I remember...Alexa's gift

I realize I said my goal was to write a memory every night and it has officially been over a month since typing any memory down. What can I say??? It's been one of those months. So I was thinking of a memory today I want to write about.

When Seth and I had been married for about three years we decided to move. Half-way across the country. To a little town in Iowa that neither of us had ever been in. To a 100 year old house we had never even seen photos of (by the way, it was a little scary. And by a little, I mean a lot).

I had just finished graduate school and we thought it would be a great idea to move to a place that was inexpensive to live and inexpensive for Seth to go to school. I was offered a job in Keokuk and being excited to get paid more than minimum wage for any job, I jumped at the chance.

We were so brave. Or dumb. Probably (most likely) a little of both.

As was expected, I got homesick. I still do, really. Some days are worse than others, but it is always hard for me to be away from my family. Seth's family is so awesome and I am really close to all of them. But your own family is special. They know your history. They are your history.

Anyway, every year for Christmas Seth and I travel to either stay with my family in Utah, or we go to his parents house in Belle Plaine, Iowa. Christmas's are always fun no matter where we spend them but this memory comes from a Christmas spent in Utah, about two years after we had moved to Iowa.

It was Christmas morning and after we had all (Mom, Dad, Keri, Jon, and us) opened our usual haul of presents from "Santa" at mom and dad's house, we headed up to Jamie's house to see what her kids had gotten and to exchange our sibling presents.

Now, by my calculations, Alexa (my niece) was about 8 at this time...I could be off...but she was around that old. In school, her class had made these calanders where they colored a picture for each month of the year and then had it bound into a calendar. Well, out of anyone she could have chosen to give that to, she chose me.

I was really surprised to be getting a gift from Alexa. When I opened it and saw it, it was so special to me I just started to cry. Somehow the culmination of all the struggles and heartaches I had experienced in the last few years away from home all melted away when I got that hand made gift from her. It was, perhaps, one of the best gifts I have ever gotten.

I have that calendar in my cedar chest right now. Whenever I see it, it brings tears to my eyes and I think about how sweet and loving that little girl is. Well, she's not a little girl any more, but she is no less sweet and loving.

Seeing that calendar helps me remember that even while I'm not usually in Utah to do all the fun things with my family I used to do (camping, fathers day picnic, parade of homes, etc.) I am still just as close to them. And probably even more so.

I have truly learned to appreciate those moments that I took for granted for so long. Maybe if I would have never moved so far away, I would never have realized what a treasure I had been given, to be a part of my family. So for that, I am thankful. And when I see that calendar, I think of those things.

So to my sweet Alexa: Thank you for that gift. I will keep that calendar forever.

This is Alexa on the day she was baptized.

I remember... "Does Jesus play hopscotch?"

Written on Sunday, August 15th, 2010
This memory is a recent one. By recent, I mean--from this morning.

Rylan has been very interested in learning about Jesus. I know his primary class has sparked his interests and it works out very well because he likes to tell me what he perceived about what was being taught, and then that leads into a discussion where I get to teach him. So, today, there were a lot of "Jesus incidents". So I thought I'd share.

During sacrament meeting, Rylan needed to go potty. So off we went through the quiet halls and into the empty restroom. Right as we walk into the bathroom, Rylan asks: "Mom, is Jesus Here in church with us?" Me: "ummm.... well....you can feel Jesus' spirit while we are here in church, just like you can feel His spirit at our home (sometimes). But if you mean where is Jesus in his body, then I don't really know. I would guess that he is teaching people the things they need to learn." (so maybe I could have come up with a better answer if I had some prep time, but as it was, I just had to do my best. After he stood there pondering what I had said he looked up at me with the sweetest face and asked, "Oh. But do you think Jesus plays hopscotch?"

How dang sweet is that. I picked him up and gave him the biggest squeeze and then told him that I am positive Jesus DOES play hopscoptch.

So we both went to our classes and after church I picked him up from his nursury class. I asked him what he learned about today and he said, "Jesus" and nothing more.

Later that afternoon the whole family took a ride. We were driving along and chatting a little but at a quiet time Rylan wanted to let us know exactly what he learned today in primary. Out of the blue, Rylan pipes up from the back seat and says, "Jesus died on something because there were nails in his feet and fingers- Isn't that sad". He honestly sounded heartbroken. It took a minute to compose myself for that one and Seth didn't want anything to do with it so I just jumped right in and explained the crucifixtion to me 3 year old. And I think it went OK.

The funny thing about both of these instances is that Rylan brought them up on his own when no one was talking about it. He was thinking and processing these things he's learned on his own. I am so proud of him!

I remember...10 years ago

In honor of my tenth wedding anniversary, I thought I would share one small memory from my wedding day.

Surprisingly, I slept very well the night before my wedding and woke up very calm. The house was still asleep when I awoke and I quietly did my hair and makeup, then got dressed. I met my parents upstairs and we headed to the temple. Our wedding ceremony was scheduled for 9:30 a.m. so it was a pretty early morning.

The only anxiety I had through the night and then the next morning was thinking that Seth would forget to bring our wedding bands to the temple. Our little apartment was only a few blocks away but for some reason I was really nervous about him forgetting them.

When I got to the temple, I saw Seth in the waiting room and the first thing I asked him was, "Did you bring the wedding bands?!?" He got a proud look on his face and said, "Yes I did". He really was very proud of himself for remembering. Then my dad asked, "Did you remember the marriage license?" A look of panic crossed his face when he realized he had indeed forgotten to bring the marriage license with him.

I can giggle about it now, but at the time, it seemed like the worst had happened. Luckily, because our apartment was so close, it took Seth about 5 minutes to go get the license. We didn't even start late, everything was right on time.

It's funny how after your wedding day, you realize how unimportant the minor things about the day are (not that a marriage license or wedding rings are unimportant). When I think back about that day, my memories are so awesome. Although Seth got sick shortly after the ceremony, I can still think of that day and recall so few things that went wrong. It was a day I felt very close to heaven.

P.S.
This picture was taken about six years ago---not from our wedding. However, I don't have any wedding pictures on my computer so I resorted to this one. But I think it's a good picture. I really liked Seth's "Brigham Young beard".

I remember...Grandpa's subscription to National Geographic

Here's another remembrance of my grandpa Hoskins.

I can recall that whenever I went to my grandparents house, there was a stack of National Geographic magazines next to their couch. My grandpa would look through those magazines every day.

Thinking of this made me wonder about my grandpa. Did he simply enjoy reading about different cultures and lifestyles in various parts of the world, or did he desire to visit those locales. Perhaps because circumstances did not allow for world travel, he appeased his desire through experiencing the exotic places profiled in the magazine.

I guess in this lifetime I won't really know what was behind his love of that magazine. But when I see him again, it's one thing I would love to find out.

I remember...my dad's lunch box

I was thinking earlier today about my dad's old lunch box. I'm not sure what made me think of this but I haven't thought of it for a long time and I'm kind of surprised that such a mundane item made such an impression on me. But it did.

When I was younger, my dad packed his metal lunch box and took it to work every day. I have no idea what he packed because he abhors leftovers (much like myself). Nevertheless, I remember that lunch box sitting on the counter waiting for my dad to take it with him in the morning when he left for work.

I remember the lunch box being one of those old fashioned dome lunch boxes that are reminiscent of something a construction worker would take to work. I don't remember what color it was, but if I close my eyes, I can remember how the cool metal felt when you held it and the noise the handle made when you picked it up or set it down. Funny how the memory works.

So I've been wondering why I remember this and why it matters. Here's what I think:

The lunch box represents (to me) how hard working my parents are. From early on in my childhood, I have seen through their example the importance of hard work. Nothing was handed to my parents on a silver platter, they had to work hard for everything they now have. They had goals they had made for themselves and their family, then they did whatever it took to reach those goals.

When my parents built the house they are living in now, my dad worked his full-time job during the day, then a second job at night. My mom has told me how, through the years, managing money sometimes meant being creative with the bills and other expenses associated with raising 4 children. During the early years, my parents would take us out to eat once a month--McDonalds for an inexpensive Big Mac.

Thinking of my dad taking his lunch to work with him in that old box, reminds me how important it is to pray hard--then work hard. Just doing one in the equation doesn't work as well. They taught me that.

I hope I can show my children how important hard work is. Whether that means working hard in the home, the garden, at church, or at a job. Children notice those things, and learn from them.

Even if my parents had not told me verbally the importance of hard work (though they did), they showed me. And that has taught me more than any words ever could.

I remember...my birthday gift

Today was my 31st birthday.

It's funny how when you get older, the day seems less and less special. It's sad really how that happens.

I have never been one of those that feels bad on my birthday about aging. Who has time for that? I appreciate the years I have been given, every one. However, instead of a grand party like I may have had when I was five, I was home with the boys all day (with the exception of a quick trip to Walmart).

So, other than the phone calls from family and the million messages on facebook, the day was pretty ordinary. However, something so sweet happened that I wanted to use that as my memory for today.

I was in the bathroom getting ready for the day while the boys were in the other room playing together. I could hear Rylan talking to Aaden and playing with some uncooked Spaghetti noodles (don't ask). I started to pay attention to what Rylan was saying and I heard this:

"Okay, Aaden, this is mom's birthday surprise and when she comes out we yell 'SURPRISE!!', but it's a secret". It was so sweet that he thought of something like that all on his own.

So to give them a head's up, I hollered: "Okay, my make-up's done, I guess I'm ready to come out of the bathroom!"

When I walked into the front room Rylan yelled, "SURPRISE MOM! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" and they were both standing there grinning as wide as could be. Next to them, Rylan (I'm sure with plenty of unwanted help from his little brother) had arranged a design for me with the uncooked spaghetti noodles. It may have been the best birthday gift I have ever gotten.

Thanks my sweet babies.

I remember...blessing Rylan in a dress

Rylan with Grandpa Tubaugh
I figured I better write this down now because inevitably my son Rylan will ask me why on earth he got blessed in a dress and how I could do that do him. I know it's coming. But I feel justified in my answer so I'll share the reasoning.

First of all, it wasn't a dress. It was a "Christening Gown". You know what I mean. Those antique gowns that all babies wore for Christenings regardless of gender.

Now, my mother-in-law had her father's Christening gown and it is beautiful. Really beautiful. And this was Rylan's great-grandpa who is, from what I hear, an awesome awesome man. So when Elaine offered the gown to me to bless Rylan in, I jumped at the chance. I am such a sentimental person, especially when it come to family and lineage and all that.

So Rylan did in fact wear a beautiful dress at his blessing. He didn't seem to mind at the time. And even if he get's annoyed at me in the future, I feel I have a pretty good argument. It was such a special and unique thing to be able to do. So there it is.

I remember...Getting thrown by my dad

When I was younger my dad and mom would always tuck us in at night. Actually, they tucked us in at night pretty much all the way through high school.

Now getting "tucked in" morphed through the years (age appropriately) but began with the following routine: play (dad) /story (mom), covers up, kiss, and the habitual saying "Goodnight...sleep tight...don't let the bedbugs bite".

I remember this happening pretty much every night. And my parents could not escape the responsibility because if one of them didn't want to do it, Jon and I would continue to yell, "Mom/Dad, come tuck me in" every 3 minutes until they showed up to perform their duties.

As we got older, the routine began to change and items gradually started to drop off. Dad would stop playing with us (i.e. riling us up), we would read books to ourselves, and then the physical tuck-ins became rare. I'm talking about into high school though. But even then, it was a rare night when I didn't hear at bedtime a voice from mom and dad yelling: "'Night Diddy! Sleep Tight!" It was very comforting and I actually had forgotten about that until I started writing this.

Anyway, this post is specifically about the "play" responsibility that dad had with us. I'm not sure if this was done with Keri and Jamie as I only remember Jon being there. But I'm almost positive they lived through the same experiences.

When dad would come to our bedtime play, his arsenal of fun included two items:

1. Tickle them until they cry and beg for mercy.
2. Throw them onto their beds from such a distance that bathroom breaks
were needed regularly.

So the first one: When my dad tickled, it hurt. Bad. But you couldn't help but laugh. Which egged him on. So he did it more. And it hurt more. Bad. He had this insane knack for getting one of his fingers right between the ribs and jabbing at it. Seriously, we were laughing, crying, and begging him to stop all at the same time. Then when he'd stop, we'd beg for more. It was craziness. I simultaneously cringe and laugh whenever I think of it.

Number 2: This is the one I was thinking about earlier today that inspired this whole post. Dad would pick us up and stand near the bed. He would repeat the phrase: "One for the money, Two for the show, Three to get ready, and Four to GOOOOO!" The whole time he was swinging us back and forth and at "GOOOO" he would let go and we would go whizzing through the air and land on our bed, bounce about 5 times from the impact, then instantly stand up to go again.

Man, that was so much fun. I kinda wish I could do it again. I'm sure that my muscular Seth could actually do it, but it could never recreate the feeling I had with dad doing it. As a kid, it just felt like you were flying so far for so long, and of course we really weren't.

Ahhh, I loved those before bed rituals.

P.S. I know the picture of my dad has nothing to do with putting children to bed or playing with him but I included it because: a. It is a hilarious picture of him. b. this is how I remember him during the earlier times of this memory, so I thought it would work.

I remember...witnessing a miracle of nature

Now, that title might seem a bit extreme as you read on. But as I was experiencing it, it truly was a miracle. That 2 minutes in time that I just happened to be outside and watched it all happen--that was a miracle.

It all started when we were doing some much needed yard work. There is a bush on the side of our house that needed to be trimmed extensively. So my husband got his electric hedge trimmer out and started trimming down, taking off about 2 feet from the top and 1/2 a foot from each side.

When he got done, he called me to come over and take a look at what he had found. I peered into the branches and saw a small birds nest with the tiniest little sweet birds I have ever seen. Just so small. They couldn't open their eyes yet but if the nest got jostled just the littlest bit, those little sweeties would stretch their neck as high as could be and open their beaks expecting that movement surely meant mom was home with some yummy treats.

Oh, those birds held such a soft spot in my heart for the next few days. We discovered that they were Cardinals as there were two protective cardinals taking turns at the nest.

Every morning, I would sneak out the house and peak on them. Then at night when the kids went to bed, I'd go say my goodnights. Every time I saw them, they were different. First their eyes open, then their feathers, then the chirping. Only a few short days and they already seemed so big.

The next day was a frazzled one for me. The two boys were rambunctious, the house was a mess that I just could not keep up on, and I was studying for a pretty intense final. By the time the kids were in bed, I thought I should keep studying, but I knew I needed a little break. My first thought was to lay down on the couch and watch some meaningless TV show that required no mental thought from my end.

But then the thought occurred to me that I hadn't been outside once today. Not even to get the mail. It's hard to believe a person could do that, but it does in fact happen. So I picked my body up off the comfortable and tempting couch and I walked outside.

Aaaahhhhh. Instantly, I was glad to be outside and smell "real" air. I walked over to see my little birdies and say hello. When I looked in the nest, they were gone. My heart sank so low. My first morbid thought was that they had fallen out of the tree. They were soooo tiny and just barely got their feathers like 2 seconds ago.

So for five minutes I looked everywhere around that tree and to my relief, found no injured baby birds.

Nevertheless, my babies were gone. They had given me such happiness every day for the last 4 days. How could I ever live without them? They were special.

So in my melancholy state I walked towards the back of our house and sat in a rocking chair under our big (and I mean big) Oak tree. After about 30 seconds of sitting there feeling sorry for myself, I heard a bunch of chirping noise. It sounded like their was a bird war going on right above my head.

When I looked up to see the commotion, I couldn't really believe what I was seeing. There were two adult red cardinals chirping (barking really) at this squirrel. I didn't intervene at all. I really wanted to watch as nature took its course. The squirrel was frozen. The cardinals just kept up their crazy assault until the squirrel ran away and even then, one of the birds flew after him.

I knew there was only one reason for those birds to be acting like that. They had their babies close. Sure enough, I looked down towards the base of the tree and one puny bird with barely any feathers on him was clinging to that tree. He gave a little "yip" and I watched as the first Cardinal flew right to him. A few seconds later, the second adult cardinal came.

One Cardinal started chirping at the baby and it was like watching a mother tell her child all he needed to know. After she "talked" to him, she flew about 3 feet away and then right back and got in his face and chirped a bit more. Then she flew that same 3 feet and waited. The tiny bird did just what his mom wanted him to and he worked those fuzzy miniature wings so hard and he traveled that 3 feet. The whole time the second cardinal was watching from a distance.

The little bird got excited and kept flying in short bursts across the neighbors lawn and then flew up into a tree. The parent birds flew in right behind him. I was so proud at that moment.

Now, many may read this story and think, "so what, you saw a bird learn to fly". But it was so much more than that to me. It really touched home on such a personal level. And I cannot even pinpoint what has influenced me the most about this. But here are some of my thoughts.

1. If I would have laid on my couch to watch reruns of ghost whisperer, I would have missed the whole thing entirely.

2. If I would have walked outside and just sat without paying any attention to my surroundings, I would have missed that opportunity to see what I did.

3. There was something about the whole experience that just touches me so deeply. I think it's the whole natural process of things. The way those cardinals built a perfect little nest and then laid the perfect little eggs. How they watched over them until they were born. How one would look for food while the other protected the nest. How when they KNEW they were ready, they took them out and taught them, showed them, and finally, let them go on their own. But even then, after the little guys wings were working pretty good, they all left as a family into a new tree. The whole experience spoke directly to my heart, especially as a mother. I think that's the goal as a mother. Teach the children what to do, show them how to do it, and trust that they will, having faith that those birdies will fly---even if it takes a few tries.

I remember...getting a new Easter dress every year

When I was a little girl, my mom made me and my sisters a new dress for Easter every year. My mother is such a good seamstress and every year I looked forward to my new dress.

I was a pretty typical little girl. I loved to wear pretty dresses. I even wore them to school.

But unlike my sisters, I usually also got an Easter Bonnet. I know I’m not wearing one in this picture, but almost every year my mom would get me a bonnet that matched my dress.

I remember we hung the bonnets up in my “corner” of the room (a story for a different night, I promise) and so the wall had a bunch of hats hanging up.

That was so much fun. I’m not sure how old I was when that tradition ended but the memory always makes me smile.

I remember...Rylan's Static Hair

Earlier this spring when the weather was MUCH more bearable than it is now, one of our daily activities was to go to parks in the afternoon. The kids loved it and would wear them out so they would sleep well. It was definitely a win-win situation.

There are a few parks we’ve fallen in love with this year. My very favorite park is in Montrose, right along the Mississippi River (and I mean it’s right there). I also love the view. Nauvoo is seated just across the river. And the Temple just sits and almost beckons you.

The park is so pretty and quiet and its also clean which is important for me when it comes to a park. The only drawback about taking the kids here, is that Aaden is about 6 months short from doing just about everything there except for the swings. And he does love to swing, but let’s face it, a person can only swing for so long.

So we went in search of a new favorite play park. We found it in Nauvoo. It isn’t a huge fancy place, but both Aaden and Rylan can climb the stairs and both can go down the slides. They have a lot of fun there. Also its usually quiet.

So my favorite memory regarding our park travels this spring occurred in this park in Nauvoo. Now if you’ve met my son, I’m sure one of your first thoughts went along the lines of, “wow, look at that hair”. And that’s cool. I for one love his long straight crazy hair. I’ve tried cutting and styling it every way I can think of but it just does its own thing in the end.

Well one day we were playing and Rylan went down the “twirly” slide (named by Rylan). I was at the bottom watching him come down and when I saw him at the bottom, I almost died laughing. It was the funniest thing. There must have been a huge amount of static electricity that day because every single hair on his head (so 5 billion) was sticking straight out and up. I couldn’t stop laughing. Finally, when I had composed myself, I did what any mother would do—run to her truck to grab the camera!

I tried to recreate the experience for my photo shoot but none of them ever were quite the same. We did come close. We all had so much fun that day. Aaden even loved the twirly slide that day. I miss those warm summer days. Hopefully, fall afternoons are on their way and those are even better!

I remember...making cucumber boats and floating them down the ditch

The last few years my father-in-law has grown a beautiful garden. The other day they came to visit and brought a huge basket of veggies. Among the harvest were some huge cucumbers. It made me think of the times I made cucumber and zucchini boats with my grandparents (Hoskins) during the summers when they grew a little too big to eat.

My grandparents had a small irrigation ditch running in front of their home and it was so much fun to wade and play in as a child. The water was always cool and clear.

Grandma would pick huge cucumbers and hollow them out then make little “sails” with toothpicks.

We would stand at the tiny bridge and start the boats going then see whose could go faster. What a creative idea.

So in honor of that fun memory, tonight I hollowed out one of my big cucumbers and told my boys we were making a “boat”. Since we have no ditch like grandma, the bathtub had to fill in. They had a ball, just like I always did.

I remember...after the birth of Aaden--I never slept again

Written July 26, 2010

I remember...after Aaden was born I never slept again.

To preface this post, let me say that when Rylan was a baby, he slept through the night at 2 months and almost never cried. So my idea of taking care of a newborn was skewed in the wrong direction a little.

I sort of assumed Aaden would be some sort of carbon copy of Rylan. Soon after he was born, I knew we didn't have another Rylan. This little sweetie cried so loud and persistently that we could hear him crying even when he was in the nursery of the hospital.

After the pediatrician checked him the day he was born he came in and said to us, "Wow, that boy's a bruiser". He definitely wanted to be heard.

But he was so squishy and sweet and I didn't care if he cried a bit. I spoiled him the first three months without apology and I loved every second of it.

Anyhow, Aaden liked to eat. He liked to eat A LOT. Jamie told me that since I had a 9 pound baby it would take a lot of eating just to MAINTAIN, let alone grow. So my body went into overdrive producing what he needed. The first few months I just let him sleep in his swing and I slept on the couch (and I'm being liberal when I say 'slept').

By about 2 months, I thought we should transfer into the bedroom (the thought of sleeping on my own bed sounded so divine). He slept in a pack and play in the bedroom. Most nights however, he woke up so often to eat that I eventually just laid him in bed with me and we slept there together (Seth was working nights). That way, he could eat whenever he wanted, and I could lay down and rest.

When we were ready to be done with that, we finally moved Aaden into his crib in his own room. I think this was about 3 or 4 months. At about that time, he would only wake up once in the night to be fed. I remember many nights trudging across the hall into his room and groggily nursing him, cuddling a bit, then laying him back down. This routine continued for some time.

Every month I would tell myself, "next month, he'll surely be sleeping through the night" and then another month would come and go and he was still waking up. At his 6 month check-up, the pediatrician couldn't believe he still wasn't sleeping through the night so he gave me information to read on how to stop this insanity. Mostly it consisted of laying him down in bed, leaving, and never going back. Harsh. I hate to let a baby cry. So I put it off for a while but I was finally so desperate that I tried it.

Now, before this point, even getting him to fall asleep was a significant challenge. He would fall asleep in his swing just fine, but the only other way to get him to sleep was to drive. So there were many, many, many nights we got frustrated trying to get him to sleep so I would load him into the truck and 10 minutes later he was asleep. In those cases, I just took the carseat in and let him sleep there. We were flexible--whatever worked was OK by me!

During the day, I usually loaded both of the kids in the truck and went for drives specifically to get Aaden to take a nap. Sometimes I did this twice a day.

It's amazing how being a parent who is sleep-deprived will do nearly anything to get that baby to just go to sleep. I remember telling a friend that if I could just get a full night's sleep I would never ever complain about anything ever again. It is just that horrible to be that sleep deprived with seemingly no hope in sight.

So when at 9 months he slept through the night, I literally jumped for joy. Ever since then, he falls asleep for his naps and at naptime just fine with just a hug and kiss.

Now that the lack-of-sleep experience is over, I can actually think back about it and smile. It really was hard, but it gave me a chance to bond with Aaden. I got a little extra time alone with him in the night when things were quiet in the house. During those times each night, I would hold him, tough his skin, kiss his fingers, breathe in his scent (which is pure heaven), and just hold him close. Those moments were so special and I actually did love them at the time. I just didn't love being so tired. But besides the lack of sleep the first year, he really has been such a sweet addition to our family. I love kissing his chubby cheeks and making him smile. So even though I'll remember these things fondly, I am thankful it's over.

I remember...

Memory #2
Written July 24, 2010

I remember...when my grandpa Hoskins saved me from a vicious beast.

When I was in kindergarten I would stay the mornings with my grandma and grandpa Hoskins. My kindergarten class met in the afternoons. So after lunch, I would walk the half block to the elementary school. After school, I would either walk home (a half block in the other direction) or head back to grandma and grandpa's house.

One day after school, I was walking to grandma's house. I got about 20 feet away from their house and a little white yipper dog ran up to me and started barking at me.

Now, they say that when you are faced in a situation as dire as this one, your body will institute either a "fight" or "flight" response. I have found this has rarely been the case with me--thus illustrated in this situation.

When that dumb little dog started barking at me, I froze and went completely blank. My little five year old mind could not understand how a person could ever survive a situation such as this.

Luckily, grandpa was out working in his garden. He yelled over at me, "Dolly, just walk right past him, he won't do nothin'". In my terror I stayed frozen. Unable to even verbalize a response. Again, grandpa beckoned me, promising the dog was no threat. Again, I stayed frozen.

Finally, grandpa walked over and picked me up. He carried me to the safety of the house and gave me a Rolaid from his pocket (a common piece of "candy" from grandpa).

I'm sure grandpa never gave a second thought to his small act of heroism that day. However, looking out the window later that day, sucking on my mint flavored Rolaid, I could not help but adore and love my grandpa for saving my life.

Project: "I Remember..."

Okay, so here is the thing. I truly believe that journaling is important. I always have. I do not know if it is from being taught in primary, young women’s, etc. that everyone should journal; or if it is perhaps some sort of deeper personal belief. Nevertheless, I have always felt the need to journal.

At some times in my life, I have. For the majority of my years, however, I haven’t made the time. Following those periods, I have then felt the severe guilt at never keeping up. In fact, many of my journal entries begin with, “I know it has been a long time since I wrote…”, and then the next several pages are filled with detailed and boring information in an effort to “catch up”.
I think the problem is this: I love to write (not that I pretend to think I am any good at it), but I hate monotony. I have never been good at anything I have to do every day.

So I have had this epiphany, so to speak, that instead of feeling the need to sit down at the end of every day and write down everything I did that day, and everything I felt, I am going to simply write about a memory from my life. Maybe it will be a recent one, perhaps an old one (I am 30 after all, some of my memories are so old-hee hee).

The idea came partly from my awesome mother and partly from the lame but addicting TV show “The Ghost Whisperer” (yes, I just threw up a little after having admitted that).

You see, I think there is a reason we remember what we do. I, for one, have an absolutely horrid memory. My grandma Betty, my dad, and my sister Keri have the ability to remember every minute detail of what seems like random, unimportant things. Oh, I wish I could do that. I literally tear myself up inside thinking that I will forget my memories.

I know some things I can never forget, such as the smell of my grandma Hoskins house, (i.e. yeasty, warm rolls) , or the way my grandpa Bill gives hugs (i.e. pounds your back in a way that has on more than one occasion LITERALLY taken my breath away). Those things are the most important, I understand. But I do not want to forget little details, like the cute things Rylan says or the over-abundant goody-bags grandma Betty makes for me and my children whenever we drive from Utah to Iowa.

Sure, maybe those things are not that important to some people, but they are to me. Those are the moments that make up my life. And if I do not write them down, I know I will forget many of them. That breaks my heart.

I really want to have something written so that someday my children, grandchildren, or whoever is interested, can sit down and read my thoughts in an effort to really know me. To know how the things I experienced in life affected me. Because to know that, is to understand who I truly am. What I would give to go into the minds of my grandparents, parents, or siblings to see the world the way they have.

Perhaps no one will read this, and that is okay too. Because I know someday, I will. And I will be thankful I recorded these things.

Not all experiences will be good, but I think those bad experiences are just as important to remember as the good, so that we can remember the lessons we learned from them.
So I am making a goal to try and write down one memory a day. I cannot make any promises as to the accuracy (aforementioned memory problem), but I will record these experiences the way they exist in my heart.

I hope you enjoy my life. I have.



Memory #1
Written July 23, 2010

I remember…The day I was born. Just kidding, I don’t remember that.

Okay, now I’ll be serious. I remember… going horseback riding with Jon, Alyssa, Keri, and Seth. Yes, I admit, I am choosing a memory from 2 weeks ago. Pathetic. But I had to start somewhere and it is something I want to remember so there you go.
It all started one night when I got a call from my brother Jon. You have to understand, I NEVER get calls from my brother Jon. And I have to tell you, when I hear his voice on the phone, it makes me miss him so much. I have grown to love Jon deeply over the past few years. I cannot even say when our relationship changed from “I hate my annoying sibling” to “I would do anything for that man”.

Anyway, Jon called me one night. Seth was at work and I was home watching television. When I picked up the phone, Jon asked me if Seth and I wanted to go horseback riding in Logan Canyon through Beaver Creek Lodge. Instantly the idea got me so excited. Two seconds later I knew we could not afford it. I have been staying home with our babies for almost two years and the lack of two incomes has finally caught up to us.

Because I could not bear to tell my brother I could not go because of something as dumb as money, I told him I would talk to Seth and call him back. I got off the phone and cried for some time before working up the energy to call Seth. I told him he would have to call Jon to tell him we could not go. I could not bring myself to do it. It seems silly now at how hard this was, but at the time I was really torn up.

Seth called Jon later that night from work and Jon told him “Don’t worry, you are going. We’ll take care of it”. Man, even now I’m starting to bawl about it. Anyway, when Seth told me that, I felt really bad at first. Like a failure, if I’m completely honest. It was really hard for me to accept Jon and Alyssa’s gift. My dumb pride. But in the end, we did accept their gift and I am so thankful we did.

I know money is often a taboo topic to speak of, especially in my family. I know it may be inappropriate to write all of this, and hopefully it does not bother Jon and Alyssa, but their generosity really touched me. They gave me the opportunity to experience a wonderful day, with a few of my favorite people, in one of my favorite places on this earth—-the mountains.

The trip started with us running late, and me feeling all anxious inside (thanks to the Brad Burr genes) about the thought of being 3 minutes late. Jon drove and I thought for sure I would get sick (no offense Jon) but surprisingly, I didn’t.

What made me sick, was when I first got on the horse. Seriously. It was so high up there I got nervous and a little dizzy at first. Although this was not my first experience with horseback riding, it had been a long enough time that I had forgotten how big they are.

The dizziness passed soon enough and it was so fun to see the five of us set out on our 3 hour journey up the mountainside.

The view was breathtaking the entire time. I grew up around these same mountains, gone camping in them countless times. But it is amazing how you never really get used to the raw beauty and majesty of them. I told my mom they made you feel “appropriately small” and I do not simply mean physically.

We rode the horses up and each of us got our fair share of close encounters of the “tree” kind, but we all fared all right. There was a moment of terror for me at the top of the mountain when our horses were led to a watering hole and the guide explained how to prevent our horses from rolling in the water with us still attached. Luckily, my horse maverick wasn’t thirsty.

My favorite part of the journey was at the top when we were traveling through a meadow. At this particular point you could look out at the mountain ranges in the distance and it felt as though we were looking at a picture or watching it in a movie. Real life couldn’t look and feel like this, could it?

Traveling down the mountain was a little frightening but we made it. I was a little tense about the chance of seeing a bear (one of my worst fears and a constant companion in my nightmares) or a mountain lion. Interestingly, the only thing I saw was a squirrel. Really, a squirrel? I could walk out at any point in time from my house in Iowa and see a squirrel. They are everywhere. But our lack of wildlife visualization was okay since two days later Seth and I saw 4 moose while traveling through the same canyon.

So the trip ended, and I have to say, sitting on a horse for three straight hours is not easy. My knees were so fixed into their position that I could not get off my horse. I honestly could not. So my big hunk of a husband came and just lifted me off. Just like it was nothing. Of course, my knees were locked into position so I was curled into a ball until he helped me to stand. Thank goodness for my corn-fed Iowa love.

After the ride we went to LeBeau’s near bear lake where Alyssa reported that this was the best part of the day. Really, the whole day was perfect in my mind and the more I think about it, the more I love the experience.

Here are the things I learned from this experience:
1. I actually like horseback riding.
2. My brother Jon is a good man (and if it’s not too creepy to say—he has also turned into a hotty somehow).
3. My sister Keri owns a cute cowgirl hat.
4. Alyssa has the knack for choosing a slow horse with gastrointestinal issues.
5. I will never stop feeling an overwhelming awe when in the mountains.
6. I can count on my family whenever I need them, even if I feel undeserving.