia article, except that you say "muggins!" instead of "flinch!" when a player fails to play a playable card. Also not mentioned in the article is that the person who yells "muggins!" gives their top card to the person who failed to notice the playable move. Thus, if you are good at spotting muggins opportunities, then you can get rid of your cards more quickly. There are evidently several versions of Flinch, but we only played one version of Muggins, where we would deal out all of the cards evenly between the players.

Another difference is that playing cards in the middle took precedence over playing cards on other player's discard piles. This made for a fun twist to the game, as well as more muggins-calling, since most players were more intent on giving cards to other players (giving the first player a greater advantage over the second player if no one notices that they should have played in the middle instead).

Grandma had no mercy when it came to calling Muggins on her young grandchildren, but that was part of the fun of it all. We would play Muggins over and over again just to get the chance to muggins Grandma, who was nearly perfect in her muggins playing. If we did catch Grandma and call muggins on her, we would brag about it at the dinner table that night. We also had fund piling our cards on each other's discard piles, pretending that we were doing them a great favor in giving them so many cards. So many fun, happy memories!

PS: if you are interested in trying the game out for yourself, it can be played using regular face cards. Austin and I did so with two decks of cards. Muggins is more fun if you have more than two players, though.

Friends, I admire you

I admire so many of my friends! I see your positive attributes, and benefit from trying to emulate them. Each of you have exerted a positive influence on me. I wish I could go into detail about all of you, but I only have time to name a few:

Hilary Thomas: When we were in Young Women's together, Hilary was very outgoing and fun. Not only that, but she also went out of her way to include shy Katie White in the fun. I learned from watching her example how to be outgoing and include others.

Ingrid Sorenson: What a mother! This amazing woman has 9 children, and looks like she's 30. She is fun and caring. She goes out of her way to spend individual time with each of her children. Somehow she has mastered the balance of being a fun mom while maintaining discipline in her large family. I aspire to be a mother like her someday.
Side note: 'Maintaining discipline' does not equate with perfectly behaved children. I don't think those are possible, especially if they're normal, well-adjusted kids.

Becky Gentry: All of my older sisters have influenced me to be a better person, and I look up to each of them even now, but Becky has had the biggest influence on me. We shared a room when I was younger, and she taught me by her example to study the scriptures daily and to pray to Heavenly Father each day. As a direct result of those habits, I know that Heavenly Father loves me and cares about me.

Jean Marie Place (soon to be Gatica!): If you're familiar with the character of Jane from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, then you have a good idea of what dear Jean Marie is like. Like Jane, Jean Marie has a hard time finding fault with anyone, and when she does find fault, those people did something really awful. Jean Marie is not a bit self-centered, and has an amazing ability to be interested in others--more so than I've seen in anyone else that I've met. I admire Jean Marie so much for her Christ-like love for others and her generosity. I aspire to be as kind and loving as she is.

... And there are so many more! I have seen so many amazing examples in the wards (and branch) of the Church that I've been in, in my family, in my friends from school, and in my friends from work.  I thank you  for being such good influences in my life.

Water Skiing with Granddad Jerry

After writing my post about quilting with Grandma Izzy, I thought it would be nice to make a post about something I did with each of my grandparents. The big thing that we grandkids did with Granddad Jerry--besides listening to fun stories from his childhood--was learning how to, and then actually water skiing with him.

Granddad was very patient teaching us. We'd start out standing on land, holding on to the handle while he taught us how to hold the handle and stand correctly so we wouldn't fall over once we were skiing. Then we'd go out to the boat, and once we got to deep enough water, we would put on the skis and slide into the water. It was fun trying to get a perfect score (smile, wave, no splash).

The beginners would learn how to ski on the barefoot boom. It was easier because you didn't have the extra factor of the rope going slack (and therefore losing your balance) and you could also hear Granddad coaching you, since it was right next to the boat.

Me learning to ski on just one ski. It's a lot harder than two!

Eventually, we'd get a short length of rope tied to the boom to ease us in to skiing behind the boat with the full length of rope.

I started skiing when I was about 8 years old, I think. It took me a long time to finally get the courage to cross the wake--the small wave created by the movement of the boat--but once I did, there was no stopping me. You do get a nice thrill when you cross the wake, especially if you do it fast enough! }:)

The older kids learned how to do tricks--skiing with the handle between your knees (no hands!), turning around 360 degrees, lifting up one ski for the "skier salute", just to name a few. I did a couple of them, but the skier salute was the only one that I felt safe enough doing to do more than once or twice.

One of my favorite things to do was to "double up". We would set up another rope and two people would ski behind the boat at the same time. I think you can see why I enjoyed this so much:

Hannah spraying Seth

When we were done skiing, we'd head back to my grandparent's house. Granddad taught us that we should always thank the person driving the boat. We did every time that we remembered, and would use his special nickname that we had for him--Mr. Nice Guy. One person would remember to say "Thanks Mr. Nice Guy, for driving the boat!" and then there'd be a chorus of "Thanks, Mr. Nice Guy!" as we all tried to make Granddad feel appreciated so he'd take us out again.

Thank you, Mr. Nice Guy, for all the fun times!

Homeschool

Many of my friends don't know this, but I was homeschooled for all of elementary school (except Kindergarten, if you count that).

When I tell people this, they usually express sympathy that I wasn't able to take part in the wonderful elementary school memories that most children have. Little do they know, I had an amazing homeschool experience! I feel like I not only had more fun than they did, I also was able to establish who I was--without trying to be like my friends. Don't forget that I also had less schoolwork than they did, so I also did not get sick of school and school work. My siblings and I were not allowed to watch TV, so I was able to develop my creativity, as well, with little structured time during my day.

An average day for me went something like this: Wake up, eat breakfast. Play "My Little Ponies" or Barbies (we had tomboy Barbies) with my siblings. Do a page of simple math problems because Mom told me to. Write in my journal so I could play outside. Play orphans, princesses (of course tomboy princesses) or horses outside with my sisters (mostly Heidi, two years older than me). Eat lunch somewhere in there with the rest of my siblings. Build a cool house for our toys out of whatever materials we had on hand -- blankets, the ladder that went with the bunk bed, waffle blocks, or wooden building blocks. Eat supper with my family. Read a book--some of my favorites were the Anne of Green Gables series, anything by Marguerite Henry (she wrote Misty of Chincoteage), and the Black Stallion series. Go to bed.

When I got older and was in 4th or 5th grade, I would also read a chapter from a science book and/or a book about pioneer America.

Of course, there were variations in this loose schedule. Mom would take us on field trips--I remember going to the SC state museum in Columbia, Swan Lake in Sumter, Historic Camden, and the Boykin Company Store where we watched brooms being made as they were a century ago. We also had working days where we cleaned up our rooms or worked on a big project such as deep cleaning the basement, re-arranging the storage room, or re-organizing the laundry room. One of my favorite projects was making pear preserves, and they were delicious!

When I started public school in 6th grade, there were a few gaps in my education, but I learned quickly and had straight-A's my first 9 weeks. I was very enthusiastic about this new experience, and even enjoyed doing my homework! Even though I didn't feel like I fit in with the other kids, I knew who I was and who I wanted to be. I remember at least two instances where someone tried to tease me about some of my quirks, but it fell flat because I didn't feel injured at all.

I also feel like I have a much stronger relationship with my siblings as a direct effect of homeschool. We spent a lot more time together because there was more time to be together. My older sisters would also help me with my schoolwork, giving us even more time together.

The only thing I would have changed about my homeschool experience was the amount of social interaction I had. I didn't really know how to make new friends or talk to someone that I didn't know very well. This was a difficult obstacle for me to overcome, and I had a hard time with this up through high school. I still sometimes have to make a conscious effort to make conversation! I think that is just a natural part of my personality, though.

Quilting with Grandma Izzy

I have really wonderful grandparents, on both sides of my family. My mother's parents left a legacy in the (small) town I grew up in--many people I met knew of my grandparents and admired them.

I lived just a short walk down the road from my maternal grandparents, so my siblings and I would go over to their house often to visit, to be babysat, or to help in their garden. I even took piano lessons at their house!

One of my favorite things to do at Grandma Izzy's house was work on the quilt she was currently working on. I was the youngest of all my sisters coordinated enough to do the stitch work on the quilts (no, they were not tied quilts!), and while we quilted, Grandma would tell stories. Boy, could Grandma tell stories! Unfortunately, I don't remember them, but I do remember how much I enjoyed spending time with her and my sisters. Eventually, we made one quilt for each sister except for me--I think people were running out of steam by the time they got to me, and I don't remember telling anyone how much I wanted a quilt.

Quilting with Grandma was something I looked forward to and enjoyed doing with my sisters. I could feel her love for all of us, and I loved the family bond that came from it.

What's in a Name? My experience with nicknames

When I was born, my parents decided to name me Catherine, after someone in our family tree. She was a great-aunt of mine -- or something like that. I'm not sure when they decided to call me by my nickname Katie instead, but I know it was in my first few months of life or before.

When I was little and being homeschooled during my elementary school years, everyone knew to call me Katie. I knew I had another name which was Catherine, but that was used only when Mom was mad at me. I thought it was a really ugly name, too (thankfully I've gotten over that by now).

When I started public school in sixth grade, I started to understand some of the inconveniences of having a "real" name and having a nickname. Note that I say inconveniences and not trials, difficulties, or setbacks. It's not bad having a nickname, just kinda irksome.

Let's make a list of things that are inconvenient about going by a nickname:

1. When you're called at the doctor's office, the bank, school, or anywhere else that you use your "real" name, it takes you a second to realize that they mean you.
2. Your "official" and "real" name doesn't feel like your real name at all.
3. Sometimes you forget and sign your nickname instead of your "real" name on official documents. What do you do then? Scribble it out? 
4. You're asked how to spell both your "real" name (if it has variations) and your nickname when you sign up for anything new (or start a new class/school year).
5. People ask why you spell your nickname the way you do, considering your "real" name.
6. You have to keep track of which accounts/people/places/companies know you by your "real" name and which ones know you by your nickname. When you get confused, it doesn't cause any real problems (at least not for me...yet), but I've gotten some suspicious looks at my bank because my driver's license says Catherine and my bank account says Katie.
7. I don't think it's cute that my official name is Catherine but that I go by a nickname.

So, like I said, inconveniences. But super common inconveniences. They happen all the time, especially in adult life.

For example, I decided to go by Catherine starting at the beginning of a semester when I was in college just to avoid the whole thing. It didn't work, but that shows how much it bothered me.

When I signed the lease for my current apartment, I accidentally signed Catherine instead of Katie (Austin put Katie on our checks, so of course that's what I need to sign). I just signed Katie in parenthesis above where I wrote Catherine, but I was still a little miffed about it. I commented on it to the apartment manager, and found out that she also went by her nickname and had never, ever used her "real" name for anything. She seemed a little bit more upset with her parents for using a nickname than I was. Granted, they made up her "real" name while her nickname was a pretty common name, and she wasn't named after anyone.

So, I'd love your comments! If you have a nickname, let me know your feelings about it. If you've given your child a nickname and feel like sharing, let me know why you did (and PLEASE don't feel attacked by this post. It's just meant to flesh out understanding of nicknames for people that don't have them. I don't judge you for giving a nickname to your child, I promise).

A Love Story

I didn't want to fall in love with my husband.

Oh, no. I sure didn't! There were so many things working against him: I met him on my mission, he lived far away, he was younger than me (still is, surprise!!!), and had a lot of schooling left to do.

But I couldn't help myself. He was irresistible to me [still is :)].

I met him while we were both missionaries in Las Vegas. He was witty, cute, and my district leader. He was nerdy. He wasn't cocky. He was kind. After a few weeks, I had hope that if someone existed like this that there might be another one of them out there--somewhere--in the world, and there was hope that I'd get married. Because, of course, Austin (or shall I say Elder Whipple? Meow.*) was out of the question.

Even though he was completely out of the question, I resolved to write him when I returned home from the mission. Oh, the irony.

I waited a WHOLE WEEK after I got home to write him. You know, so he wouldn't get creeped out by me writing him the moment I got home. I was quite delighted when I got a reply from him--he had written me right away! We exchanged six** letters--three letters each--before he came home. The only encouragement that he gave me was the promptness of his replies. I tried to keep my letters very friendly but not flirty in the least so he wouldn't get trunky. Those letters were not "juicy" at all, but they were so funny!

I started dating someone in the single's branch that I was attending, so the last letter I wrote had a postscript informing Austin that I had just started dating someone (let's call him Steve). I wrote this as soon as I started dating the guy; I believe in being open and honest. In the postscript, I also asked if Austin and I could still be friends.
A week passed, and things weren't going super great with Steve. I wasn't even sure that he liked me! (why did he want to date me? I don't know.) I tried to break up with him, but he talked me out of it. Another week went by. At the end of that week, Steve and I had planned a date: We were going to have dinner (prepared by yours truly!) then go to an a capella concert performed by the talented men of Voice Male. Dinner was ready a little early, so I got on Facebook while I waited for Steve. I saw a notification indicating that I had a friend request. As I moved my mouse to click on the notification, I wondered who would send me a friend request. I had already linked to my new friends in the branch and friends from the mission, so I had no idea who it could be.

It was Austin Whipple! I of course accepted the friend request and looked at his page. As I looked, I had many fond memories of good times back on the mission. This was in spite of a profile picture from when he was in high school and one that I thought was very unflattering. Since then, Austin's removed the picture, so you won't find it. Anyway, even with that picture that didn't look much like my friend (Austin), the memories came flooding back to me.

At this moment, I heard a knock at the door. I jumped up from the computer, excited to spend a fun evening with Steve. When I opened the door, I had a happy expression on my face. I saw Steve (who I was expecting), and felt my expression change. I knew that he had seen the disappointment that I felt before I could cover it up. Understandably, he was confused.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Yes," I replied, and invited him in. My mind was racing. I was disappointed to see Steve, my boyfriend, but incredibly happy at the thought of renewing a friendship with a friend from the mission. Something was wrong here. What was I to do?

I didn't say anything during the meal, but decided that a breakup was in order. Not having a large repertoire of breakup experience to call upon but knowing that they were painful, I wanted to do it nicely. Long story short, at the end of the date we broke up, and it turns out that Steve was ready for a breakup too.

I didn't think that things were going anywhere with Austin, but we continued sending messages and e-mails back and forth to continue our correspondence. Austin was real smooth here and asked if I wanted to keep writing letters. Of course I said yes and gave a hint that he should call me. Disappointingly, he didn't ask for my number, so I kept hinting, getting more and more obvious until I finally gave him my number. Without him asking for it. Seriously--I told you he's irresistible to me!

From there it escalated. We talked on the phone several times a week and sent frequent e-mails and Facebook messages. Becky, my roommate at the time, called our phone conversations "phone dates," but I was in denial (how?) and insisted that nothing was going to come of it; we were just friends. I also didn't want a long distance relationship, because I thought they were silly. I had seen enough of my friends in long distance relationships that were disintegrating, and I wanted none of that!

I told Austin that when he started school at BYU, he should go on lots of dates. I didn't want him to feel obligated to continue our friendship or to feel that because we spent so much time together that he shouldn't date other girls. He said he would, but when he got to BYU, he didn't go on any dates. And he didn't for a couple weeks. Finally, Austin told me that while he was looking, he couldn't find anyone that he wanted to date; none of them could hold a candle to me. How romantic!

After two and a half months of denial, I was finally able to admit to myself that I really liked this guy and that things might work out. We decided to become "official" and I knew I had met Mr. Right before a month was up. I didn't tell him, of course, but he came to the same conclusion about me, and we were engaged a little over a week after he arrived in South Carolina to "woo" me, as he says.

Now, four years after we met (has it really been that long?? we've only been married for a little over 1.5 years), we are so in love. Austin is my best friend, and I am his. We love each other.


A little timeline:
August 2008: We meet
August 2009: I start writing Austin
November 2009: We start talking on the phone
January 2010: We become "official"
May 2010: We become engaged
December 2010: We're married!!!
November 2011: Levi is born
July 2012: Now


*Meow is an expression that I picked up from one of my companions (she's from Hong Kong). It is used whenever something is awkward.
**I think. I wrote the first and the last letters, though, so I don't really know how it could be an even number! Maybe there were 7 letters. I'm pretty sure I have 3 from him, so that would make sense.

Know the Child

The kids in my family loved going to the library, and we would go often. I tried to keep track of my books, but every now and then, they would be returned a little bit late, and I'd have a fine to pay. When I returned books late, I'd bring some money to pay my fine. Otherwise, I never really thought to bring money with me to the library, because I usually had turned in all my books in on time. Any time that I had a fine that I didn't know about, however, I'd ask my parents to help me pay the fine. Usually they would. Sometimes they would make sure that I paid them back (it really did foster good habits, even though I'm sure it was a hassle for my parents to keep track of all the kids that owed them spare change).

One time we went to the library, and I didn't find out until I was checking out my books at the counter that I had a fine. My mom had already gone out to the car, so I told the librarian I'd be right back. I ran outside and asked Mom if she would give me the money for the fine (it was $1.50 or less). She said no. I was heartbroken! I was really excited about the books I had picked out to read, and now I couldn't read them. I was so disappointed that I started to cry.

"You're just trying to get me to pay the fine."

 

"What?" I thought. Then I said, "No, I'm not," through my tears. And I really wasn't. I was crying just because I was that disappointed. I even tried not to cry, because it was embarrassing.

Mom ended up giving me the money because she realized that I was sincere and she felt sorry for me (looking back I wonder if it was more the time spent at the library and not the money that was the issue--maybe she had somewhere else to go.).

The point I want to make with this story is that it's important to know people as individuals, even if they're children. If a child never manipulates and then an isolated incident occurs where that child seems to be manipulating to get what he or she wants, then that child is probably not trying to manipulate you. I know that when I was little, I wasn't devious enough to manipulate to get what I wanted (besides, it probably wouldn't have worked). 

There are many more characteristics that a child may have or not have that should affect how you interact with him or her. Be sure to get to know children before you make a hasty judgement.

Kid Moments

Do you remember when you were little and it was your birthday? It seemed like it would be AGES until your next birthday. You couldn't wait for another year to go by so you could get more presents, privileges, or bragging rights. It seemed like a lifetime away.

Now you're an adult and a year goes by. You're another year older, and it seemed to happen in the blink of an eye! Yes, you experienced each individual day and some of those days may have seemed like they'd never end. But when you look back on a year -- or even look forward a year -- it just doesn't have that interminable aspect that a year used to have when you were a kid.

Here's a memory that illustrates the point:

I think I was about 5 years old, and my family was at the public pool. We were having so much fun! I did something that I shouldn't have, and my mom called me over and told me that because of what I did, I would have to be in time out for 5 minutes. I grumbled a little, but sat down next to her. I waited a long time, then asked, "Has it been 5 minutes yet?"

She replied, "No."

I waited again. This time, I'd let her tell me when time was up. I waited. I waited some more. It seemed like a long time had passed. She must have forgotten to check the time, so I asked again, "Has it been 5 minutes?"

"No, Katie, it hasn't been 5 minutes yet. I'll tell you when your time out is over. You don't need to keep asking me."

What??? It hadn't been 5 minutes yet?! 5 minutes must be a very long time!

I don't remember how many times I asked my mom if my time was up, but I'm sure I asked her several more times. The point is that my perception of 5 minutes was much longer than an adult's. Now when I'm told I need to wait 5 minutes, the time goes by quickly even when I don't have anything to occupy me.

Do you have any similar memories?