11 Temmuz 2012 Çarşamba
10 Temmuz 2012 Salı
8 Temmuz 2012 Pazar
Remembering
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The day came without any warning.
When I opened my mailbox, I felt a sudden exhilaration. I had no idea it was coming! I couldn't believe it had arrived with so little fanfare.
It seemed like there should have been a huge bunch of balloons floating above my mailbox, colorful streamers decorating the post, perhaps even some confetti cannons set to go off when the mailbox was opened.
My first published writing. It brought an indescribable happiness to my heart as I flipped open the publication and saw the title, Remembering, followed by my name.
I read through it once again, proud of the work it had taken to transform my story into words that went into even more detail to describe what I had endured in my younger years. I remembered the pain that resurfaced as I recalled the things I had gone through - and the difficulty in adding memories that I was fine with forgetting.
I looked to the table of contents. There I was again.
What an awesome feeling of accomplishment!
Would you like to see what I wrote? It's not a funny story. It's not witty or clever. But it's MY story - a huge part of the story of me.
Tomorrow I will link to my original essay and show you what it became with the help of an editor. I'd love to hear what you think.
The day came without any warning.
When I opened my mailbox, I felt a sudden exhilaration. I had no idea it was coming! I couldn't believe it had arrived with so little fanfare.
It seemed like there should have been a huge bunch of balloons floating above my mailbox, colorful streamers decorating the post, perhaps even some confetti cannons set to go off when the mailbox was opened.
My first published writing. It brought an indescribable happiness to my heart as I flipped open the publication and saw the title, Remembering, followed by my name.
I read through it once again, proud of the work it had taken to transform my story into words that went into even more detail to describe what I had endured in my younger years. I remembered the pain that resurfaced as I recalled the things I had gone through - and the difficulty in adding memories that I was fine with forgetting.
I looked to the table of contents. There I was again.
What an awesome feeling of accomplishment!
Would you like to see what I wrote? It's not a funny story. It's not witty or clever. But it's MY story - a huge part of the story of me.
Tomorrow I will link to my original essay and show you what it became with the help of an editor. I'd love to hear what you think.
Bullies
To contact us Click HERE
pic here
I wrote an essay here on my blog a long while back called Nobody Wins. It is a small part of the story of the bullying I endured from elementary school through my early teenage years. My friend CW shared a call for stories on the topic of Justice and Mercy in a literary publication called Segullah and this essay immediately came to mind. On a whim I decided to submit it for consideration. I cut and pasted it from my blog, made a few adjustments and sent it in. I had forgotten about it when I received an email from Segullah letting me know that my essay was accepted as a part of their Spring/Summer 2012 issue.
I was speechless. Having something I wrote published somewhere besides my blog was a dream come true! I worked with a great editor who asked me lots of tough questions and brought out more detail in the big picture of the story. There were times that I wanted to quit writing because the memories of being bullied were terrible to endure again. However - if you know me, you'll know I'm not a quitter. And I don't like to do things halfway. And I didn't want the bullies to win.
So, here's my story - all of it. I hope that no one I know has ever had to endure such pain. If you take the time to read the whole thing, I'd love to hear what you think.
Many, many thanks to Segullah for helping me with the editing process and making one of my dreams come true.
***
Remembering
I stood at the sink watching my kids play flag football withthe neighborhood kids. It was a warmsummer day, and a welcome breeze wafted through the kitchen window along withthe kids’ banter. My enjoyment of thescene suddenly turned to shock, however, when one boy yelled at my oldest son,Allen, “You’re such a STUPID sissy! You can’t even catch a ball! We don’t want you on our team.” He pushed my son and shouted, “LEAVE, you bigIDIOT!” Allen made it to our back stepsbefore he let the tears come.
I couldn’t breathe. My head clouded and my heart ached as painful memories bombarded me,overwhelming me with almost-forgotten sadness, hurt and anger. I stormed out my back door and yelled at theboy, “What right do YOU have to kick Allen out of the game? You are playing in his yard! I will nottolerate any form of bullying orname-calling here. You are never welcome to set foot in our yardagain! YOU leave!” The boycontinued to stand there and look at me with a smirk on his face.
This added fuel to my already burning fire. “If you do notremove yourself from our property NOW then I will call the police and have themremove you! LEAVE!” It was not my proudest moment. But the boy did finally leave, while all ofthe neighborhood kids stared at me in amazement—or was it fear? Feeling my own tears coming, I quicklyescaped into the house and locked myself in my room. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just clear the events of thepast from my mind? It disturbed me thatthese memories still evoked such strong emotions, tethering me to theinsecurities of my younger self.
***
When I was in the sixth grade a small group of girls foundme in my reading corner during lunch. "You better look out after school,Helicopter Head," they taunted me, using the cruel nickname they gifted meon the first day of school, mocking the braided ponytails I wore soproudly. I will never forget the words one of them spoke. "Haddas is going to wail on you for bagging on her."
Haddas? The two of ushad never even spoken to each other. Shewas a tall, gangly girl with the kind of hair and face that left you wonderingabout her gender. Like me, she was quietand kept to herself. I hadn’t evernoticed her until a few months earlier when I watched the bullies targether. I was sitting on a corner of thebleachers by the baseball fields when I saw her enter the schoolyard gate. A light fog still lingered over the grass. She was carrying a plastic bag in one handand a backpack over her shoulders. Thegroup of girls who liked to torment me stopped twirling on the bars and walkedtowards her. She tried to change hercourse but it was too late.
The ringleader tore the plastic bag from Haddas’ hands andthrew it on the ground. I could heartheir laughter. Haddas looked past themas they jeered. Taller than most ofthem, she stared right over their heads as if they didn’t exist. I wondered if this tactic was effective andwished I knew how to help, but I remained frozen in place. The girls continued to taunt and laugh untilthey became bored by her lack of reaction. Haddas picked up her plastic bag, shoved it into her backpack, andheaded toward the school. I saw theywere comingin my direction and scrambled into one of my standard hiding places beneath thebleachers. I caught snatches of theirconversation as they walked past—“only losers shop at Kmart.” I never noticedHaddas again until the day that we were pitted against each other.
I had never been in a fight before. I had often heard thewhispers throughout the day or the chanting of "fight, fight, fight"when one erupted, but I had never imagined myself in such a predicament. Ilived to be invisible. How had thishappened?
By the time the school bell signaled the end of the day, I had formulated aplan. Rather than walking my usual route home through the baseball fields, Iwas going to take a longer route, one which kept me in neighborhoods withplenty of homes, where traffic was busy. I stayed in my classroom as long aspossible and then made my way towards the front of the school.
To my dismay, it had started to rain. People would not be out in their yardstoday.
Still, avoiding the fields seemed to be the best plan. I held on to the hopethat the drizzle had deterred the crowd and prayed silently as I made my waythrough the neighborhoods. Rounding thecorner just a half block from the middle school campus, I heard the footstepsbehind me. They were deliberate, coming fast.
My tormentors corralled me back around the block, into thewaiting crowd. A wide circle formed around me and Haddas, and I noticedsomething familiar in her eyes—fear. "I don't want to fight you," Itold her. Everyone laughed as if I had just made a joke. For a moment I thoughtthat she might agree with me, call the whole thing off and let me leave. Butinstead, she stepped forward and pushed me to the wet grass.
I felt heat rising over my face. Eyes on the ground, I tried to keep myshoulders steadyas I cried silently, knowing I could not escape my fate. "Get up!"the crowd yelled at me. But I justsat. Already an outcast, I could notbear the thought of being known as a crybaby too.
"Get up!" the crowd chanted as I looked to Haddas. Her eyes stillreflected fear. I decided my best option was to run. I grabbed my backpack,stood, and quickly turned just as someone shoved her toward me. We both fell,face forward. The crowd cheered, but I jumped to my feet and ran.
I dreaded going to school the next day. I fretted all night. I debated fakingsick but knew that would only buy me a day, maybe two. I determined that mybest option was to follow my normal routine and do my best to remain invisible.
I tentatively walked toward my middle school that morning,alone as usual, and frightened. I haddressed in neutral colors, hoping to blend in with the walls. At first Ithought it was working. But eventually I realized that, actually, no one cared.The excitement was over, the whole thing forgotten.
But I didn't forget. I cannot forget every time they threw my lunch onto the school roof andlaughed as they dared me to tattletale. I cannot forget being reluctantly chosen last for every kickballgame. I cannot forget how I changed theway I dressed, the route I walked to school, even my posture—all in an attemptto make myself less noticeable. Iremember every name of every bully, every malicious wordand cruel action targeted at me.
I’ve heard that forgiving and forgetting go hand in hand,but forgetting has not been easy. Years after junior high, as I sat in mylocked bedroom after throwing my son's bully out of our yard, I realized I hadnot yet forgiven or forgotten.***
I guess that’s why, a couple ofyears later, I put so much thought and time into finding the right outfit andhairstyle for my ten-year high school reunion. I don’t know why I was so nervous. Unlike middle school, high school held some great memories for me.
My husband and I walked into the hotel, and I searched forfamiliar faces. I visited with oldfriends from choir, drama, and cross country. But as the music grew too loud for my taste and the dancing started toget crazy, my husband and I drifted out to a grouping of loveseats near thebar. That’s where I saw her—my middleschool tormentor, the ringleaderwhenever I was bullied. She was with herold high school boyfriend. Neither worea wedding ring. Their slurred speech andexaggerated movements suggested too much alcohol.
She wore the same cocky smirk, and just one glimpse of itmade my stomach turn. Her laugh instantlytransported me back to sixth grade. Thefear I had tried to forget for so long quickly resurfaced. I grasped my husband’s hand tighter. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Then I got angry.
Look at me! I wanted to shout. I’m happilymarried, have a beautiful family and a wonderful life. But you? You’re still stuck in the same old rut. You’re the same person you were in high school! What a sad life.
I felt embarrassed even as I thought it. How could she stillhave this power over me? Why does shestill make me so angry? Had she even thought about me since those horrible daysso many years ago? I distracted myself by sitting down to visit with anotherclassmate. While he and my husband talked,I said a silent prayer. Please, Heavenly Father, I prayed, help me push these thoughts from mymind. Help me get past these feelings ofanger and hate. I dared to look again over to the place whereshe stood near the bar.
My thoughts began to change direction. Why was she still with her high schoolboyfriend? I wondered. Maybe she neverhad the confidence to move on. Or maybehe was the only man she ever felt loved her. Perhaps she didn’t grow up in a loving home. Maybe the way she had treated me reflectedchildhood pain of her own.
A quoteI’d read somewhere ran through my mind, “A human being is nothing but a storywith skin around it.” For the first time, I began to see her as a real person,with her own struggles and sorrows. Her life may look nothing like I imaginedthat night, but opening myself to the possibility that she had challenges ofher own changed things for me. In thatmoment, the slightest feeling of forgiveness moved into my heart. I never spoke to her that night. I don’t think I could have if I tried. But those junior high memories, while stillvivid, did begin to lose a little of their power over me.
***
Over time, more portions of forgiveness have come. I have found that the only way to make roomin my heart for forgiveness is to release some of the anger and hatred. Memories can make that hard to do. Sometimes I wish I could forget, but I’m notsure I ever will. I have hope that thosememories will continue to lose their power, that their ability to hurt me willkeep fading. In the meantime, my hearthas made progress in other ways: it’s become very soft toward others who don’tquite fit in.
My kids have inherited that softened heart. Allen, once called a football “sissy,” grewinto a young man who notices and stands up for underdogs. When he was in the sixth grade, his teachercalled me to tell me about something that had happened at school. Some of the kids were making fun of a boy whomentioned that he wanted to be a paleontologist when he grew up. They joked that he would never be friendswith anyone but the dinosaurs. My sonpiped up and said, “Knock it off, guys. Joey is my friend. And somedayyou’re all going to wish you were nicer to him when he’s your boss.” The teacher thought my son had all butcommitted social suicide but was amazed to watch how, over time, some of theother boys brought Joey into their circle. They learned to appreciate his quirkiness because Allen stood up for himthat day. These are the kind of storiesthat bring me happiness and even healing. These are the stories that I love to remember.
pic hereI wrote an essay here on my blog a long while back called Nobody Wins. It is a small part of the story of the bullying I endured from elementary school through my early teenage years. My friend CW shared a call for stories on the topic of Justice and Mercy in a literary publication called Segullah and this essay immediately came to mind. On a whim I decided to submit it for consideration. I cut and pasted it from my blog, made a few adjustments and sent it in. I had forgotten about it when I received an email from Segullah letting me know that my essay was accepted as a part of their Spring/Summer 2012 issue.
I was speechless. Having something I wrote published somewhere besides my blog was a dream come true! I worked with a great editor who asked me lots of tough questions and brought out more detail in the big picture of the story. There were times that I wanted to quit writing because the memories of being bullied were terrible to endure again. However - if you know me, you'll know I'm not a quitter. And I don't like to do things halfway. And I didn't want the bullies to win.
So, here's my story - all of it. I hope that no one I know has ever had to endure such pain. If you take the time to read the whole thing, I'd love to hear what you think.
Many, many thanks to Segullah for helping me with the editing process and making one of my dreams come true.
***
Remembering
I stood at the sink watching my kids play flag football withthe neighborhood kids. It was a warmsummer day, and a welcome breeze wafted through the kitchen window along withthe kids’ banter. My enjoyment of thescene suddenly turned to shock, however, when one boy yelled at my oldest son,Allen, “You’re such a STUPID sissy! You can’t even catch a ball! We don’t want you on our team.” He pushed my son and shouted, “LEAVE, you bigIDIOT!” Allen made it to our back stepsbefore he let the tears come.
I couldn’t breathe. My head clouded and my heart ached as painful memories bombarded me,overwhelming me with almost-forgotten sadness, hurt and anger. I stormed out my back door and yelled at theboy, “What right do YOU have to kick Allen out of the game? You are playing in his yard! I will nottolerate any form of bullying orname-calling here. You are never welcome to set foot in our yardagain! YOU leave!” The boycontinued to stand there and look at me with a smirk on his face.
This added fuel to my already burning fire. “If you do notremove yourself from our property NOW then I will call the police and have themremove you! LEAVE!” It was not my proudest moment. But the boy did finally leave, while all ofthe neighborhood kids stared at me in amazement—or was it fear? Feeling my own tears coming, I quicklyescaped into the house and locked myself in my room. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just clear the events of thepast from my mind? It disturbed me thatthese memories still evoked such strong emotions, tethering me to theinsecurities of my younger self.
***
When I was in the sixth grade a small group of girls foundme in my reading corner during lunch. "You better look out after school,Helicopter Head," they taunted me, using the cruel nickname they gifted meon the first day of school, mocking the braided ponytails I wore soproudly. I will never forget the words one of them spoke. "Haddas is going to wail on you for bagging on her."
Haddas? The two of ushad never even spoken to each other. Shewas a tall, gangly girl with the kind of hair and face that left you wonderingabout her gender. Like me, she was quietand kept to herself. I hadn’t evernoticed her until a few months earlier when I watched the bullies targether. I was sitting on a corner of thebleachers by the baseball fields when I saw her enter the schoolyard gate. A light fog still lingered over the grass. She was carrying a plastic bag in one handand a backpack over her shoulders. Thegroup of girls who liked to torment me stopped twirling on the bars and walkedtowards her. She tried to change hercourse but it was too late.
The ringleader tore the plastic bag from Haddas’ hands andthrew it on the ground. I could heartheir laughter. Haddas looked past themas they jeered. Taller than most ofthem, she stared right over their heads as if they didn’t exist. I wondered if this tactic was effective andwished I knew how to help, but I remained frozen in place. The girls continued to taunt and laugh untilthey became bored by her lack of reaction. Haddas picked up her plastic bag, shoved it into her backpack, andheaded toward the school. I saw theywere comingin my direction and scrambled into one of my standard hiding places beneath thebleachers. I caught snatches of theirconversation as they walked past—“only losers shop at Kmart.” I never noticedHaddas again until the day that we were pitted against each other.
I had never been in a fight before. I had often heard thewhispers throughout the day or the chanting of "fight, fight, fight"when one erupted, but I had never imagined myself in such a predicament. Ilived to be invisible. How had thishappened?
By the time the school bell signaled the end of the day, I had formulated aplan. Rather than walking my usual route home through the baseball fields, Iwas going to take a longer route, one which kept me in neighborhoods withplenty of homes, where traffic was busy. I stayed in my classroom as long aspossible and then made my way towards the front of the school.
To my dismay, it had started to rain. People would not be out in their yardstoday.
Still, avoiding the fields seemed to be the best plan. I held on to the hopethat the drizzle had deterred the crowd and prayed silently as I made my waythrough the neighborhoods. Rounding thecorner just a half block from the middle school campus, I heard the footstepsbehind me. They were deliberate, coming fast.
My tormentors corralled me back around the block, into thewaiting crowd. A wide circle formed around me and Haddas, and I noticedsomething familiar in her eyes—fear. "I don't want to fight you," Itold her. Everyone laughed as if I had just made a joke. For a moment I thoughtthat she might agree with me, call the whole thing off and let me leave. Butinstead, she stepped forward and pushed me to the wet grass.
I felt heat rising over my face. Eyes on the ground, I tried to keep myshoulders steadyas I cried silently, knowing I could not escape my fate. "Get up!"the crowd yelled at me. But I justsat. Already an outcast, I could notbear the thought of being known as a crybaby too.
"Get up!" the crowd chanted as I looked to Haddas. Her eyes stillreflected fear. I decided my best option was to run. I grabbed my backpack,stood, and quickly turned just as someone shoved her toward me. We both fell,face forward. The crowd cheered, but I jumped to my feet and ran.
I dreaded going to school the next day. I fretted all night. I debated fakingsick but knew that would only buy me a day, maybe two. I determined that mybest option was to follow my normal routine and do my best to remain invisible.
I tentatively walked toward my middle school that morning,alone as usual, and frightened. I haddressed in neutral colors, hoping to blend in with the walls. At first Ithought it was working. But eventually I realized that, actually, no one cared.The excitement was over, the whole thing forgotten.
But I didn't forget. I cannot forget every time they threw my lunch onto the school roof andlaughed as they dared me to tattletale. I cannot forget being reluctantly chosen last for every kickballgame. I cannot forget how I changed theway I dressed, the route I walked to school, even my posture—all in an attemptto make myself less noticeable. Iremember every name of every bully, every malicious wordand cruel action targeted at me.
I’ve heard that forgiving and forgetting go hand in hand,but forgetting has not been easy. Years after junior high, as I sat in mylocked bedroom after throwing my son's bully out of our yard, I realized I hadnot yet forgiven or forgotten.***
I guess that’s why, a couple ofyears later, I put so much thought and time into finding the right outfit andhairstyle for my ten-year high school reunion. I don’t know why I was so nervous. Unlike middle school, high school held some great memories for me.
My husband and I walked into the hotel, and I searched forfamiliar faces. I visited with oldfriends from choir, drama, and cross country. But as the music grew too loud for my taste and the dancing started toget crazy, my husband and I drifted out to a grouping of loveseats near thebar. That’s where I saw her—my middleschool tormentor, the ringleaderwhenever I was bullied. She was with herold high school boyfriend. Neither worea wedding ring. Their slurred speech andexaggerated movements suggested too much alcohol.
She wore the same cocky smirk, and just one glimpse of itmade my stomach turn. Her laugh instantlytransported me back to sixth grade. Thefear I had tried to forget for so long quickly resurfaced. I grasped my husband’s hand tighter. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Then I got angry.
Look at me! I wanted to shout. I’m happilymarried, have a beautiful family and a wonderful life. But you? You’re still stuck in the same old rut. You’re the same person you were in high school! What a sad life.
I felt embarrassed even as I thought it. How could she stillhave this power over me? Why does shestill make me so angry? Had she even thought about me since those horrible daysso many years ago? I distracted myself by sitting down to visit with anotherclassmate. While he and my husband talked,I said a silent prayer. Please, Heavenly Father, I prayed, help me push these thoughts from mymind. Help me get past these feelings ofanger and hate. I dared to look again over to the place whereshe stood near the bar.
My thoughts began to change direction. Why was she still with her high schoolboyfriend? I wondered. Maybe she neverhad the confidence to move on. Or maybehe was the only man she ever felt loved her. Perhaps she didn’t grow up in a loving home. Maybe the way she had treated me reflectedchildhood pain of her own.
A quoteI’d read somewhere ran through my mind, “A human being is nothing but a storywith skin around it.” For the first time, I began to see her as a real person,with her own struggles and sorrows. Her life may look nothing like I imaginedthat night, but opening myself to the possibility that she had challenges ofher own changed things for me. In thatmoment, the slightest feeling of forgiveness moved into my heart. I never spoke to her that night. I don’t think I could have if I tried. But those junior high memories, while stillvivid, did begin to lose a little of their power over me.
***
Over time, more portions of forgiveness have come. I have found that the only way to make roomin my heart for forgiveness is to release some of the anger and hatred. Memories can make that hard to do. Sometimes I wish I could forget, but I’m notsure I ever will. I have hope that thosememories will continue to lose their power, that their ability to hurt me willkeep fading. In the meantime, my hearthas made progress in other ways: it’s become very soft toward others who don’tquite fit in.
My kids have inherited that softened heart. Allen, once called a football “sissy,” grewinto a young man who notices and stands up for underdogs. When he was in the sixth grade, his teachercalled me to tell me about something that had happened at school. Some of the kids were making fun of a boy whomentioned that he wanted to be a paleontologist when he grew up. They joked that he would never be friendswith anyone but the dinosaurs. My sonpiped up and said, “Knock it off, guys. Joey is my friend. And somedayyou’re all going to wish you were nicer to him when he’s your boss.” The teacher thought my son had all butcommitted social suicide but was amazed to watch how, over time, some of theother boys brought Joey into their circle. They learned to appreciate his quirkiness because Allen stood up for himthat day. These are the kind of storiesthat bring me happiness and even healing. These are the stories that I love to remember.
Lucky Number Thirteen
To contact us Click HERE
*I am attempting to play catch-up on writing a post for each of my kids on their birthdays. This one for All-a-Boy is long overdue. He turned 13 years old back on April 20th.*
Thirteen! I can't believe that many years have passed since little All-a-Boy joined the family. Here are thirteen awesome things about our All-a-Boy:
1. The thing I remember most about the day he was born is that he would not stop smiling. The doctor, the nurses, everyone noticed and commented on it. And it wasn't your typical newborn gas-induced smiles. This kid was just happy to be here!
2. From an early age, All-a-Boy has loved music. He would calm down almost immediately if I sang to him and his favorite song was Angel Lullaby. Even as he got older and I would go downstairs to sing to the kids at bedtime he would still request this song. He loves to have music playing in the house as he does homework or works on his chores. He will sing along to familiar tunes being played in grocery stores and even throw in a couple of wicked dance moves on occasion.
3. All-a-Boy is musically talented. He can play the piano (he especially prefers pieces by John Williams) and sing beautifully. He sang tenor in the Men's Choir at the high school last year and hopes to sing in a barbershop quartet someday.
4. If All-a-Boy could live in a tent in our backyard, I have no doubt that he would. I think he is more at home in the outdoors than he is in the house. Give him a fire, a stick, a gun and permission to get filthy dirty and he's in heaven.
5. When All-a-Boy decides he likes something, he likes it All The Way. There is no halfway in this kid's brain. As a little kid, he was fascinated with dinosaurs. He could tell you their popular names, their scientific names, their eating and migration habits and when they became extinct. He could not get enough dinosaurs in his life and even made up stories about he and his cousin Brandon as dinosaurs.
And then he discovered superheroes. Superman and Batman were his main obsessions, but mostly Superman because he had some really cool Superman pajamas and even a cape.
Most recently it's been Star Wars and Legos, and those don't seem like they're going anywhere anytime soon.
6. All-a-Boy is an amazing reader and super smart kid. Before my kids enter kindergarten I always make sure they know their colors, the alphabet and how to write their name. Well, with All-a-Boy I was lucky to get to the colors and his name. One day I got a call from his teacher who wanted to ask me about his reading. I thought, Oh boy, here it comes. I knew I should have taught him his alphabet. Then she asked what method I had used to teach him to read because he was the best reader in class. The kid taught himself to read in kindergarten! And he hasn't stopped devouring books since.
7. This boy's creativity knows no boundaries. In the first grade they had Pet Day at school. He came home and showed me the little flyer that talked all about it and I told him we could maybe ask a neighbor if we could borrow a pet. "No," he told me, "I want to bring Hubba in a dog costume. He can be my pet!" I have never seen a kid so excited for Pet Day! He was so proud to show everyone his cute little puppy brother.
One day (during his superhero phase) he made himself this mask to wear as he ate his lunch. He's always full of crazy surprises like that.
8. All-a-Boy is a great friend. His friends mean the world to him and he can't get enough of them.
His cousin Brandon was born just a couple of weeks after him and they grew up together. As they got older and Brandon's family moved out of state, the two stayed in touch and they always pick up right where they left off when they have the chance to be together again. In fact, All-a-Boy is at scout camp this week with his neighborhood friends and Brandon. I'm sure they are having the time of their lives.
9. And speaking of scouts, I have never known a kid more excited to become a scout than All-a-Boy. Ever since he turned 8 years old and became a Cub Scout he has loved every part of the scouting program and is always pushing Allen and I to help him work on merit badges and advancements.
10. All-a-Boy has a kind, caring heart. He loves to do nice things for others. I will never forget the year that he saved his own money and wanted to use it to buy flowers and a box of chocolates for one of his past teachers who meant a lot to him. He found her address in the phone book and had me drive him to her house so he could make the delivery in person, wearing his Sunday best.
He is also the first to remind us of the traditional breakfast in bed that is served to each family member on their birthday. One year no one woke up to make me breakfast so he did it himself, cooking up the only hot breakfast he knew how to make: boiled eggs and toast. What a thoughtful boy.
11. I think that if All-a-Boy had to choose someone that he looks up to the first person to come to mind would be his big brother, Coolister. They have a lot in common and I think it's because they have a mutual love and respect for each other. Of course, boys will be boys - they do get on each others' nerves more than I like to admit, but for the most part they have a great relationship. And I think that All-a-Boy has been as good for Coolister as Coolister has been for him.
12. Probably the word I have heard the most in describing All-a-Boy is precocious. It's a word that I love, as it describes most of my boys well. He has always had that... I don't know, that look. You know the one.
The one that says, I'm hatching a plan. The one that says... whatever this look says:
(He's the one down in the front. You may need to click on the picture to get a better look.)
Whatever it is, I love it.
13. All-a-Boy has a deeper understanding of the important things in life than most kids his age. In fact, probably more so than a lot of adults. It's like he has this old, wise soul trapped in his kid-sized body. I love it when he walks to the pulpit to share his testimony on Fast Sundays at church. He has no problem talking to others about what he knows is right. He has always been a great missionary who loves to tell others about our church. I know I have mentioned this story before, but I am still in awe to think of the influence my little boy had in simply sharing what he knows is true.
(If you haven't read the story of All-a-Boy and Walt, you can find it by clicking on the link above.)
I know it's over two months late, but it doesn't mean I love you any less, kid! Happy thirteenth year, All-a-Boy. You constantly amaze me with your awesomeness.
Thirteen! I can't believe that many years have passed since little All-a-Boy joined the family. Here are thirteen awesome things about our All-a-Boy:
1. The thing I remember most about the day he was born is that he would not stop smiling. The doctor, the nurses, everyone noticed and commented on it. And it wasn't your typical newborn gas-induced smiles. This kid was just happy to be here!
2. From an early age, All-a-Boy has loved music. He would calm down almost immediately if I sang to him and his favorite song was Angel Lullaby. Even as he got older and I would go downstairs to sing to the kids at bedtime he would still request this song. He loves to have music playing in the house as he does homework or works on his chores. He will sing along to familiar tunes being played in grocery stores and even throw in a couple of wicked dance moves on occasion.
3. All-a-Boy is musically talented. He can play the piano (he especially prefers pieces by John Williams) and sing beautifully. He sang tenor in the Men's Choir at the high school last year and hopes to sing in a barbershop quartet someday.
4. If All-a-Boy could live in a tent in our backyard, I have no doubt that he would. I think he is more at home in the outdoors than he is in the house. Give him a fire, a stick, a gun and permission to get filthy dirty and he's in heaven.
5. When All-a-Boy decides he likes something, he likes it All The Way. There is no halfway in this kid's brain. As a little kid, he was fascinated with dinosaurs. He could tell you their popular names, their scientific names, their eating and migration habits and when they became extinct. He could not get enough dinosaurs in his life and even made up stories about he and his cousin Brandon as dinosaurs.
And then he discovered superheroes. Superman and Batman were his main obsessions, but mostly Superman because he had some really cool Superman pajamas and even a cape.
Most recently it's been Star Wars and Legos, and those don't seem like they're going anywhere anytime soon.
6. All-a-Boy is an amazing reader and super smart kid. Before my kids enter kindergarten I always make sure they know their colors, the alphabet and how to write their name. Well, with All-a-Boy I was lucky to get to the colors and his name. One day I got a call from his teacher who wanted to ask me about his reading. I thought, Oh boy, here it comes. I knew I should have taught him his alphabet. Then she asked what method I had used to teach him to read because he was the best reader in class. The kid taught himself to read in kindergarten! And he hasn't stopped devouring books since.
7. This boy's creativity knows no boundaries. In the first grade they had Pet Day at school. He came home and showed me the little flyer that talked all about it and I told him we could maybe ask a neighbor if we could borrow a pet. "No," he told me, "I want to bring Hubba in a dog costume. He can be my pet!" I have never seen a kid so excited for Pet Day! He was so proud to show everyone his cute little puppy brother.
One day (during his superhero phase) he made himself this mask to wear as he ate his lunch. He's always full of crazy surprises like that.
8. All-a-Boy is a great friend. His friends mean the world to him and he can't get enough of them.
His cousin Brandon was born just a couple of weeks after him and they grew up together. As they got older and Brandon's family moved out of state, the two stayed in touch and they always pick up right where they left off when they have the chance to be together again. In fact, All-a-Boy is at scout camp this week with his neighborhood friends and Brandon. I'm sure they are having the time of their lives.
9. And speaking of scouts, I have never known a kid more excited to become a scout than All-a-Boy. Ever since he turned 8 years old and became a Cub Scout he has loved every part of the scouting program and is always pushing Allen and I to help him work on merit badges and advancements.
10. All-a-Boy has a kind, caring heart. He loves to do nice things for others. I will never forget the year that he saved his own money and wanted to use it to buy flowers and a box of chocolates for one of his past teachers who meant a lot to him. He found her address in the phone book and had me drive him to her house so he could make the delivery in person, wearing his Sunday best.
He is also the first to remind us of the traditional breakfast in bed that is served to each family member on their birthday. One year no one woke up to make me breakfast so he did it himself, cooking up the only hot breakfast he knew how to make: boiled eggs and toast. What a thoughtful boy.
11. I think that if All-a-Boy had to choose someone that he looks up to the first person to come to mind would be his big brother, Coolister. They have a lot in common and I think it's because they have a mutual love and respect for each other. Of course, boys will be boys - they do get on each others' nerves more than I like to admit, but for the most part they have a great relationship. And I think that All-a-Boy has been as good for Coolister as Coolister has been for him.
12. Probably the word I have heard the most in describing All-a-Boy is precocious. It's a word that I love, as it describes most of my boys well. He has always had that... I don't know, that look. You know the one.
The one that says, I'm hatching a plan. The one that says... whatever this look says:
(He's the one down in the front. You may need to click on the picture to get a better look.)Whatever it is, I love it.
13. All-a-Boy has a deeper understanding of the important things in life than most kids his age. In fact, probably more so than a lot of adults. It's like he has this old, wise soul trapped in his kid-sized body. I love it when he walks to the pulpit to share his testimony on Fast Sundays at church. He has no problem talking to others about what he knows is right. He has always been a great missionary who loves to tell others about our church. I know I have mentioned this story before, but I am still in awe to think of the influence my little boy had in simply sharing what he knows is true.
(If you haven't read the story of All-a-Boy and Walt, you can find it by clicking on the link above.)I know it's over two months late, but it doesn't mean I love you any less, kid! Happy thirteenth year, All-a-Boy. You constantly amaze me with your awesomeness.
The Big 0-4
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*I am attempting to play catch-up on writing a post for each of my kids on their birthdays. This one for Little O is almost 2 months overdue. He turned 4 years old back on May 1st.*
Our sweet Little O is already FOUR years old!
Of all my pregnancies, his dragged out the longest. I was just over 2 weeks overdue and finally agreed to be induced. I loved that he waited until May 1st to be born, allowing each of our kids to still have their own months for their birthdays.
Little O is one of those adorable little kids who could star in a commercial and sell the product like crazy simply because of his cuteness. He says things like, "Mom? I like you and I even love you!" and "Stop ruining my yife!" and they are equally endearing.
Little O is getting big enough that he wants to be independent but he's still small enough that he wants to cuddle up to me while watching a movie. Whenever I ask him to get dressed his typical response is, "Sorry, Mom. I'm just too liddle." But when he wants to play outside with the neighborhood kids he'll tell me, "It's okay. I'm so big, I can watch myself." Sometimes I wish he'd stay 'too little' because I sure love this big-and-little stage of his life.
This sweet kid is such a softie. He's much better than he used to be, but he still occasionally wants his fuzzy blanket when he goes to sleep. And he loves his two bears, Bear and JohnWayne.
We love you, Little O! You make everyone smile and we are so lucky to have you in our family. Happy (late!) fourth birthday you big-little kid.
Our sweet Little O is already FOUR years old!
Of all my pregnancies, his dragged out the longest. I was just over 2 weeks overdue and finally agreed to be induced. I loved that he waited until May 1st to be born, allowing each of our kids to still have their own months for their birthdays.
Little O is one of those adorable little kids who could star in a commercial and sell the product like crazy simply because of his cuteness. He says things like, "Mom? I like you and I even love you!" and "Stop ruining my yife!" and they are equally endearing.
Little O is getting big enough that he wants to be independent but he's still small enough that he wants to cuddle up to me while watching a movie. Whenever I ask him to get dressed his typical response is, "Sorry, Mom. I'm just too liddle." But when he wants to play outside with the neighborhood kids he'll tell me, "It's okay. I'm so big, I can watch myself." Sometimes I wish he'd stay 'too little' because I sure love this big-and-little stage of his life.
This sweet kid is such a softie. He's much better than he used to be, but he still occasionally wants his fuzzy blanket when he goes to sleep. And he loves his two bears, Bear and JohnWayne.
We love you, Little O! You make everyone smile and we are so lucky to have you in our family. Happy (late!) fourth birthday you big-little kid.
Nineteen Years
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Nineteen years ago on 6/28 at 6:28 p.m., I became a mother for the first time. It was something I had wanted to be my entire life and I was so excited to welcome our little rugrat, Allen Michael, into the world!
How did he change so quickly from a sweet little bundle of wide-eyed excitement to this handsome young man?
Allen the Younger cried a lot as a baby. Some days I would just sit in the rocking chair and rock him as we both cried together. Allen the Elder would tell me to just set Little Allen down in his crib and let him cry it out, but this was my first little one and I felt like somehow my holding him had to offer some comfort. There is something about the bond between a mother and her first baby. I don't know how to explain it.
From the time he was born he has always been curious. The first apartment that we lived in after he joined the family was just a block north of train tracks. We learned to tune out the trains until Little Allen started to notice them. Before he could even walk he would climb up the couch, perch himself on the back of it and search intently out the window for a glimpse of the passing trains whenever he heard a horn sound.
His curiosity is something that has kept him busy throughout his 19 years. When his dad was busy working in the garage or on a project around the house, Little Allen always loved to be right in the middle of things, seeing how and why they worked the way they did.
So despite the fact that he was my best friend when his dad was at work, being named after his dad was certainly fitting because he has become even more of a replica of his father as the years have passed.
Little Allen is one of those kids who is naturally talented at everything he decides to try. He decided to join the cross country team his sophomore year as a walk-on, was put on the varsity team almost immediately and was awarded Rookie of the Year at the end of the season. He and some friends decided to learn the Thriller dance and led a group number at every church dance they went to. And don't get me started on his natural ability in math and science. He doesn't even have to try, and he loves those subjects in school. I will never forget the first time he went fishing! Allen (the Elder) caught a pretty good sized fish and showed it to him.
(I think I have mentioned before that this is one of my all-time favorite pictures. The look on Little Allen's face is priceless!) Well, despite being a bit grossed out, he was determined. He baited a hook, cast out his line, and before you know it - BAM!
He had snagged himself a bigger fish than his dad's. There isn't anything he can't do.
Allen the Younger has always had a love for music. When I was pregnant with him he would practically do flips whenever music was played. He could sing every word to the song The Freshman when he was about 3. He was obsessed with animals for a long time and could sing every song from the Lion King, including the ones sung in another language. And now he can sing the words to about every song that ever comes on the radio. He loves the music that his dad and I loved in the 80's and early 90's (great taste, that kid!) as well anything current and everything by his celebrity crush who he likes to call T-Swift. I love listening to him play the piano, too.
Another great thing about Little Allen is his silly sense of humor.
This didn't sit so well with some of his teachers in elementary school (okay, even in high school), so parent-teacher conferences were always filled with interesting stories and he brought quite a few pink slips home. He was also voted "Class Clown" more than once. But eventually he learned to better manage this silliness and only use it when it was appropriate.
Well, mostly. He also prides himself on his photobombing skills, which is evident in about half of his pictures on Facebook. The one above is one of my favorites.
Allen the Younger has the ability to make everyone around him laugh. He figured out at an early age that if I was mad at him, all he had to do was laugh and I'd start laughing, too. His laughter is contagious. And honestly, how could I not just laugh along with such a cute little stinker who's loaded to the brim with precociousness?
As I've watched Allen throughout his life I have learned that little kids with the most outgoing, crazy personalities turn into the most interesting, fun teenagers and adults.
(Allen and his friend Tanner proudly wore these shirts at a high school event at the U of U, BYU's rival.)
Allen the Younger has been the most accident-prone child of all our kids. We've been to the Emergency Room and used more butterfly bandaids with him than any of his siblings.
(Double injury in this picture - he ran into the corner of a trailer at a reunion and split his nose open then got plowed into on the stairs at home and broke his elbow in two places.)
(In true Allen fashion, he's cracking jokes to the paramedics as they carry him out to the ambulance.)
I think that Allen tends to get hurt because he doesn't live life small. Life is all about adventure and reaching beyond what you think you can do. Allen's life so far has definitely been one filled with excitement and adventure. A big part of this comes from his love for spending time in the great outdoors. I don't think there is anyone who loves running, hiking, camping, shooting, exploring and just being adventurous as much as Allen does.
Probably my favorite thing about Allen is what an awesome big brother he is. As each of his brothers and sisters have joined the family, Allen has loved each new addition. He has mentioned that he can't wait to have his own kids someday. Sure, he likes to tease sometimes. But when it comes down to it he's the most loyal and unconditionally loving family member you could ask for. I love watching him with the other kids.
He recently told me that he thinks Moms have the best job in the world because they get to take care of and hang out with little people all day and watch them grow up. I told him he should become a pediatrician.
He has lamented many times, especially when he was younger, that he wished he had an older brother. He has even offered suggestions of those we could adopt to take on this role. But the thing is, he has had 'brothers' close to his age around him throughout his whole life. He's had uncles and cousins:
And lots of awesome friends who are really more like brothers.
Speaking of friends, another of Allen's best traits is that he is a fiercely loyal friend. If you are lucky enough to be someone that Allen considers a friend you can know that he will stand up for you and be there for you whenever it is needed.
It has been crazy watching as each of his friends leave on their missions, knowing that his time to serve will be here before we know it. Through all of his 19 years his dad and I have done our best to raise him to be all of the things that he'll need to be for the next two years as he serves his church mission in Fort Worth, Texas.
We've tried to instill in him the desire to be happy, helpful, obedient, friendly, trustworthy, hard working and kind. We want him to be independent but also a team player. We want him to have unshakable faith, strong knowledge of the teachings of the gospel and a firm testimony of the things he will be teaching others for the next two years.
I think we've done a pretty awesome job.
Writing this post has been tough. Looking at pictures of the little kid he was makes me miss those crazy days with that little person and wish I enjoyed them more instead of stressing out about what kind of adult he would become. Then, thinking about the adult he has become and how much I love and enjoy him now, my heart is full to bursting.
Thanks for being the guinea pig for the last 19 years, Allen. I'm going to miss you like crazy but I am so excited for you as you step forward into this new adventure. You are going to be an amazing missionary.
I love you, my biggest boy. Happy, happy birthday!
How did he change so quickly from a sweet little bundle of wide-eyed excitement to this handsome young man?
Allen the Younger cried a lot as a baby. Some days I would just sit in the rocking chair and rock him as we both cried together. Allen the Elder would tell me to just set Little Allen down in his crib and let him cry it out, but this was my first little one and I felt like somehow my holding him had to offer some comfort. There is something about the bond between a mother and her first baby. I don't know how to explain it.
From the time he was born he has always been curious. The first apartment that we lived in after he joined the family was just a block north of train tracks. We learned to tune out the trains until Little Allen started to notice them. Before he could even walk he would climb up the couch, perch himself on the back of it and search intently out the window for a glimpse of the passing trains whenever he heard a horn sound.
His curiosity is something that has kept him busy throughout his 19 years. When his dad was busy working in the garage or on a project around the house, Little Allen always loved to be right in the middle of things, seeing how and why they worked the way they did.
So despite the fact that he was my best friend when his dad was at work, being named after his dad was certainly fitting because he has become even more of a replica of his father as the years have passed.
Little Allen is one of those kids who is naturally talented at everything he decides to try. He decided to join the cross country team his sophomore year as a walk-on, was put on the varsity team almost immediately and was awarded Rookie of the Year at the end of the season. He and some friends decided to learn the Thriller dance and led a group number at every church dance they went to. And don't get me started on his natural ability in math and science. He doesn't even have to try, and he loves those subjects in school. I will never forget the first time he went fishing! Allen (the Elder) caught a pretty good sized fish and showed it to him.
(I think I have mentioned before that this is one of my all-time favorite pictures. The look on Little Allen's face is priceless!) Well, despite being a bit grossed out, he was determined. He baited a hook, cast out his line, and before you know it - BAM!
He had snagged himself a bigger fish than his dad's. There isn't anything he can't do.
Allen the Younger has always had a love for music. When I was pregnant with him he would practically do flips whenever music was played. He could sing every word to the song The Freshman when he was about 3. He was obsessed with animals for a long time and could sing every song from the Lion King, including the ones sung in another language. And now he can sing the words to about every song that ever comes on the radio. He loves the music that his dad and I loved in the 80's and early 90's (great taste, that kid!) as well anything current and everything by his celebrity crush who he likes to call T-Swift. I love listening to him play the piano, too.
Another great thing about Little Allen is his silly sense of humor.
This didn't sit so well with some of his teachers in elementary school (okay, even in high school), so parent-teacher conferences were always filled with interesting stories and he brought quite a few pink slips home. He was also voted "Class Clown" more than once. But eventually he learned to better manage this silliness and only use it when it was appropriate.
Well, mostly. He also prides himself on his photobombing skills, which is evident in about half of his pictures on Facebook. The one above is one of my favorites.
Allen the Younger has the ability to make everyone around him laugh. He figured out at an early age that if I was mad at him, all he had to do was laugh and I'd start laughing, too. His laughter is contagious. And honestly, how could I not just laugh along with such a cute little stinker who's loaded to the brim with precociousness?
As I've watched Allen throughout his life I have learned that little kids with the most outgoing, crazy personalities turn into the most interesting, fun teenagers and adults.
(Allen and his friend Tanner proudly wore these shirts at a high school event at the U of U, BYU's rival.)Allen the Younger has been the most accident-prone child of all our kids. We've been to the Emergency Room and used more butterfly bandaids with him than any of his siblings.
(Double injury in this picture - he ran into the corner of a trailer at a reunion and split his nose open then got plowed into on the stairs at home and broke his elbow in two places.)
(In true Allen fashion, he's cracking jokes to the paramedics as they carry him out to the ambulance.) I think that Allen tends to get hurt because he doesn't live life small. Life is all about adventure and reaching beyond what you think you can do. Allen's life so far has definitely been one filled with excitement and adventure. A big part of this comes from his love for spending time in the great outdoors. I don't think there is anyone who loves running, hiking, camping, shooting, exploring and just being adventurous as much as Allen does.
Probably my favorite thing about Allen is what an awesome big brother he is. As each of his brothers and sisters have joined the family, Allen has loved each new addition. He has mentioned that he can't wait to have his own kids someday. Sure, he likes to tease sometimes. But when it comes down to it he's the most loyal and unconditionally loving family member you could ask for. I love watching him with the other kids.
He recently told me that he thinks Moms have the best job in the world because they get to take care of and hang out with little people all day and watch them grow up. I told him he should become a pediatrician.
He has lamented many times, especially when he was younger, that he wished he had an older brother. He has even offered suggestions of those we could adopt to take on this role. But the thing is, he has had 'brothers' close to his age around him throughout his whole life. He's had uncles and cousins:
And lots of awesome friends who are really more like brothers.
Speaking of friends, another of Allen's best traits is that he is a fiercely loyal friend. If you are lucky enough to be someone that Allen considers a friend you can know that he will stand up for you and be there for you whenever it is needed.
It has been crazy watching as each of his friends leave on their missions, knowing that his time to serve will be here before we know it. Through all of his 19 years his dad and I have done our best to raise him to be all of the things that he'll need to be for the next two years as he serves his church mission in Fort Worth, Texas.
We've tried to instill in him the desire to be happy, helpful, obedient, friendly, trustworthy, hard working and kind. We want him to be independent but also a team player. We want him to have unshakable faith, strong knowledge of the teachings of the gospel and a firm testimony of the things he will be teaching others for the next two years.
I think we've done a pretty awesome job.
Writing this post has been tough. Looking at pictures of the little kid he was makes me miss those crazy days with that little person and wish I enjoyed them more instead of stressing out about what kind of adult he would become. Then, thinking about the adult he has become and how much I love and enjoy him now, my heart is full to bursting.
Thanks for being the guinea pig for the last 19 years, Allen. I'm going to miss you like crazy but I am so excited for you as you step forward into this new adventure. You are going to be an amazing missionary.
I love you, my biggest boy. Happy, happy birthday!
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