Nank

...Maybe I'm not in a blogging slump. Maybe I just had to try to prepare to be the guest speaker at a stake girl's camp and maybe Chareyl told me that this would probably be the only spiritual experience that a lot of these girls would have all year. So maybe I felt some kind of pressure to make sure that I did a good job so I had to put all of my creative energies into that. And maybe it even included me dressing all fancy-schmantzy in a new dress and a new wig and all kinds of fancy jewelry from Patti and then maybe I took it all off right during my talk to show the girls that I am still the same person as I was a few moments earlier and maybe I tried to make them get it that we are actually beings that have existed for thousands of years and we shouldn't care so much about the appearance of these bodies that we've only had for a decade (or few). And then maybe Amy's stake decided that I had to speak at their girl's camp, too, on the day before my birthday. Maybe some people are trying to ruin my summer by saying that they felt inspired to have me speak to their youth. Maybe that is why I couldn't blog this week. Whew.

Three Going on 17

Catching Loumy putting on his special little "Tom's Natural Deodorant" this morning made me feel like laughing and crying at the same time. As you can see, I dashed for my camera and caught him finishing up (it helped that this is his first time putting it on himself and he spent a good 30 seconds on each pit).

Doesn't it seem that if you have to stand up on a footstool in the bathroom to see in the mirror that you shouldn't have to be putting on deodorant? Especially if you are 3?

A few months ago I noticed a smell akin to one of Chancho's shirts that he has worked out in and accidentally left in his gym bag for several weeks (not that he does that, but that's what I imagined the smell to be like). I sniffed around and, to my horror, discovered that it was coming from under Loumy's armpits. I thought it was a fluke and quickly gave him a bath. Thirty minutes later, I could smell him again. I put some of Chancho's deodorant on him, which he thought was awesome. Over the next couple of months the smell would come and go from him. I talked to my brother (our pediatrician) because I was worried this might be a sign of precocious puberty. He told me that the smell itself was nothing to worry about and told me what signs to keep an eye out for. I tried to ignore it, but I don't want my son to get a reputation as the "stinky kid". I also didn't want to be using adult strength deodorant on him so I finally bought him his own special stick.Loumy thinks its great but seeing him putting it on this morning, as I said, first made me laugh because I thought he looked so cute. But then I almost started to cry because I think he already has such a grown up look to his face and I felt like I was peering into the future to see my son as a teenager or a man getting ready to go out with his friends or on a date and it made me realize that this will actually be happening faster than I can begin to imagine right now. I had to go kiss him all over and then squash his head down playfully, as my father often does, and say, "don't grow up! stop getting so big!"

Quirk Confessional

Juana tagged me and assigned me to list Six Unspectacular Quirks that I possess. To tell you the truth, I was not 100% sure about what qualified as a "quirk" so I had to look it up in Webster:
Quirk: A strange attitude or habit.

I don't think that I'm really quirky. But I'm sure some find me more quirky than others. Or maybe its just because I don't use that word very often. I usually prefer "whacky" or "psycho". The quirks I do possess are usually kept well hidden. This post is very revealing. You see, whenever I have decided to share one of my more quirky-quirks with somebody, it usually starts out that they smile like, "that is kind of funny." Then as I go on, they start to wrinkle their eyebrows and think, "hm...that's kind of weird." Next the eyebrows raise and they smile nervously like, "You are a whack job." So, I usually keep them to myself. I hope you enjoy my quirk confessional. I figure that it might be interesting to posterity someday.

1. I have a fascination with the number 9 (my English professor dad insists that I must write out all numbers that are digits under ten, but I don't like to but sometimes I think of him and do it). I'm the ninth child in my family and maybe that is where it came from. I have a beautiful and eccentric aunt (well, she is on the other side now, but she is still my aunt). We shared a special connection despite the fact that we never lived close to each other and we had very different views of the earth and the heavens. One day she was visiting and I found out that she shares this quirk as well as my next quirk and we almost began to cry for the joy of it. Then later I found out my nephew Adam has the same quirk and he and I squealed like little school girls. And that is fine for me because I am a girl, but not so fine for him because he is a big, strong man. The number three is also okay because it is the square root of nine and because three works out with my next quirk pretty well.

2. I'm always working out number problems in my head to make the number nine or, if necessary the number three (because you can just square it). It happens most often with addresses, phone numbers, credit card numbers and license plates. I'll give you an example. Say your address is 3248 Wallawalla Street. Well, I just wrote down that number without thinking so I will figure it out. I have to do several configurations to see which is the most true. Adding the digits give me nothing so I start multiplying, subtracting, adding or dividing to try to get nine. Hm...I'm not getting nine. I guess three will have to do. Don't ask me all of the rules. I just know in my head if it is a rule or not and there is no cheating or bending the rules. Some methods are more preferable than others. One rule is you have to use all of the digits (obviously). So, here's the best one I've come up with for now: 2x4=8; 3x8=24; 24/8=3 problem solved. If a number cannot be solved then it is very very stupid. Luckily my address is 609. Whew. Simple. 6+0=6; 6x9=54; 5+4=9 I wish I could tell you my phone number because I was very clever just now in figuring it out, but that's probably not the safest thing to do on a blog. So, if you ever see me staring off into space while we are chatting inn your parlor and you ask me, "What are you thinking about?" I will probably lie and say something normal, but really I am thinking about how to solve your address.3. I believe that I have received communication from the other side (the spirit world) via 9 of hearts playing cards that I have found lying on the ground at certain times (this happened about 4 times on my mission and once in Haiti). These were actually really cool experiences that I *might* share some time if you don't make fun of me for being whacky.

4. I have a very hard time sleeping if I don't have my blanket snuggled next to my face. This has been the case for the past 30 years.

5. The only way to eat a Reese's peanut butter cup is to first push the peanut butter out of the middle and eat it, then break the outer ring in half and eat out all of the peanut butter, then eat the chocolate slowly by fitting your teeth into the little grooves. Gross that you all had to picture me doing that. Sorry.

6. I keep treats hidden in my closet between my sweaters. I rarely eat them. I just need to know that they are there if I need them. I have been trying to break this habit/quirk and have had no treats in my closet for two weeks.

There's me in all my whackiness. I now will tag the following individuals: Nancy (my beautiful sister because she writes so well and is very witty), Ashley (my niece and new favorite blogger), and Lori (because it took a lot of thinking to come up with these quirks and when I was waiting for my kid in Haiti, like she is doing now, I needed a few mental diversions AND because I want to get to know her better). Do it or don't. It's your blog. That reminds me. Yesterday I told Deedle to do something and String Cheese got all up in my face and said, "She doesn't have to! It's her life!"

"The Prophet Said...

...to plant a garden, so that's what we'll do!" (LDS Children's Songbook, page 237).Our lives have been in kind of a limbo since last October. We thought we might have a huge career change and move to another state. Then Chancho didn't feel so good about it. But we decided to still sell our house. Then, just as of today, we decided not to. Chancho took down the sign from in front of the house while we were putting in the wood floor but it was still on MLS. Today a realtor called, wanting to show the house. I called Chancho and he said, "no." Hurray! Finally we have a decision. We are staying here!


I have wanted a garden for a long time. You know why I didn't have one. Too sick and all that, then I thought we were moving. But I've been looking at my flowerbeds in the backyard for quite sometime and have been thinking, "Those are so full of weeds. What shall I do with them? Can't I just make them into a garden?" Well, today I did. We do have an area on the side of our house that will make a lovely garden one day. But not today. Too much work. Too late in the summer.So, for family night tonight, we planted a garden! Maybe you wouldn't consider a few tomato and pumpkin plants in a small flowerbed to be a garden, but it's a start. The kids LOVED it! They each have their own special plant that they have to water and weed and they hope that in the fall we will make salsa and pumpkin pie and have our own jack-0-lanterns. I hope it will be a success.
Anyway, we had a great little time and afterwards I read a story out of the Friend magazine about a family planting a garden and Pres. Kimball's counsel to plant one. I was surprised at how attentive the kids were and how strong the Spirit was. I actually was not counting on that, but it was there and I promised my kids that if we follow the prophet, even in doing something small like planting a garden, then we will be blessed. And I knew it was true.

Coming to America

*turn on your volume for this post*

I want to post about Independence Day 2008 but it will have to wait because I am thinking about Independence Day 2005.

I remember as a teenager, hearing this song, Neil Diamond's, "America". Friends and sisters would begin to giggle a bit. There were always some cool faces to make and some funky dance moves to say, "this song is awesome in a terribly lame-neil-diamond-catchy-kind-of-way." There was always some laughing and lots of shouting of, "TODAY!" I don't think I'm painting this scene very well, so if my friends or sisters are reading this, then you can just imagine us back in the early 90s listening and dancing as goofily as possible to this song on the 4th of July.

But 2005 was different. You see, Loumy had just arrived home from Haiti. The wait seemed so terribly difficult and long. In retrospect and in light of the fact that I know many families that have waited YEARS for their children to come home from Haiti, I realize that nine months was not so bad. But, if you haven't already been through the actual process of adopting a child from Haiti, then try to imagine this:

You are with your very own, most beloved little child in an impoverished, third-world country. You go into a house and hear crying echoing throughout the walls. You enter a small room. You see play pens, and several sets of cribs stacked on top of each other. You count 30 babies. It is extremely hot in this little room. The babies are wet--either from the heat and humidity or from their soiled diapers or both. There are varying degrees of crying from loud angry cries to soft, listless whimpers. There are two nurses in this room, rushing about, feeding or changing babies and then setting them back in their cribs. You see another nurse out on a nearby patio, where it is slightly cooler, trying to insert an IV into a very ill infant. These people are trying so hard to save these babies. You know that sometimes they succeed, but often they do not. They are trying their best with the very limited resources they have.
One of the nurses points to the crib where you are supposed to set YOUR baby. Your throat starts to constrict and you feel light-headed. You carefully set your child down and he looks up at you in confusion and then terror. You immediately pick him back up, your heart pounding, and he clings to you.
There is NO WAY you can leave him here. He is your child. You are connected inseparably. This place is not safe. He needs to be at home surrounded by his multitude of grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. He needs clean clothes and diaper changes and all of the food he can eat. He needs his pediatrician to help him when he gets sick. He needs his Dad to give him a blessing when he can't sleep. Most of all he, like your other children, and all children, needs his mom to rock him and feed him, to read to him, to sing to him, to put orajel on his gums when he's teething, to take him on walks, to blow on his neck when he is too hot, to swaddle him and shush him when he's been frightened, to tickle him and play peek-a-boo to make him laugh. But instead somebody is insisting that you put your baby down and leave him there. In that crib. Alone. And you are forced to leave him. You have no idea when you can see him again. You feel nauseated and a literal pain is shooting through chest. This feels SO wrong. You put him in that crib. And he screams. It feels like somebody has ripped out your heart and you are numb from the shock of it.

And then you are in a van that will take you to the airport where you will fly thousands of miles away. You leave your child. You begin to sob. Huge, heaving waves of grief pour over you. You beg and cry everyday to God and anybody else that will listen. You pray every night that angels will surround your child and keep him safe. Your child is suffering and he needs you. And you need him. You feel completely helpless. You become desperate. And finally, the day comes. Finally, FINALLY somebody tells you that you can have your child back.

So, now maybe you can better imagine my state of mind in the summer of 2005 when Nichole, D'Asia and I stood for hours waiting for a plane to land that would reunite us with our children and our anxiety wondering if the escorts actually made it on the plane. Maybe you can imagine the pure joy I felt as I slept with my son on my chest all night long--just the two of us alone in a hotel in AMERICA (Miami to be exact) because we'd missed our flight home and everything was booked because of the holiday weekend. You can imagine how I felt as I walked through my hometown airport and looked down from the top of the escalator to see Chancho dozens and dozens of family members holding up signs, welcoming my son home. You can understand why I suddenly held him up, high above my head, arms completely outstretched for all to see that yes, indeed, I had him and we were home. You can imagine my tears as a cheer erupted from the crowd below.And now, maybe you can imagine why, as I watched fireworks at a certain soccer stadium and heard this same song, "Coming to America...today!" that I had heard every year, along with "Proud to Be an American", my reaction was a little different. This time I held my child in my arms and cried completely unabashed as I released the fear and the anxiety of the previous nine months and reveled in the FREEDOM of our blessed reunion.

* Epilogue ~ this year we went to the same fireworks show and listened to the same songs. Loumy snuggled on Chancho's lap, in great happiness and awe at the beautiful display. I'm sure he could not remember that night when he was not even 10 months old. But I remembered and my eyes began to sting and something began to swell in my throat as I heard the introduction to this Neil Diamond song. And I said to Chancho, "Let me hold Loumy!" And he looked at me and very solemnly said, "No." And I was pleased because I knew that no matter how much Chancho likes to act like he is not sentimental, he was reliving the same moment that I was and I was not going to ruin it.

Ingrid is FREE!

Today Ingrid Betancourt was freed from 6 years of captivity during a super cool undercover military operation. I think Ingrid rocks. She is a French/Colombian woman who fought very hard in Colombia against the drug cartels and corruption. She knew she was in danger as she ran for president on this anti-drug platform. She was kidnapped by rebel forces on election day in May of 2002. Her husband, mother, and two children have been marching and demonstrating all over the world to try to get her freed. And now, FINALLY, she is! Even after 6 years, she still aspires to help change her country. She is a pretty amazing woman.

Three Americans and 11 other hostages were rescued during this operation, in which rebel leaders were tricked into relinquishing them and they were rescued with out a single shot fired. I can't wait to read her book that she will most surely write about her time in captivity and her rescue.

She was put onto a helicopter, thinking that she was being taken to another part of the jungle and explains "The chief of the operation said, 'We're the national army. You're free,'" she said. "The helicopter almost fell from the sky because we were jumping up and down, yelling, crying, hugging one another. We couldn't believe it."

Can you imagine being kept a prisoner and treated cruelly for SIX years? She was often forced to sleep with a chain around her neck.

I'm not sure why this story touches me so much. But it does and I wanted to capture it, also, for journal purposes to remember things that are happening around the world.

I don't know if its okay for me to just steal these news photos, but I will anyway. The first is a photo that was released from the rebels in 2007. The second is Ingrid with her mother as she walks off the plane after her rescue.

A Lot of Photos from a Carnivore

Last Saturday was the annual SO Days. My sister Amy's backyard leads to the local elementary school and park where there is always this big celebration for the 4th of July, including a carnival. She began a tradition several years ago of inviting over as many family (and often friends) that can come to have a dinner in the backyard, talk, go over to the carnival (aka "carniVORE" as my great-niece Elle called it) and watch the fireworks show. Her house is in the premium spot for all of the festivities. We are able to enjoy just as much of the crowd as we want and then can come back to the beautiful sanctuary of her backyard with its two huge, shady trees, trampoline and sandbox.

I do not have a ton of happy memories of SO Days gone by. One heavy memory surrounds the fact that I broke up with my very-serious boyfriend for the first (of several) times just before the SO Days and arrived shattered and in tears to spend the evening. I also have lots of memories of coming but feeling too sick to eat and feeling worse from the heat. Usually one or more of the kids has been too little and would get too tired to enjoy most of the festivities. Last year I was on some major mind-altering drugs and not dealing well with my hairloss and Chancho wasn't able to come.

This year was SUCH a happy time. It could not have been better! Well, okay, it could have been better if all of my family had been there (especially my two younger sisters and, no, I'm not just saying that because I know you two will probably be the only ones to read this). I was healthy and happy with my husband and three children with me and we all had a fantastic time!

Some of the things I enjoyed most:
...a "special dark" vadar

...chatting with the girls
...watching Chancho and String Cheese ride her first "big people ride" together
...watching Deedle getting brave and trying out lots of new things
...the freedom of my children's laughter
...the blessing of wonderful cousins whom my kids adore
(I realize this photo is very blurry, but the moment was priceless--every time their car came around on this little coaster their sisters would cheer for them and they would look at each other and laugh these deep, hearty laughs.)

...snuggling under the stars
...best seats for the fireworks show and kids that love each other