Moments

"Let's go see the most glorious thing in the world!"
(the pear trees in blossom at the school)

Rounded up cattle all day Saturday on horseback
Thinks, dreams, wears, and talks Aggie
Eats

Shrankie, inunciator, attacker, HUG MEE!

"What if instead of boys voices' changing, their face changed?  And what if in the middle of speaking in church it happened?"

Smiler, giggler, patient, soft fingers, almost roller, heart-melter, but not sleeper!

How do you capture forever?  

Remember . . .Winter/Spring 2012

Meeting Rachael

The way two boy footprints look in the snow, going towards school

A white princess dress and "oh they say when you marry in June"

"Peez hug meeee"

Basketball dunk it hoop it clothes

A drive to the Tremonton hospital, the billboards, and feelings of eternity

 Savoring the last of the baby kicks on the inside--not wanting to forget them

Making it to an 8:00 am Jr.Jazz game--Roosters incredible court skills and H's tenacious D and view of the game

Almost making it to 1:00pm church!

Baby fingers on the outside and cuddling the "question mark"

Hyrum and Jared saying the best thing about this Christmas was Rachael . . . (I worried that our sweet Rae might have messed it up a bit)

Favorite stories: Duck on a Bike, Pete the Cat, Kevin Henkes, Tasha Tudor, Big Pumpkin, Pinkalicious, One Morning in Maine, and lots more

Emma showing her sister the pink peach blossoms and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Jogging with the kids through Bear River one spring evening

Good days

Bike riding boys

Neighborhood soccer games in the back yard and all those crazy kids . . .

Watching Farmboy and H work in the garden

Rae and Chris on blessing day

Rachael's brilliant sparkle and a blessing of joy

Hyrum watching the Joseph Smith movie in SLC
Looking over the Salt Lake Valley from the Church Office Building

Catching Jared and Rachael's quiet moments

Hyrum's talk in Sacrament Meeting and his testimony

Alma 57:27, Mosiah 2:17, 2 Nephi 9:52, 1 Nephi 3:7, 1 Nephi 8:15, Alma 53:21-21, Moses 1:39



I knew their stories--the classmates that I idolized. They weren't the cheerleaders or the Homecoming queens or the jocks. They looked and acted and lived completely normal teenage lives, but one trait fascinated me . . . they were the farmkids.

I remember being mesmerized by one friend's explanation of how her brother cleaned the cows' udders prior to milking. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and we were eating lunch under an ancient sycamore in the school yard of old North Cache.

The ripe peach she held in her hand brought images to my mind of her family's kitchen, where her mother was probably standing at that very moment, wrapped in a vintagey apron and bottling those same fuzzy, warm, juicy fruits. I remember one friend talking about how he milked in the morning and talked to the cows about his future--mostly about his mission. I could picture the dark, moonless morning and the steam rising off the cows. I could hear their bauls and snorts, and I could smell the hot and cold and sweet and stink of the milk barn. In my adolescent mind, I determined that this was the life. . .

Well, THIS IS MY LIFE!!!
In patient moments I realize I'm living a dream. In not so patient moments I wonder what I was thinking . . . I'd never smelled the stench of afterbirth on overalls, seen the lifeless form of a newborn calf, wet and forgotten in the straw. I didn't know that my bathroom would one day resemble a bottle making, grease washing, manure laden haven of wet boots and stinky coveralls. I didn't know the dizzying monontony of harvest or baling or swathing.

Then again, I'd never known what it was to be all alone, nothing and no one for miles but the quiet drum of an occasional airplane. I hadn't seen the milky harvest moon rise heavy and bright over the Promontory wheat fields. I hadn't fought off the mosquitos and mud during the summer night irrigation turns. I didn't know the companionship of the stalwart horse, steady and sure under my saddle. I'd never walked over charred and smoky ground, watching the junipers explode into flames, nervous and safe at the same time. I'd never watched the sunset on Susie's View, or seen the million stars of the Milky Way twinkling in the icy November water troughs. Thanks to Farmboy, that world I dreamed of came true. . . Thanks also to Farmboy, we now have a couple of baby calves whose moms forgot to take care of them. This is our newest adventure!!!

Feeding the motherless calves for the first time is a little nervous . . .









But it's also pretty fun . . .

Sometimes they fight over one bottle, or try to eat each other. . . Hello Flint and Sassy

Farm kids are still my favorite!!!

What we do . . .

Summertime begins with the cows, ends with the cows, and is full of cows.

While some families welcome the season of sun with pool parties, we welcome the long days with one of the longest of all . . . the day we work the cows (working cows means branding, immunizing, casterating, sweating, and tagging).

It is a long, dusty, dirty way to herald the sun . . .

Rowdy children

But summertime also means lots of time outside . . .

Popscicles

Swimming lessons

Bike riding

Late nights

Dinner on the deck

Vacations

Betty and Bego (boating and camping)

Bear lake trips, nights in Promontory

Porch sitting

Hugs and luvs and laughs--welcoming back cousins, tears when we say goodbye . . . again

The Fair

Playing--from early morning til late at night

How nice to have the summer . . .

Princess Emmy Annie

Frankie and Jocey

To add one more . . .

To Add One More . . .

"Are you and your husband planning on having any more children?" the kind, well-meaning doctor asked. I blushed, as I always do. This question is one I never know how to answer. Most of the time the phrase NOYB comes to mind, but I couldn't very well use that on the good professional just trying to do his job.

I looked down at the frazzled and fluffy blonde head and sparkly blue eyes flahing back at me. She reached out a chubby two-year-old hand and through clenched teeth, "lovingly" squeezed our sweet 4-month old's soft cheeks. He gooed and smiled back at the girl who loves him by pinching his nose while covering his mouth, squeezing his tummy, and pulling his soft fingers back and forth. I thought of the two big boys in school--the six-year-old athlete who spends hidden moments talking softly and loving this newest baby. He told me after one particularly long post-partem day filled with more needs than I could meet that he wished we could always have a baby. In that instant gratitude filled my exhausted soul--gratitude that Heavenly Father's plan of families includes perfect love. I thought of the eight-year-old, in many ways mature beyond his years. More often than not, he pulls the weight of example and makes us happy and humbled at his wisdom. Thankfully, though, he's full of little boy innocence and energy and an unrivaled patience and love for his brothers and sister. I thought of the little one, just finnishing up his check-up. I remembered the holiness the sterile hospital room took on as he entered mortality and our lives. His easy-going attitude and crooked grin fit perfectly into our family. My mind turned again to the man they call D-D-Dadeo and of his sacrifices so we can be comfortable. I contemplated how the years have flown my and how full they are of happy memories.

I don't know what the future brings. What I do know is how happy I am to have added one more, how grateful I am to his siblings for their acceptance of him, and how even though we're exhausted and looking forward to sleeping again, how nice those little baby fingers feel as they brush my cheek, and how warm and soft his cheeks are against mine.

Oh, so Pretty!

Grasshoppers bounced off the front of the Polaris Ranger as we bounded down the dusty ranch roads. We tried not too smile too much--those grasshoppers landed just about anywhere! But we were having fun. Just the five of us, a family, enjoying the coveted family moments that come by sacrifice and disappear in blinks. The summer evening cooled us, the still green hills softened the hazy landscapes of cedar and sage, and the giggles and questions from the kids made us smile. And then the Ranger died. Completely. Michael and I tried to heave it up the hill so we could coast as far as possible before we had to walk, but we try as we might, the Ranger stayed put. Nearly two miles from the house, and with night approaching, two boys started asking frantic questions and exchanging worried glances. After a couple more futile attempst, Michael turned and said, "well, boys, lets start running!"
Run they did, a long set of man legs and two sets of boy legs. They ran down the mountain towards the house. They promised to return as soon as possible, but the mosquitos started biting and Emma and I started itching. The sun disappeared behind the hills, and a rosy shadow fell like a fog. I lifted the soft baby-ish, but growing up too fast, girl onto my shoulders and we started to walk. The sky became a glowing masterpiece of summerish oranges, reds, pinks, blues, and puffy cream clouds. A chubby cheek leaned down and smooshed mine. "Hi Mom," she said. The next instant she almost leaned all the way out of my arms, pointing to a clump of Indian Paintbrush, and in ecstacy said, "Oh! So pretty!" I stopped, noticing and acknowledging her find. We continued on, my heart happy with the perfect scene unfolding. Yet, we had a couple of miles more to go, and it wasn't getting any lighter. Then, no more than two steps later, she lunged at another clump of flowers--this time Bluebells, and exclaimed the same "Oh! So pretty!" After a few more "pretty" finds, I realized the next two miles would probably take a long time. I set her down on the ground, she put her chubby hand in mine, and we continued on, one or two steps at a time, before she found the next "Oh, so pretty!" and we talked about it. The sky continued it's sunset's granduer, each moment prettier than before, and we made time to enjoy it.
Soon, a flashing light from the shop truck heralded us--our rescuers had returned. Three sweaty boys made room for us, and before we knew it, we were back home, clean and mosquito free. But we had seen so many "Oh, so pretty's" and the dust and mosquitos hadn't overwhelmed us. Still, it was nice to back with the boys.
I learned a lesson that evening. We had started out on a good family adventure--one that was worthy and righteous. And then we hit a bump--a big bump for us at that moment. We had to change our plans--our future wasn't to be what we had planned or intended it to be. More effort and different roads had to be taken. But if we hadn't hit the bump, I would haved missed all of the "oh, so pretty's". In the end, not only were we safe and happy and together, but Emma and I had experienced beauty beyond description, and my soul was sanctified. Sure, the mosquitos had bit us, my feet and pregnant body were tired, and we were covered in dust, but all was right with the world, and better than it would have been otherwise.
So, as the past few months have passed, I've remembered this lesson. More appropriatly I've realized yet another tender mercy from a Heavenly Father that knows all, loves perfectly, and desires to bless us with all He has. Sanctification doesn't come from figuring out what will make us happy and doing it our way, but from humbling our wills and trying to put them in accordance with His will. And, as we do this, our paths will be covered with bounteous moments of "Oh, so Pretty!"

The stuffy, dark biology lab room sweltered in the August afternoon heat. Left over smells of last years' formaldehyde and the dust on the top shelves added to the staleness, leaving all present, including the grad TA, happy for the excuse to collect soil samples from outside. Everyone lingered under the shady Ginko tree, not hastening their return to the lab. All too soon, one by one, students filtered back in, carrying dusty vials full of campus dirt. But a tall farmboy still crouched under the tree, talking to the girl in a ponytail and tennis shoes. Their conversation soon turned from lab topics to life topics, and they became fast friends. Over the course of the semester, they worked on soil projects together, he learned she had tennis class right before lab, and she learned he loved to farm. Summer soon turned to autumn, the Ginko's golden trees danced in the cool breezes. Soon the lab's dinginess was replaced with anticipation of finals and Winter Break. The Farmboy anticipated home, farm work, and family. The Girl welcomed the calmness of home in comparison to the social madness of the life of a college co-ed.

Winter semester at USU started again--cold, wind, more cold, more wind, and more cold. Snow fell and ice froze the old windows in the Ag Science building shut. Outside winter raged like only it can in Logan, but inside the humid heat of the old building, a glow started in the heart of the farmboy and girl with the ponytail. Together they laughed over Dr. Thomas' disregard of Farmboy's wealth of knowledge by experience and the girl's blatant brown-nosing. One afternoon Farmboy asked the girl for a date that night. She hurried home in a mad frenzy, eager to get something new to wear!

And that first date--so different from akward first dates of their pasts. Kindred spirits from before, perhaps long before, their conversations flowed from drills, to siblings, and a common dislike for "Mormon rock.". . .

Memories of the first moments of our relationship warm my heart to the core. I could fill volumes about those good times. How soon those first moments have become fond memories. And now, ten years later, my heart grows more every day for that tall farmboy under the Ginko tree. He became my best friend, my husband, father to the three greatest kids in the world, provider, protector, and presider of our home--a kindred spirit from all eternity and for all eternity. This post is begining to sound like a "coolest husband" contest. I don't mean it to. Because there is no contest--he is the coolest husband. Happy nine years to us!