wasatchgal

Faded Legos and Road Trips: Patching Together the Pieces of My Childhood

This is hard to write. I don’t remember much about being a kid. Did I bury the memories, or is my mind just fading? My childhood wasn’t picture-perfect, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. I remember Legos, bike rides, and roller-skating sessions. Backyard pools, helping Dad at work, Grandma Adarae’s California ranch, and those horse rides. Holidays are a blur, but Grandma Tracy’s shopping trips aren’t. Or those summer days in her RV – Classic Fun Center, waterslides, and hanging with my cousins.

Mom and I took long walks, collecting cans for spare change. Pineview Dam, camping at North Fork…that waterfall hike and the river’s chill. Grandpa Amos’ strawberry patch, and Peaches, our dog. My first Disneyland trip wasn’t till I was 14, with Dad, his girlfriend, and her daughter. Then Montana, a glimpse of Canada, and that Yellowstone bison Dad and I nearly ran into. We moved from the trailer into a real house – finally, a room of my own.

No, we weren’t rich. Money was tight, and what there was went up in smoke, fizzled into Pepsi. Mom gave me homemade haircuts; my clothes weren’t stylish. Do I wish some things were different? Sure. But mostly, no regrets. My childhood wasn’t easy, but it made me who I am.

Trailer Park Troubles to Picket Fence Paradise: How My Basement Became My Childhood Sanctuary

I started life tiny – my mom says my first “bedroom” was a closet in a Riverdale trailer. We moved to a slightly bigger trailer in Clearfield when I was a toddler. I don’t remember the address, just that it was in the Sundown trailer park across from Holt Elementary. Soon after, my parents inherited a bigger trailer. My sister and I shared a room, and the mirrored closet doors freaked me out at night! Our trailer was laid out with our room at the back, my parents’ at the front, and everything else in between. We had a fenced yard, a rarely working pool, and a playground within the park. Mail time meant a walk to the main office.

That trailer was home until I was 11, then came the big upgrade: a house on the East side of Clearfield – 157 South 450 East. I snagged a basement room with blue carpet and built-in shelves. Sure, the furnace was my neighbor, but it felt HUGE after the trailer. It had a basketball hoop, a big garden, even a white picket fence – a kid’s dream!

Things got complicated when my parents split. My dad remodeled the basement, adding rooms and a separate entrance. I stayed downstairs with him, my sister upstairs with my mom. After the divorce, Mom left, Dad moved back upstairs, and I stayed in my basement room. It saw a lot of change over the years – different women, different kids sharing the house – but it was always my space until I finally moved out.

Playground Punisher, Nail Magnet: My Qualifications for the Childhood Olympic of Blunders

I wasn’t just born, I was born with a staph infection – drama from day one! My first real scar came in first grade, playing tag. Who knew playground equipment could fight back? I still sport the eyebrow mark where I needed stitches. Turns out, my right side and bad luck were destined to be best friends. Shoes? Optional when biking, which led to skinned toes and possible broken bones. Slammed thumb, lost nail thanks to a trailer park door… and don’t even ask about the horse that took a chunk of my finger.

My dad took me to work once, and I learned goats can be jerks. Got butted in the rear, then jumped right onto a nail-studded board. Two nails through the big toe – yep, right side again. Scraped knees, hands… my parents should’ve owned Band-Aid stock. Last childhood mishap? Hyperextended knee blowing my shot put chances at Regionals.

Clearly, I was a walking disaster zone. But hey, those scars tell stories, and I wouldn’t trade the memories for anything.

Mom’s Scrumptious SpaghettiOs: A Love Affair That Almost Required a Doctor’s Note

My first solid food obsession, according to Mom, was SpaghettiOs. Apparently, I ate so much she had to check with the doctor to see if it was healthy! I also had a deep affection for JB’s Big Boy’s spaghetti, solidifying my early love affair with all things noodle. But don’t worry, it wasn’t all carbs. I also enjoyed birthday traditions like Mom’s homemade Hershey chocolate cake and, surprisingly for a carbo-loader, the occasional taco.

Beyond Bills Paid: Breaking Cycles of Poverty and Building a Legacy of Love

The biggest difference from my childhood is my lifestyle. We were poor, but I didn’t fully grasp that until junior high. Today, I can pay my bills, live comfortably, buy nice things, and even splurge on vacations. That financial security feels worlds away from my childhood.

Back then, I felt unsafe and conformed to what others expected of me. Now, I’m independent, with my own voice. I choose healthy habits over the drugs and cigarettes I saw growing up. Most importantly, I put my own kids first. They had opportunities, wore good clothes, and never had to say “no” to something because of money. I never wanted them teased like I was, or put in dangerous situations.

I rarely heard praise as a kid, so now I celebrate others’ accomplishments whenever I can. In the end, the biggest change I made wasn’t just about money, it was creating a better, safer, more supportive world for myself than the one I had as a child.

Desert Storm Ditties and Buss Pass Freedom: My Unforgettable (But Not Obvious) Teenage Milestones

March 22, 1989: The Exxon Valdez oil spill occurs, causing significant environmental damage to Alaska.

October 6, 1989: The Wasatch Front is hit by a powerful earthquake, with a magnitude of 6.1.

March 24, 1990: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints announces the end of the priesthood ban for men of African descent.

January 17, 1991: Operation Dessert Strom begins, with the United States joining coalition force to liberate Kuwait from Iraqi occupation.

August 8, 1991: The Mountain Meadow Massacre of 1857 is officially designed a national monument.

October 10, 1994: The Utah Transit Authority (UTA) begins operation, providing public transportation services throughout the Wasatch Front.

November 3, 1992: Bill Clinton elected as President of the United States.

February 28, 1993: The Branch Davidian standoff in Waco, Texas, ends with a massive fire that claims the lives of 76 people, including cult leader David Koresh.

January 1, 1994: The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) comes into effect, creating a free trade zone between the United States, Canada, and Mexico.

Looking back, most of these events flew over my head as a teenager. The two that did resonate were Desert Storm and the launch of UTA. I vividly recall singing in choir for the soldiers deployed during Desert Storm, the gravity of the situation just starting to sink in. The summer I got my bus pass feels like yesterday – riding UTA to the mall, friends’ houses, and even Lagoon Amusement Park. It’s interesting how, as an adult, these seemingly ordinary moments hold a deeper significance alongside the larger headlines.

Saturday Mornings to Sushi Dates: How My Simple Joys Evolved (But Didn’t Disappear)

Childhood memories can be funny things. While I can’t recall major historical events, my mind holds onto the vivid details of Saturday morning cartoons, the quiet hum of Sunday mornings at church, the shared labor of cleaning the house, and the endless laughter with friends. It almost feels like life hasn’t changed dramatically, except for the added responsibilities of grocery shopping and, of course, the joy of Friday date nights. Maybe that’s not a bad thing – holding onto the simple pleasures that bring us comfort, while embracing the new experiences that come with adulthood.

MG Adventures, Lays Sandwiches, and Chinese Pie: My Unforgettable Grandma Tracy

Grandma Tracy always had a soft spot for me, and I knew it. That giant Christmas package filled with surprises? That was her way. Her “Chinese pie” – that cozy casserole of hamburger and mashed potatoes – still makes me smile (even if it is about as Chinese as apple pie). And how can I forget those Lays potato chip sandwiches? Quirky, but oddly delicious. Between our sleepovers, thrift shop adventures in her sporty little MG, and those epic summers at Classic Fun Center…she made being a kid feel extra special.

Of course, Grandma Tracy had her insecurities, which meant I got very familiar with post-plastic-surgery care. But the best thing about her? Her fierce love for her grandkids. She always made the effort, the only grandparent who really did. Even with our little quirks and crazy adventures, she was always there.

Beyond the Finish Line: How My Track Coach Became My Most Memorable Teacher

Browsing this writing prompt list, the first educator who came to mind wasn’t technically a traditional classroom teacher for me. I can’t even recall which specific subject he taught. Instead, it was my track coach, Coach Fletcher, who left the most significant impact on my high school experience. He instilled in me the values of hard work, perseverance, and pushing through challenges, never giving up. He even granted me permission slips – with a wink and a nudge – to help set up for practices and meets, excusing me from certain classes.

The Not-So-Great Kiss, the Bully Backup, and the Butterfly Redemption

While my first encounter with kissing wouldn’t qualify as my “real” first kiss, it was a memorable moment. In sixth grade, dared by my friend Amy Butler, I gave Albert Hernandez a quick peck on the lips. My main concern at the time, however, was avoiding being tattled on by my sister, whom Amy tried to restrain (with questionable methods). This experience, though not a true kiss, left a lasting impression on my sister who witnessed the bullying. Even though we joke about it now, what we did wasn’t right. I’m genuinely sorry for hurting my sister and best friend.

However, if I were to consider my first true kiss, it would be with Kyle Martin, at age 14. The memory evokes a vivid image of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach and the pure joy I felt as we continued to kiss. It was a positive and enjoyable experience that sparked a newfound appreciation for kissing.

From Fries to Farewell: My High School Hustle at Hardee’s

At 16, my first job was as a cashier at Hardee’s, a fast-food chain in Layton, Utah, bordering Clearfield. They offered classic American fare like their signature biscuits and gravy, alongside burgers, chicken sandwiches, fries, salads, and fried chicken.

Balancing work with school, I primarily worked nights and weekends, earning $3.75 an hour for my 15-20 hour weeks. Occasionally, I helped out at other stores, but my main location during high school was Layton. After turning 18, I transitioned to a shift supervisor role at the Bountiful store. However, my tenure there was short-lived, ending abruptly on Christmas Eve 1994 due to a heated exchange with another supervisor.

Sisterly Singalongs and “Pyromania”: My Wild Ride With 80s Hair Metal

My childhood was filled with the music of Barbie and the Rockers. I’d often blast their tape on my little purple boombox, grabbing a Barbie I hadn’t played with to be my imaginary bandmate. They even had a cool animated special called “Barbie and the Rockers: Out of This World.” I still remember their songs to this day!

We’re Barbie and the Rockers!
Rockin’ out, we’re totally in the groove
Dana, DeeDee, Derek and Diva too!

We’re Barbie and the Rockers!
Dress so cool, we always make the scene
We’re rock stars of your wildest dreams

Up until all the day, it’s time for us to play!
Up until all the day, we’ve got too much to say!

We’re Barbie and the Rockers!
Rockin’ out, we’re totally in the groove
Dress so cool, we know all the rules

When we’re not on stage, we can’t wait to play!
When we’re not on stage, we can’t wait to say!

We’re Barbie and the Rockers!
Dress so cool, we always make the scene
We’re rock stars of your wildest dreams

We’re Barbie and the Rockers!

As I grew older, I vividly recall getting my first Def Leppard tape, “Pyromania.” I’d belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs, often. One time, my sister and I even choreographed a music video to “Photograph,” recording ourselves singing – though I may have gotten a little bossy, telling her she wasn’t quite hitting the notes! Of course, I also enjoyed other rock bands of that era like Mötley Crüe, Poison, Guns N’ Roses, White Lion, and many more.

My first major music upgrade was a combo stereo— an all-in-one powerhouse! It had dual cassette decks for recording songs off the radio, a CD player for my growing collection, a record player to explore older gems, and a radio tuner for live broadcasts. This setup unlocked a whole new world of music, fueling my daily explorations.

As I hit late junior high and high school, my tastes evolved into grunge and alternative. Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Depeche Mode, Stone Temple Pilots, Jesus Jones, and even Nirvana became my go-to bands. While Nirvana wasn’t my all-time favorite, their lyrics still resonated with me. To this day, I can’t help but sing along whenever I hear their songs.

From “No” to “Know-How”: My Journey to Success Despite Early Roadblocks

Navigating the path after high school can be challenging without guidance. I remember a college representative visiting my father, proposing that I attend DeVry Institute. However, his response was limited by our financial situation. Looking back, I realize my future wasn’t solely reliant on his approval or financial support. I could have explored options like independent funding, scholarships, or even military service.

My early post-high school years were marked by a series of jobs, a brief marriage that ended in divorce, and a sense of lacking direction. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties, upon moving to Alabama, that I took charge of my personal growth. I enrolled at Penn Foster College, earning a technical certificate in Healthcare Office Administration. This experience instilled the crucial realization: my success depended solely on my own initiative.

Back in Utah, I pursued a Bachelor’s degree in Healthcare Administration at the University of Phoenix. Unfortunately, my father’s passing disrupted my focus, leading me to drop out. I then transitioned into a career as a biller/buyer at BioExpress, followed by a tool attendant position at the Air Force, both of which offered valuable on-the-job training and certifications. Through dedicated training and certification, coupled with career progression and strategic job changes within the federal government, I have secured a rewarding position that offers both financial security and exciting future opportunities.

My attempts at further education weren’t always smooth. I enrolled in a business program at Western Governors University but faced academic challenges. After failing the initial exam multiple times, I made the difficult decision to withdraw, vowing not to return to school.

However, my time with the Air Force and DLA exposed me to a wealth of educational opportunities through Defense Acquisition University. This reignited my motivation for academic achievement. Today, I’m back at the University of Phoenix, pursuing a Bachelor’s degree with an Associate’s in Business. This time, I’m determined to finish what I started.

This journey is a testament to the power of self-belief and perseverance. I hope to revisit and update this reflection in the future, celebrating the completion of my degree.

Never Too Late to Learn: From Alabama to the World, My Logistics Odyssey

After leaving my ex-husband, Justin Gibson, in 2001, I moved to Alabama and started working at Walmart. Recognizing it wasn’t a long-term solution, I pursued online healthcare courses at Penn Foster College. Though I earned my certificate, I couldn’t secure a healthcare job. Despite Alabama holding a special place in my heart, I relocated back to Utah in 2006. There, I transitioned out of Walmart and into the financial world. Still drawn to healthcare, I enrolled in the University of Phoenix, but my father’s passing led me to drop out.

Utah became the base for my career in logistics and supply, where I honed my skills by working closely with suppliers, planners, buyers, and distributors. This eventually led me to my current position in Supply Chain with the Department of Defense. Motivated by a desire for continuous learning, I embarked on a business degree through online courses at the University of Phoenix. Although Utah has shaped my educational background, I aim to utilize the knowledge and potential of my degree to explore and expand my horizons in various parts of the world.

From Seminary Sermons to Stolen Glances: My High School Balancing Act of Faith and First Love

My high school life revolved around a predictable routine: balancing school, extracurricular activities, work, and household responsibilities. Financial constraints, including contributing towards rent, groceries, and transportation, limited my options for leisure activities. Attending church regularly and achieving graduation from high school and seminary became my main goals, fueled by the desire to establish independence.

Despite the limitations, high school marked the beginning of a special relationship. Andre Ransom, a fellow church member and neighbor two years my senior, became my first love. We shared many experiences during our time together, navigating a relationship with its share of breakups and reconciliations. Ultimately, our individual aspirations at the time led us down different paths. While we didn’t end up together, he holds a cherished place in my memory, especially considering the lack of affection I experienced earlier in life.

This experience, perhaps ordinary for many, was extraordinary for me. Finding love in high school filled a void for someone who had yearned for connection throughout my childhood.

Jock, Artist, Scholar (Almost): My Symphony of High School Activities

High school wasn’t just about academics for me; it was a whirlwind of experiences. I actively participated in numerous activities, immersing myself in the classic “high school” life. While I attended most dances, Prom remained elusive due to lack of a date at the time. When my work schedule allowed, I cheered on the school’s football and basketball teams. Additionally, I explored my artistic side through choir performances and playing the violin and viola in the symphony. My athletic spirit manifested in track and field, where I sprinted in the 200 meters and the medley relay (second leg), along with competing in the shot put, javelin, and discus. These diverse activities earned me letters in both track and symphony. I was even a team captain and top scorer of the female’s team my senior year!

Beyond the accolades, these involvements served a deeper purpose. They kept me out of trouble and under the guidance of caring individuals who supported and encouraged my potential. I firmly believe that without these activities, I might have fallen into negative influences. Instead, they inspired me to strive for personal growth and excellence.

Building Grit: How My Unconventional Upbringing Shaped Me

“It’s funny, I can’t pinpoint one big piece of advice my parents gave me. It was more like their everyday actions that shaped who I am. Growing up in a house without a lot of love or structure, I learned to be fiercely independent. I had to take care of myself, which showed me that I could be strong and dependable. That’s where my ‘work hard, play hard’ motto comes from. Now that I’m a parent, I want to pass that on to my kids. I want them to be strong, independent people who know how to work hard and never give up. That’s the kind of success I value most.”

From Brick Phones to Beeping Modems: My Techy Teenage Years in the 90s.

Remember those giant brick cell phones we used to laugh at? Well, in the late 80s and early 90s, that was cutting-edge! It was a crazy time for tech. Suddenly, computers with fancy picture menus (GUIs, they called them) were in our homes, not just offices. Music went portable with CDs, and bulky VCRs let us become our own movie studios. The internet was a whisper back then, dial-up connections making those screeching modem noises, but it promised a future where information was just a click away. It felt like anything was possible, and these new gadgets were just the beginning.

My Life’s Map: From Riverdale Trailer to My Clinton Castle

My story starts at McKay-Dee Hospital, but my first home was a tiny trailer tucked away in Riverdale, Utah. It was a humble beginning at 671 W 4400 S #14, a place that’s just a memory now, replaced by something new. As a toddler, we moved to another small trailer in Clearfield’s Sundown Trailer Park. That park became a backdrop for my elementary years, filled with playground scrapes and endless games of make-believe. Eventually, we upgraded to a larger trailer in the same park, more space for growing dreams, at 423 North 1250 W Clearfield, Utah 84015.

At 11, our lives shifted again with a move to a house in Clearfield, just above the fire station. The address, 157 South 450 East, and even the phone number, 801-773-9919, are etched in my memory. It felt like a palace compared to our trailers.

After high school, love came knocking, and I found myself in a small basement apartment in Roy, sharing my life with a new partner. The address was 6005 South 2100 West Roy, Utah 84067, but the love story was short-lived. Soon, I was building a new chapter at the Green Acres Apartments in Sunset at 182 West 2400 North. Sadly, that chapter ended abruptly due to safety concerns. But life has a way of nudging you forward, and I landed in a small house at 683 East 2650 North North Ogden, Utah 84414.

After divorcing my first husband, came a big leap – Alabama. I ventured out to Smiths Station, a charming town where I called 205 Lee Road 243 Smiths Station, AL 36877 home for a while. There was even a brief stint in a Phenix City trailer, a memory that’s faded with time, along with the trailer park itself.

After five years in the South, Utah called me back. I spent eight months in my childhood Clearfield house at 157 South 450 East before finding a new haven across the street at 162 South 450 East. But life is a journey, and eventually, the owners wanted their house back. That led me to a cute rental in at 1456 North 125 West Sunset, Utah 84015.

Finally, ready to set roots and build a lasting love story, I married again and bought our first home in Roy. The memories made at 5793 South 3950 West Roy, Utah 84067 are cherished ones. We lived there from 2008 to 2017, when we embarked on a new adventure – building our dream home. While it was taking shape, we found a temporary haven in the brand-new Claradon Village apartments in at 3560 Midland Dr, West Haven, Utah 84401.

And in September 2017, the journey culminated in our very own castle. Nestled in a cul-de-sac, at 2608 North 2910 West Clinton, Utah 84015 this house is more than bricks and mortar; it’s a testament to the winding path that brought me here. It’s a place filled with love, laughter, and the promise of many more happy memories.

Independence with a Side of Oversight: My First Apartment

My first taste of freedom came in the form of a small basement apartment in a Roy rambler. Nestled off a busy road, the driveway made rush hour exits a test of patience. Entering through the back door, I descended a flight of stairs. A shared laundry room sat to my right, while my tiny kingdom awaited straight ahead.

Carpets stretched wall-to-wall, a cozy welcome that ended abruptly in the surprisingly spacious kitchen. The living room, a long rectangle, boasted a wood-burning fireplace as its centerpiece. A compact bathroom, barely big enough for a solo shower, occupied the west side. Next door, the bedroom offered sanctuary for a queen-sized bed, but not much else.

The north side of the apartment housed the long, narrow kitchen. Equipped with a two-burner stove and an oven that could only handle one baking sheet at a time, it offered basic functionality. A standard fridge and sink completed the space, a dishwasher sadly absent.

Living there had its challenges. The owners resided upstairs, and their attentiveness bordered on intrusive. The “Citte’s,” seemed curiously invested in our every move. Unannounced visits were a regular occurrence, creating an ever-present feeling of being watched. This constant oversight stifled the sense of independence I craved as a burgeoning adult. Instead of feeling like a capable grown-up, I was more like another one of their children under watchful eyes.

The Doe’s Kiss

The chill of pre-dawn seeped through my layers, a stark contrast to the mug of hot cocoa clutched in my gloved hands. Dad sat beside me, his bright orange camouflage blending seamlessly with the brush, a silent sentinel in the growing light. We were deep in the familiar Wasatch mountains, I couldn’t tell you where that day, the annual deer hunt a tradition etched in our family history.

That day, however, my usual enthusiasm was waning. The crisp autumn air held a drowsy magic, and the rhythmic chirping of unseen birds lulled me into a fight with my eyelids. The hours melted into a blur of silent observation, punctuated by the occasional rustle in the undergrowth. My head bobbed, the warmth of the cocoa fading, as I leaned into the side of the mountain.

We sat in companionable silence, my senses now acutely attuned. A symphony of forest sounds filled the air – the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig, the distant bubbling of the brook. Then, a sound unlike any other. I slowly drifted off to sleep.

As I had my eyes shut, a sensation, unexpected and wet, flicked across my forehead. My eyes sprang open, jolted from a nap so deep the world seemed blurry. A warm, rough tongue brushed my face again, insistent yet gentle. Before I could register the absurdity, a doe, her coat the color of burnished copper, stood mere inches away.

Startled, I lurched backwards, nearly knocking over the cocoa. Dad, who had been observing the scene with a silent grin, chuckled. Speechless, I stared after her. Hesitantly, I reached out a hand, offering it for inspection. The doe flinched slightly, then nudged my palm with her soft nose. A thrill shot through me – a wild creature, so close and trusting. The moment stretched, a silent conversation in the dappled sunlight.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the doe turned and bounded back into the woods, her white rump patch with a black tipped-tail a fading flag against the green tapestry. Dad, his amusement replaced by a touch of awe, finally spoke. “Well, I’ll be…” he breathed.

We sat there in silence for a long time, the encounter replaying in my mind. We didn’t bag a deer that day, but something far more profound had transpired. The doe’s unexpected touch, a testament to the wild beauty and gentle spirit that coexisted in these woods, was a memory I would treasure forever. It was a reminder that respect, not just for the hunt, but for the creatures who called this place home, was at the heart of this tradition. And maybe, just maybe, it was a nudge, a gentle urging to see the forest not just as a hunting ground, but as a sanctuary to be cherished.

From Captain of the Track to Maestro of the Orchestra: A Jacket Stitched with Passion

The weight of leather varsity jacket felt unfamiliar in my hands. It wasn’t mine yet, not truly. But the two iron-on letters, gleaming gold and white for activities and green and white for athletics against the deep green jacket with white sleeves, with a small golden pin for captain on it, whispered of victories earned. One, a bold Gold one for Orchestra, the other a sleek Green one for Track and Field. My reflection in the mirror grinned back, a mix of disbelief and pride dancing in my eyes. There were additional accolades nestled amidst the stitching – a silver plaque engraved “Most Points Earned – Track & Field,” and a golden pin reading “Top Female Senior Athlete.”

This jacket had always been a symbol of achievement in my high school, a coveted badge of honor. Now, it was about to become mine. Students who’d earned varsity letters wore them with a quiet confidence, a silent testament to the blood, sweat, and countless hours poured into their passions. But mine wouldn’t just tell one story; it would be a tapestry woven with early morning practices, late-night rehearsals, and a burning desire to excel in everything I put my heart into.

Earning a letter in Track was expected. As the team captain, I knew the sting of lactic acid in my legs after grueling workouts just as well as the adrenaline rush of crossing the finish line first. But the gold patch was a different melody. It represented countless hours spent perfecting my violin– the frustration of a missed note giving way to the joy of a perfect melody.

Music had always been a sanctuary for me, a world of intricate harmonies and emotional expression. But whispers of doubt had lingered. Was it “tough” enough? Did it deserve the same pride of place as the grueling physical challenges of track?

The answer came during our final concert of the year. The auditorium buzzed with nervous energy as we took our places. As the conductor raised their baton, the world seemed to melt away. The music flowed, a seamless tapestry of sound I was a part of. When the final note faded, the thunderous applause washed over us. In that moment, I knew – the dedication, the late-night practices, the calloused fingers – it had all been worth it.

Now, the weight of the jacket wasn’t just about achievement. It was about defying stereotypes and embracing all the facets of who I was. The letters represented not just strength and endurance, but also the ability to create beauty and express emotions through music.

The iron sizzled as it secured the letters in place. With a careful hand, sewn onto the jacket, right next to the heart. This wasn’t just any jacket anymore; it was a culmination of countless hours, late nights, and unwavering dedication. It was a symbol of not just being a runner and a musician, but a leader, a point-scorer, and a top athlete. Most importantly, it was a testament to someone who dared to chase after all their passions, leaving no melody unsung or race unrun.

Twilight Rules and Summer Skies: A Tapestry of Childhood Freedom and Structure

Every child craves a little freedom, and I was no exception. Looking back, my parents’ rules seemed strict, almost oppressive at times. They enforced a rigorous cleaning regime for my bedroom, an unbreakable curfew, and a zero-tolerance policy for missing school. While I grumbled and complained back then, I have come to appreciate the values these rules instilled in me.

My room was a constant battleground. My parents expected it to be spotless, with clothes folded, bed made, and no clutter in sight. This clashed mightily with my childish desire for a space that reflected my personality, not their image of an immaculate showcase. The nightly inspections, often ending with frustrated sighs and re-cleaning, felt like a power struggle. However, this constant tidying translated into valuable life skills. I learned organization, the importance of keeping a clean living space, and the efficiency of putting things away after use. These are all habits that benefit me to this day.

The thrill of the approaching twilight was a constant battle cry in my childhood. Every afternoon, the golden hues of the sun would morph into a cooler palette, casting long shadows and igniting a familiar fire in my gut – the desperate need to be home before the streetlights flickered on.

There was an unspoken rule, a universal language amongst neighborhood kids: you did not play after dark. It was not just about the scolds from parents; there was an undeniable shift in the atmosphere as the day surrendered to night. The friendly bustle of neighbors thinned, replaced by an unsettling quiet. The world seemed to shrink, the familiar streets taking on an unfamiliar edge under the dim glow of porch lights.

The race against the dying light fueled our games. We would pack as much fun as possible into the shrinking window of time, the lengthening shadows a constant reminder. Every rustle in the bushes, every creak of a swing set, sent a jolt of nervous excitement.

The frantic scrambled home was a masterpiece of childhood chaos. Bikes pumped furiously, tag transitioned into a desperate dash, and laughter morphed into breathless gasps. Reaching our front steps as the first streetlight sputtered on wanted to win an Olympic sprint. Relief washed over us, a mixture of triumph and the unspoken fear of what might have lurked in the encroaching darkness.

Looking back, the rule was not just about safety, although that was undoubtedly a prime concern. It was a marker of time, a gentle nudge back to the warmth and security of home. It was a shared experience, a childhood bond woven with stolen moments of twilight play and the collective sigh of relief as the streetlights asserted their dominion over the darkening world. Even now, the soft glow of dusk can evoke a pang of nostalgia, a bittersweet reminder of those carefree days, forever bound to the fading light.

Looking back, I understand their concern for my safety and well-being. The enforced bedtime ensured I got enough sleep, which is crucial for my physical and mental health, especially during those teenage years. It also probably saved me from some bad decisions made under the cloak of darkness.

Finally, there was an absolute ban on missing school. Sickness was the only acceptable excuse, and even then, I was expected to catch up on any missed work. While this approach left no room for laziness or skipping class for frivolous reasons, it instilled in me a strong work ethic and a respect for education. It taught me the importance of showing up, being responsible for my learning, and the consequences of neglecting my studies. These are all values that continue to serve me well in my academic and professional pursuits.

The tyranny of twilight held no sway over my childhood summers. Unlike most neighborhood kids, the lengthening shadows and chirping crickets were not a signal to head home. For me, they were a lullaby serenading the start of a glorious after-dinner adventure. With a touch of relaxed supervision unique to summer, my parents granted me the freedom to roam until the stars emerged, painting the canvas of dusk with a million tiny diamonds.

Those days were epics, stretching out like unfurling scrolls filled with endless possibilities. Barefoot adventures unfolded in the dew-kissed grass, building forts from fallen branches or chasing butterflies with unrestrained glee. The sun climbed higher, transforming the world into a playground bathed in warm sunlight.

Lunch was a quick refuel, a sandwich devoured on the porch swing, my gaze already scanning the horizon for the next escapade. The afternoons were a kaleidoscope of activities – swimming in the pool, climbing the gnarled tree in our backyard, or organizing elaborate tea parties for alligators under the lilac with my collection of mudpies, made from endless playing in the sandbox.

As the day waned, casting long golden fingers across the landscape, a different kind of magic unfolded. Crickets chirped their nightly chorus, a soothing soundtrack to our whispered ghost stories shared around a crackling bonfire.

The freedom to play until the stars came out was not just about the extra hours of sunshine. It fostered a deep connection with nature, a sense of independence, and a boundless well of creativity. Every day was a new expedition, a chance to explore, invent, and lose myself in the boundless world outside my doorstep. Those long, unfettered summer days remain a cherished memory, a testament to the power of untamed play and the simple joy of being a kid, bathed in the golden glow of endless possibility.

Childhood is a tapestry woven from a blend of structure and freedom. My experience exemplifies this perfectly. While some evenings ended with a frantic scramble home before the streetlights flickered on, my summers were expansive adventures bathed in the golden glow of endless possibility.

Looking back, I appreciate the balance my parents provided. The enforced chores instilled valuable life skills, the curfews ensured my well-being, and the emphasis on school attendance fostered a strong work ethic. These aspects, however, grudgingly accepted at the time, have become the cornerstones of who I am today.

Yet, the freedom of my summer days remains a cherished memory. It nurtured my creativity, fostered a deep connection with nature, and instilled a sense of independence. These carefree explorations under the vast summer sky stand in beautiful contrast to the structured evenings of my youth.

Both these experiences – the structured and the free – contributed to shaping me into the person I am today. They taught me the value of responsibility and the importance of following rules, while simultaneously nurturing a sense of exploration and a love for the outdoors. It is a reminder that a well-rounded childhood needs a balance between boundaries and freedom, and for that, I am grateful.

Adulting: It’s Not All It’s Cracked Up to Be

Remember the days when the biggest worry was a scraped knee or missing your favorite cartoon? Yeah, me neither. Adulthood, with all its promises of freedom and independence, has become a relentless beast, a hydra of challenges rearing its ugly heads at every turn. Unlike childhood responsibilities, these “grown-up” problems feel like an unrelenting assault on my sanity and bank account.

Bills, once abstract concepts from sitcoms, have become a constant, suffocating presence. Every paycheck feels like a flimsy dam against a raging river of expenses – rent, utilities, that surprise car repair… the list goes on, a cruel reminder that adulthood is a never-ending game of financial whack-a-mole. Gone are the days of carefree spending, replaced by a paralyzing fear of dipping into the ever-dwindling “savings” account.

Medical concerns, once a trip to the doctor with a lollipop waiting at the end, have morphed into a potential financial and emotional nightmare. Every headache becomes a potential brain tumor, every cough a symptom of some mysterious illness. The internet, once a portal to endless entertainment, is now a minefield of self-diagnosis, leaving you a quivering mess convinced you have every ailment known to humankind.

Marriage, that supposed haven of love and companionship, comes with its own set of challenges. Gone are the days of playing make-believe with your sandbox and Legos; now you’re building a real life together, complete with leaky faucets, in-law drama, your constant worry about your children, and the negotiation of chores. Disagreements morph from squabbles over who gets the bigger slice of cake to full-blown arguments about finances, housework, and whose turn it is to take out the trash.

Sure, there’s a certain satisfaction that comes with paying your bills on time, tackling a DIY project around the house, or navigating the complexities of a committed relationship. But let’s be honest, wouldn’t we all trade it in for a simpler time, a time when the biggest worry was finishing our homework and making it home before dark? Adulthood may offer a taste of freedom, but it comes with a hefty price tag – the constant, nagging feeling that you’re just one missed paycheck or bad diagnosis away from total disaster. Childhood, with its structure and limitations, seems like a distant paradise compared to the relentless onslaught of challenges that define adult life. Maybe that bedtime story about never wanting to grow up wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

Justin Owen Gibson

Love Among the Screams: A Haunted House Romance

Marriage, like life itself, is a journey with unexpected turns. While I am incredibly grateful for the love and happiness I have found with my current husband, there are moments when reflecting on past experiences can offer valuable insights. Today, I want to talk about a pivotal chapter in my life – my marriage to my ex-husband. It may seem strange to revisit this period, especially considering my wonderful marriage now, but the lessons learned during that time have shaped me into the person I am today, and a stronger partner.

The stale scent of fake blood and mildew clung to the air like a second skin as I surveyed the cobwebbed torture chamber. It was my first night working at the haunted house at the Newgate Mall in Ogden, and a tremor of pre-show jitters snaked its way up my spine.

A mischievous glint while holding a chainsaw, grinned at me from the doorway. Who insisted I work near or with him.

That was how I met Justin Owen Gibson. He was the resident jump-scare specialist, a walking contradiction – tall, 6’5”, and broad with a gentle demeanor that belied his love of scaring the bejesus out of teenagers. That night, between spooking customers and stuffing fake cobwebs into dusty corners, we talked. About everything and nothing: our dreams, our pet peeves, the questionable life choices that led us to work in this haunted house.

The following week, the “off-duty” haunting continued. Justin, ever the chivalrous knight (or just a sucker for damsels in distress), insisted on driving me home in his beat-up Dodge panel wagon. It rumbled to life with a groan that rivaled any ghost, and the interior held an eclectic mix of fast-food wrappers, forgotten gym socks, and a faint vanilla air freshener scent perpetually battling the lingering aroma of engine grease.

One night, as Justin weaved the wagon through a downpour, disaster struck. A rogue soda, dislodged from a rogue pothole, erupted like a miniature geyser, drenching my lap in sticky brown liquid. The air filled with Justin’s panicked apologies and my surprised laughter.

It was a bittersweet ending, but the truth resonated. We learned we stumbled, we laughed, and we grew. And even though our haunted house romance didn’t last, the echoes of that time – the fake blood, the nervous laughter, the shared dreams whispered in the rumble of his wagon – still hold a special place in my heart, a reminder of the love, the lessons, and the delightfully creepy charm of finding your first spark in a place filled with ghosts.

Taking the Leap: How I Ended Up Saying ‘I Do‘

Twinkling lights cast a warm glow on the living room. Christmas at his parents’ house was always a mixed bag – beautiful decorations countered by strained silences and suffocating expectations, a messed up pumpkin pie, I had made. This year, however, felt different. A nervous flutter danced in my stomach as I stole a glance at Justin, sprawled comfortably beside me on his bed.

We’d been dating off and on for two years, a whirlwind of stolen weekends and whispered secrets. He was a breath of fresh air – funny, kind, and with a genuine sparkle in his eyes. Unlike the constant bickering I witnessed between my parents, his family dinners were filled with laughter and warmth. The idea of finally leaving this house, of creating a life filled with his easygoing humor, felt like a distant dream come true.

Suddenly, Justin cleared his throat, his hand reaching for mine. “There’s something I want to give you,” he said, his voice a touch shaky. My heart hammered in my chest as he presented a small box. Inside, lay a simple ring – a simple band adorned with single, small diamonds.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Christmas had never held such joy. Here, amidst the familiar chaos, was a beacon of hope, a promise of escape. As I slipped the ring on, a million unspoken words hung between us. “I love you, Brandy,” Justin said, his voice soft. “And I know our life together won’t be perfect, but I want to build it with you. Will you marry me?”

The “yes” tumbling out of my mouth was a torrent of emotions – relief, excitement, and a sliver of guilt. This wasn’t just about love; it was about escaping the strained conversations and the constant feeling of being on eggshells. Maybe a part of my “yes” was fueled by desperation, but looking into Justin’s hopeful eyes, I saw a future filled with possibilities.

Christmas morning didn’t hold the usual tension. My parents, though surprised by the engagement (and perhaps a little relieved), were genuinely happy. The future stretched before me, no longer a suffocating tunnel but a path filled with shared dreams and laughter. Marriage became synonymous with freedom, with the ability to build a life where the soundtrack wasn’t the constant hiss of discontent.

Years passed. The Christmas tree in our cozy rental twinkled brightly, but a different kind of storm brewed beneath the surface. The joy of escape had faded, replaced by the slow erosion of dreams. Our once easygoing dynamic turned into a constant struggle. The laughter dimmed, replaced by arguments that echoed through the rooms we once envisioned filled with love. The promise of forever whispered in the temple, where we were sealed for all time and eternity at the Salt Lake Temple felt like a fading whisper on the wind.

Divorce was a dramatic brawl; and it was a slow unraveling, leaving us both adrift. But unlike the tangled mess of Christmas lights in storage, I couldn’t just shove it back in a box. I craved a fresh start, a clean slate. So, with a single suitcase and a heart full of trepidation, I drove away one day to Alabama. It was a desperate escape, and a leap of faith towards a future I could finally write myself.

As I sat alone in my home, with zero Christmas decorations at my feet, a bittersweet ache settled in my chest. Marriage wasn’t the escape I’d envisioned, but it had been a journey filled with its lessons. I learned the importance of communication, the power of self-reliance, and the enduring love of my family. My first Christmas after starting my new life, the twinkling lights weren’t just a reminder of a failed escape, but a beacon of hope for a new beginning, one built on my terms, not as a desperate escape, but as a brave step into the unknown.

Our Civil Marriage; May 16, 1996

The rain hammered a relentless rhythm on the church roof, a melancholic soundtrack to the day that should have been filled with joyful cacophony. Inside the cozy confines of the church hall, however, a different kind of storm brewed. My bridesmaids, Sabrina and Laurie, huddled with me, their laughter laced with nervous energy as they wrestled the borrowed white dress. The fabric, elegant in its simplicity, clung to me a little too tightly, but hey, who needed dry cleaning when you had runaway emotions?

Speaking of emotions, Dad grumbled good-naturedly as he surveyed the floral arrangements – a riot of vibrant colors I’d meticulously assembled myself. Necessity, fueled by his constant reminders about the budget, had birthed creativity. My mom rented the dress and bought my veil.

Meanwhile, a different kind of drama unfolded. Stepmother Darla, bless her ever-scheming heart, had volunteered for the cake. Cherry nut cake, your favorite.” My favorite? No. Never. Panic bubbled in my chest, threatening to spill over like a rain-filled gutter. But the truth dawned in a horrifying moment – a Styrofoam bottom, a cheap substitute for the layered vanilla dream I’d envisioned.

The ceremony itself was a blur of emotions, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of the rain on the roof. Dad, looking surprisingly dapper in his suit, surprised me with a teary walk down the aisle. Little Mattie, the flower girl, skipped down the aisle with a determined glint in her eye. Monan, the ring bearer, clutched the ring box with the solemnity of a miniature bodyguard. Then came Sabrina’s voice, clear and strong, soaring through the hall with a heartfelt ballad, a melody that seemed to weave through the raindrops.

Later, huddled under a hastily erected canopy adorned with royal blue and teal decorations, my husband, looking surprisingly dashing in his black cowboy hat held me close. The rain continued its relentless drumming, but here, under the canopy of love and laughter, it felt more like a lullaby. The Styrofoam bottom may have been a low blow, but in the end, love, laughter, and a little ingenuity ensured it was a day we’d never forget, rain or shine.

Our Temple Sealing; August 15, 1997

The dawn light cast a sterile glow on the white marble Salt Lake Temple, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my stomach. Today, I wasn’t a radiant bride, but a solitary figure in a dress, clutched in a fist that trembled more with nerves than the autumn chill. My family, once a source of unwavering support, wouldn’t be here.

Inside, the hushed reverence felt like a physical weight. I navigated the hallways alone, the echo of my footsteps the only company. Gone were the joyous wedding photos and celebratory decorations that usually adorned these walls. My journey today was a stark reflection of the quiet desperation that had driven me here.

He was waiting in the sealing room, a familiar face etched with lines I hadn’t noticed before. Time, it seemed, had been as unkind to him as it had been to us. The officiator, a kind-faced man with gentle eyes, spoke of covenants and eternity. His words, though beautiful, felt hollow in the cavernous room. Was this what forever felt like? Hollow and echoing?

As I took his hand, a thousand memories flooded back. The laughter, the dreams, the slow, agonizing unraveling. It was a tapestry woven with joy and heartbreak, a testament to a love that once burned bright but had dimmed to embers.

The ceremony was brief, the pronouncements whispered, almost fearful of breaking the fragile silence. When it ended, a part of me expected a wave of relief, of closure. Instead, there was only a heavy emptiness, a sense of finality that left me breathless.

We walked out of the temple together, but the path ahead stretched before me, a solitary road I would have to walk alone. He offered a hesitant hug, a silent apology hanging heavy in the air. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away, leaving me bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, a solitary figure on the cusp of a new beginning, one forged in the fires of faith and the ashes of a broken dream.

The journey home was a blur. Tears, unshed during the ceremony, streamed freely now, a cleansing rain washing away the remnants of the past. As I pulled into my driveway, the weight of the day finally settled on me. This wasn’t a victory lap, nor a return to a life once lost. It was a solitary step forward, a leap of faith into an uncertain future.

But as I sat there, a strange calm settled over me. The emptiness, though vast, held the possibility of new beginnings. Perhaps this was not the forever I had envisioned, but it was mine, a path I would carve on my terms. The temple may not have brought reconciliation, but it had brought a strange sense of peace, a quiet acceptance of the hand I’d been dealt. And in that quiet acceptance, I found the strength to rise, to face the future alone, but no longer entirely broken.

The Divorce; March 25, 2002

The air crackled with a tension thicker than the dust motes dancing in the weak March sunshine. The calendar on the wall mocked me – March 25th, 2002. Five years, three arguments a day, and a thousand unspoken resentments all led to this moment.

The finality of it hit me as I hung up the phone after the uncontested court proceedings finished. The home, once a symbol of our future, now represented the past we were desperately trying to outrun. It was as if we were both mourners attending the funeral of a loved one who had died a slow, agonizing death.

The gavel fell, a final, resounding thud. “Divorce granted.” The words hung in the air, an official punctuation mark at the end of a failed chapter. Relief mingled with a sharp pang of sadness. This wasn’t just about ending a marriage; it was about saying goodbye to the life I’d envisioned, the dreams we’d woven together.

The divorce papers were a legal document formalizing the emotional separation that had been growing for years. I felt a strange lightness. The weight of a loveless marriage had finally lifted. The future stretched before me, uncertain but full of possibility. The road wouldn’t be easy, but it would be mine to walk, free from the chains of a broken promise.

March 25th, 2002, wouldn’t mark the end of my story; it would be the beginning of a new one, a story written on my terms, with a blank page waiting to be filled. Freedom!

Christopher James Greene: Married February 29, 2008

From Yahoo Messenger to “I Do”: A Super Bowl Spark

The glow of the computer screen cast an ethereal blue light on my face in 2005. Yahoo chatrooms were the breeding ground for many an online friendships back then, and that’s where I met Chris. We bonded over our conversations and a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. Miles separated us – me in Alabama and him in Ogden, Utah, close to where I grew up as a child. Despite the distance, our online conversations flowed effortlessly. He’d tell me about his work, his frustration with the Cubs (poor guy!), and I’d regale him with tales of heat and hurricanes and the ever-present life with Danny.

Fast forward to 2006. I moved back home. The 2006 Super Bowl, where the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Seattle Seahawks, with the Steelers, won the game by a score of 21-10.  The game was held at Ford Field in Detroit, Michigan. Chris suggested we meet up for the game at his friend’s house in Roy. My stomach did a nervous flip-flop, but the thrill of finally seeing him in person outweighed the fear.

The moment I saw him a wave of relief washed over me. He looked exactly like his profile picture, only somehow taller and more handsome in real life. The game was a blur of nervous energy and stolen glances. By the final whistle, the tension was electric.

Conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by awkward pauses that somehow evolved into a long, heated makeout session under the frosty sky. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

The next morning, sleep-tousled and slightly sheepish, I expected a casual goodbye. Instead, Chris surprised me with a breakfast invitation. Over steaming coffee and fluffy pancakes, we talked about everything and nothing. There was a comfortable silence between us that spoke volumes. We weren’t strangers anymore, not quite lovers, but something in between – a connection forged online and solidified in the crisp February air.

Life continued its course. We kept in touch, the online conversations now peppered with late-night phone calls filled with whispered secrets and dreams, and many dates. Nervousness gnawed at me. Would the magic we shared online translate to the real world?

Luckily, Chris was a dream come true. He welcomed me with open arms, introducing me to his friends and becoming the friend I’d never truly known. We fell into a comfortable rhythm, weekend dates turning into movie nights, our laughter echoing through the walls. Sprinkled with beggin strips and Alexi Lou, my favorite companion.

The guy I met in a chatroom years ago wasn’t just a friend anymore, not after that Super Bowl kiss under the Utah sky. He became my confidant, my dog sitter, my biggest supporter, and eventually, my love story that blossomed from the seeds of an online spark. The distance that once separated us had only made the connection sweeter, and the game that brought us together became the field for our happily ever after.

Love Takes Up More Space: A Story of Growth and Commitment

It had only been eight months since we’d met online. Finding a place together felt just as natural. A tiny two-bedroom bungalow with a barely-there loft. It wasn’t much.  It was a feeling I’d never quite experienced before, a certainty that transcended the usual butterflies of a new relationship.

And that’s how it started. Our love story wasn’t a whirlwind romance of grand gestures. It was a slow burn, fueled by shared dreams, deep conversations that stretched into the night, and a comfortable silence that spoke volumes. We finished each other’s sentences, laughed at the same silly jokes, and found solace in each other’s company.

Finding a place together felt just as natural. While our dream home was a sprawling farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Each creak of the floorboards, each chipped mug on the shelf, and a flooded laundry became a testament to our love story.

We learned to navigate the challenges of a small space with creativity and humor. Movie nights found us cuddled on the sofa, popcorn scattered like movie magic.

Sure, there were moments of frustration. Laundry overflowed, the shower stall was a squeeze, and sometimes, all we craved was a moment of solitary silence. But through it all, our love remained a constant. We learned to compromise, to communicate, and to appreciate the beauty of living life on a smaller scale.

Our tiny home, with its chipped floorboards, wasn’t just a house; it was a symbol of our love. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, the greatest love stories begin not with grand gestures, but with the quiet certainty that you’ve found your forever person in the most unexpected of places and that forever can bloom beautifully, even in the most compact of spaces.

The moving truck rumbled away, swallowing the last of our belongings from the little house. It was a bittersweet goodbye. Every floorboard creak, every chipped mug on the shelf held a memory of our tiny haven, a testament to the laughter and love that had filled its cramped spaces. But this bittersweetness was laced with a deeper sorrow, the raw ache of losing my father just a couple of months after our move. Grief had settled over me like a heavy fog, and leaving the familiar walls felt like another loss piled onto an already overflowing plate.

Chris, ever perceptive, squeezed my hand. His touch, calloused yet comforting, was an anchor in the storm of emotions. He understood the weight of the move, not just the logistical transition, but the emotional ties leaving the little house severed.

The new house wasn’t a sprawling farmhouse, but it felt like a palace compared to our previous digs. Sunlight streamed through oversized windows, illuminating rooms that felt positively cavernous after the intimacy of the little house. It was overwhelming, honestly.

One evening, as I sat curled up on the bed in our new home, tears blurring my vision, Chris found me. He sat down beside me, his arms offering the familiar haven I desperately needed. We didn’t talk, not at first. He simply held me, his presence a silent reassurance. When I finally spoke, the words tumbled out, a jumbled mess of grief and confusion. He listened patiently, his only interjection a comforting squeeze of his hand or a gentle stroke of my hair.

As I talked, a new realization dawned on me. This man, who had shared laughter and dreams with me in the tiny house, was now my rock during the storm. His unwavering support, his quiet strength in the face of my grief, fanned the embers of love already burning within me into a roaring fire.

Later that night, as we sat on the porch swing, a comfortable silence settling around us, I looked at him, starlight sparkling in his eyes. “We should get married,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Sooner rather than later.”

Ben’s smile was the brightest thing on the starlit night. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

The new house, a symbol of both new beginnings and bittersweet endings, became the backdrop for our wedding planning. Each unpacked box held a memory, a fragment of our past. But woven into the fabric of those memories was the realization that our love story, nurtured in the cramped space of the little house, had grown stronger with every passing day. And in this new chapter, with its spacious rooms and endless possibilities, we wrote our next verse, hand in hand, a future filled with love, laughter, and dreams that were no longer confined by the walls of a tiny house.

When Love Takes the Lead

Chris and I were in a comfortable groove, 16 months woven together like a well-worn sweater. But lately, that sweater felt a little itchy. Summer of June, bursting with vibrant life, and my heart mirrored the season’s exuberance. I craved a new kind of sparkle, a commitment that shimmered brighter than our usual Saturday night routine.

The day became a whirlwind of diamonds and platinum. Each ring was lovely. This is a classic design featuring three diamonds in a linear setting. The center stone is typically the largest, flanked by two smaller diamonds on either side. I purchased my engagement ring from Kay’s in hopes that Chris would follow through with the proposal.  I felt pushy, but this is what I wanted. 

Chris didn’t feel right proposing without my mom’s blessing. My mom’s reaction was everything I hoped for.

Stepping outside onto the sun-drenched deck, a thrill shot through me. Here it was, the moment I’d been subtly (okay, maybe not so subtly) nudging him towards. Chris took a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine with a nervous intensity.

Reaching into his pocket, he produced the familiar box, the one that had been burning a hole in my purse all day. A slow smile spread across my face, as he asked me to marry him.

The ring slipped onto my finger, the diamond catching the warm sunlight. It was a symbol, not just of our love, but of the beautiful life we were about to build together, a life I knew, with a little nudge, would be filled with laughter, love, and maybe even the perfect slice of wedding cake.

A Leap Year Love Story at Tuscany Gardens

February 29th, 2008 – a date as unique as our love story. Tuscany Gardens in Roy, bathed in the warm glow of winter sun, awaited our vows. I, a vision in a rose-colored gown, a tiara sparkling atop my head, stood with a nervous flutter in my heart. Chris, handsome in his black tuxedo, minus the tie, mirrored my excitement. Our colors, a bold blend of dark blue and rose, echoed in the beautiful floral arrangements adorning the venue, crafted with love by the reception center.

My sister Sabrina, my matron of honor, and Samantha, my maid of honor, stood by my side, their smiles radiating warmth. Hailey Juggler and Mashawn Mickels, my dear friends, completed my amazing bridal party. Chris’s side boasted his brothers, David and Mike, as his best men, along with Luke Draayer and Mitch Workman. Guiding guests to their seats were Chris Black and Chris Harmon, our ever-reliable ushers.

The tiny footsteps of Ryley and Elley, our flower girls, escorted by their father Ryan, brought a wave of joy. Tears welled up in my eyes as my mom and stepdad, Les Rands, walked me down the aisle, the weight of their love a comforting presence.

A father from the Catholic church presided over the ceremony, his words weaving together our hopes and dreams for a future built on love. The white and chocolate tiers of our wedding cake, adorned with delicate frosting, mirrored the playful poker chip design of Chris’s groom’s cake – a sweet nod to his love for the game.

Earlier that day, Sabrina transformed the bride’s room into a haven of relaxation with pinwheel sandwiches and champagne, while Chris’s room buzzed with the camaraderie of sub sandwiches and beer. The gifts we exchanged were a reflection of our personalities – I surprised Chris with a sleek Apple computer, and he presented me with a stunning pearl jewelry set, a timeless treasure.

As twilight painted the sky, the reception came alive. Laughter filled the air as guests enjoyed a delectable spread of appetizers and an open bar. A corner of the room honored my dad with a memorial table, a tribute to his presence in our hearts. The music, a carefully curated playlist of fun and romantic songs, kept our feet tapping. A playful tradition added to the merriment – guests could pin money to my dress, securing a dance with the bride!

The night ended in a flurry of bubbles as friends and family lined our paths, showering us with well wishes. Our getaway car, adorned with balloons (and perhaps a few less orthodox decorations!), whisked us away to the Anniversary Inn in the canyon, where our happily ever after began.

A Fond Memory of Beggin’ Strips and Second Chances

Alexi Lou wasn’t just a dog; she was my furry shadow, my confidante during the long night shifts. But let’s be honest, during the day, she could be a bit of a handful. That’s where Chris came in, his role in our little love story starting with a roll of Beggin’ Strips and a whole lot of puppy love.

Tension crackled in the air like burnt toast thanks to another spat with my ex-stepmother. Alexi, my faithful sunshine machine, dared to find her dog food more appealing than kibble. The solution was to lock Alexi up in my bedroom every night. Yeah, right.

That’s when the long nights at Walmart started to feel even longer. My room at my father’s house, while perfectly cozy for one, wasn’t exactly built for a dog with wanderlust in her heart, especially one forced into solitary confinement. Enter Chris, my charming boyfriend with a twinkle in his eye and a weakness for dogs (especially those easily bribed with Beggin’ Strips).

Our love story, you see, wasn’t born out of shared morning coffee or stolen glances across the hallway. It began with the sound of a lonely dog barking and the crinkle of a treat packet. Every afternoon, like clockwork, Chris would appear at my door, a roll of Beggin’ Strips announcing his arrival. Alexi, ever the opportunist, would erupt in a joyful dance, tail wagging a happy greeting. Chris, ever smitten (with both of us, I suspect), would dole out the treats, his laughter mingling with Alexi’s excited yelps.

“Puppy-sitting duty calls,” he’d declare, a playful glint in his eyes. And so began their daily ritual. Chris would take Alexi under his wing, whisking her away to his place for an afternoon of adventures. Belly rubs on the couch, and endless games of fetch – Alexi, the queen of entertainment, found a willing accomplice in Chris.

Those afternoons were my saving grace. Knowing Alexi was happy and spoiled rotten with love and treats, allowed me to focus on work without worry. But the truth is, I looked forward to Chris’s return as much as Alexi did. Our evenings were filled with shared stories of Alexi’s exploits, punctuated by Chris’s exaggerated tales of her naughtiness (which I suspected were mostly fabricated to make her seem even more adorable).

Our love story, unlike the burnt toast aftermath of a family dinner, unfolded one playful afternoon at a time. Alexi, the furry cupid with a penchant for gourmet dog food, had a paw in bringing us together. Her boundless energy became the bridge between our homes, her playful spirit the soundtrack to our blossoming love. And who knows, maybe Chris wasn’t just puppy-sitting Alexi all those afternoons; maybe he was subtly rescuing the girl with tired eyes and a heart full of love for her La Lou!

From Restaurant Adventures to Life’s Journey: A Love Story That Grows

Chris and I clicked from the start. Not in a flashy, fireworks kind of way, but in a comfortable, “hey, this feels familiar” kind of way. We both loved exploring new restaurants and could happily lose ourselves in conversation until the wee hours. Whether it was dog adventures with my Lexi or movie nights fueled by endless popcorn, we found shared joy in the simple moments.

Travel wasn’t just a dream; it was a burning desire. We devoured travel blogs, meticulously mapped out future itineraries, and bonded over a shared wanderlust. Both of us were also dedicated go-getters. We understood the value of hard work and the satisfaction of building a life together.

This wasn’t a whirlwind romance fueled by fleeting passions. It was a steady, simmering connection built on shared interests, open communication, and the drive to chase dreams together. We were teammates, both in love and life, ready to tackle the world, plate by plate, adventure by adventure.

Words feel like sand through my fingers when I try to express how much you mean to me.  I will not know your infectious laugh bubbling like the ocean waves.  But I can imagine the song of happiness carrying off through the wind. If I could write a letter to you, there would not be enough words, expressions, or thoughts in this world that could fill the pages.

Whenever I think of you having gone from this world, taken away from me and your dad, I am sad. Every day is a challenge. And every day it hurts. I don’t think this pain will ever go away. I cannot promise we’ll meet again, or if we will ever cross each other’s path. But you’ll always be my precious sea turtle, my reason for being a mom.

I can say the small amount of time I did have you in my life was a blessing beyond measure. You made me a mom.  I love you more than words can express, and I am proud to say I am your mom.  You are, and always will be, my world!

Fourteen years.  Fourteen Christmas wishes, hoping, praying for the miracle of you.  Each disappointment left a silent ache, but the love of your father and I fueled our determination.  The endless appointments, emotional swings, and the unwavering support from your dad- it all led us to you.

On the 23^rd of December 2009, a double pink line on the test felt like an explosion of fireworks.   Your dad and I couldn’t wait to share the joy!  Christmas morning buzzed with anticipation.  We filled a box full of packing peanuts and wrapped a little plastic baby to put in it. As your grandparents and aunt unwrapped the “gift”, their confused expressions quickly transformed into gasps of delight.  Tears welled up, laughter broke out-it was the most magical Christmas ever!

You, my precious child, CJ were more than just a gift; you were a dream come true.  The ache transformed into an overflowing love that continues to grow with each passing year.  You became the heart of our family, the embodiment of hope, and a constant reminder of the miracle of life.

They say pregnancy brings cravings, quirks, and funny moments. You fit the mark and lived up to that!  I carved Red Robin’s crispy, salt-kissed fries with tangy ketchup, and the satisfying crunch of a juicy Kosher dill pickle spear. The mere whiff of minty toothpaste would send me reeling, but dear Lori (rest her soul) brought every imaginable flavor, leading me to the surprising hero: cinnamon toothpaste.

Pregnancy with you was… different. No morning sickness, no headaches just a strange aversion to showers (the thought of bubbles popping in my stomach made me queasy!). I felt strangely energized, and our crazy dreams painted a vibrant picture of our future together.

Speaking of warmth, our dog named Alexi Lou, also an angel, was my constant companion.  She nuzzled her head against my belly as if listening to your tiny heartbeat and keeping you cozy.  I swear she knew.

Yes, I have called you my precious turtle since the moment I saw you on that fuzzy ultrasound at eleven weeks.  Your tiny form wiggled and explored, protected within your watery sea haven. Boy or a girl, it didn’t matter. You were our biggest dream, finally came true after fourteen years of yearning.  Tears of unbridled joy streamed down my face as I watched you, mesmerized by your every flicker of movement.  

Fourteen years of longing seemed suddenly insignificant compared to the immense joy of seeing you alive, healthy, and swimming freely.  Yet, fate had a different path in store, and my child was taken from me far too soon. I never thought my dream of being your momma would be cut short, the love for you remains, forever etched in my heart.

At thirteen weeks, a crimson stain was found on the sheet. Each drop echoed in my chest, a frantic drumbeat, against the doctor’s reassurances. “Quite common,” they said, their words hollow chimes in the vast emptiness of my worry.  Go home they advised, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen.  How could they tell me not to worry when every fiber of my being screamed otherwise?

  I forced a smile for your dad, hiding the tremor in my voice, the frantic pace of my thoughts.  But alone, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, each one a prayer against the unthinkable.  Why oh why, would they dismiss a mother’s fear, the primal instant to protect the love yet unseen, yet already held so dearly?

In the quiet hush, I sat whispering dreams and desires.  My voice, thick with unshed tears, spoke of the future I longed to share, a life filled with joy and laughter.  So much I said, pouring out my hopes like offering to an unseen alter.  I only hoped, my precious CJ, that my love crossed the veil and beacon guiding you in the darkness.  

The memory of waking up at 2 am on Tuesday, February 16, 2010, to crippling pain still haunts me even today. My feet barely touched the floor as I launched myself from the bed, driven by a cold, primal fear that clawed at my throat.  Panic fueling my frantic dash to the bathroom, fear clinging to me like a suffocating shroud.  Tears streamed down my face as tremors wracked my body, the solitude amplifying the pain. The medical field calls it a miscarriage.  I say I gave birth to you that morning.

When I picked you up, a flicker of life, faint, and fleeting, danced against my fingertips before disappearing into the void.  Grief washed over me, cold and heavy. I felt you move for a split second, then you were gone.

My body rocked back and forth, a futile attempt to soothe a wound that ran deeper than bone.  Tears mingled with whispers of what-ifs, painting a canvas of despair.   Raw anguish ripped through me, shattering the quiet night and waking your dad up through my sobs. He rushed in, to find me cradling our beloved son.  His gaze held a weight I’d never witnessed before as if the world pressed down on him with an unrelenting hand. He sat, a statue carved from pain, his silence speaking volumes more than any words ever could.

Seeing my condition, your dad knew immediate action was crucial.  A sense of urgency filled the room as your dad realized the need for professional help.  And without hesitation, your dad knew the next step was essential for getting the care I needed.  Thanks to your dad’s quick thinking, I was soon on the way to getting the necessary help.

With a deep breath, he tenderly enveloped your delicate body in a soft fabric, offering warmth and comfort. He then gently helped me, ensuring I received the necessary attention and care.  And with silent understanding passed between us, the actions speaking volumes more than any words could, helped me up.  He gently bundled me in a blanket, and with steady support, helped me into the car, never once letting you out of his arms.  He then carefully placed you in my arms and secured us before buckling us up in the car.

Upon arrival at the hospital, we were ushered into a dedicated area for examination.  My body felt heavy, anchored to the chair by an invisible weight. My muscles refused to respond, leaving me frozen in a posture of stillness.  The world around me seemed faded, and muted, its sounds and colors dulled by an invisible film.  Time stretched and warped, each second an eternity in this numb abyss.

I held you close, counting tiny fingers and toes, mesmerized by your perfect form.  Each touch, a whisper of love, a promise forever etched in my heart.  Every detail I absorbed is a treasure to carry through the years.  Your soft hands, your delicate feet, each moment a brushstroke on a canvas of love.  A bittersweet joy filled me as I looked upon you, seeing glimpses of your father mirrored in your features.  We held onto each other, united in grief and love.

Words failed me, replaced by a silent conversation flowing through gentle touches and tender moments.  Time stood still, each second precious and fleeting.  Though my heart ached, a fierce love fueled my resolve to cherish every precious moment.  You will forever be a part of me, carried in my soul. I knew this was my only chance to be with you.

You were incredibly small at 8.7 cm (3.43 inches) long and weighing only seventeen grams, a precious bundle nestled in my hands.  Tiny and delicate, you fit perfectly in my palm, a reminder of the preciousness of life and its fleeting nature.  Your closed eyes held dreams yet to unfold, your smallness a stark contrast to the immense love you inspired.  Like a fragile butterfly waiting to take flight, you embodied hope and the promise of a future I couldn’t hold.

The emergency room experience was deeply unsettling, leaving me with lasting emotional scars.  I hope no one has to endure similar pain and discomfort.  Though the hospital visit was difficult, I found strength in asking for a memento of footprints.  It served as a reminder of hope and resilience amidst the sorrow. 

We were surrounded by incredible love and support after your passing.  Your Aunt’s words, especially the quote from ‘Steel Magnolias,’ resonated deeply.  “I got to be there when that wonderful creature drifted into this world, and I got to be there when she drifted out.”  Holding you as you entered and left the world was an immense privilege.  The outpouring of love and empathy from loved ones brought comfort during a difficult time.  Your Aunt’s words about embracing both beginnings and ends resonated deeply, and we find solace in knowing you weren’t alone.

Creating a special baby book filled with letters from your dad and me was a way to preserve our cherished memories.   These written treasures are for you and only you, forever capturing the love we shared.  Though the tangible reminders of your life fit in a small box, the memories held are vast and ever-growing.  Each day, we find new ways to celebrate your existence and keep your spirit alive.

The world missed experiencing your unique light.  Your absence leaves a deep ache in our hearts, but your memory shines brightly within us.  We carry your spirit close, knowing the joy you brought would have touched so many lives.  Even though your time was brief, your impact is boundless.  We cherish the love you brought and the light you continue to hold within us.

Thinking of you, CJ, I am reminded of the beauty of amethysts, which is your birthstone.  Amethysts symbolize sincerity, peace, and purity.  Just like a calm ocean to swim in, it shows a pure and innocent soul who hadn’t experienced the complexities and struggles of life.  Irises, your birth flower, reminds me of your hopeful spirit and the faith you brought to our lives.  Their vibrant colors echo the joy you spread.  You may have been an Aquarius, a water bearer, but you carried the warmth and strength of a tiger within you.  Your bravery and playful spirit continue to inspire me.  A good friend of ours, gave you a stuffed Chinese Year of the Tiger, as a cherished reminder of your fierce spirit and love that transcends borders.

While memories may fade, the love we shared is still eternal. We remember the special impact you had on our family.  You may be gone too soon, but your memories, and spirit live on in our hearts.  And though your light was extinguished too early, its warmth continues to guide us and remind us of the love we shared.

Loss casts a long shadow, leaving fragments of “what if” woven into the tapestry of life.  But embracing the unknown, I have had to navigate a path shaped by loss yet enriched by unexpected turns.  With an open heart, I stepped into the unknown, embracing the future with courage and resilience.

My mind wanders to paths not taken, filled with echoes of what could have been.  With bittersweet fondness, I imagine moments that might have unfolded.  Longing weaves its way through my memories, forming dreams of a life unlived.  My imagination paints a canvas of potential, filled with colors of joy and love.  In the realm of what could have been, my heart dances with dreams unfulfilled.  That tapestry of “what ifs’ unfolds, woven with threads of yearning and hope.

Daydreams bring glimpses of alternate realities, filled with possibilities explored.  Reflection prompts visions of life’s different routes, each with its own story.  Memories intertwine with imagination, creating a kaleidoscope of experiences.  

My heart fills with warmth picturing moments of tenderness, giggles, and first experiences.  The joy of sharing everyday moments, from laughter-filled meals to playful adventures, dances in my imagination. I envision seeing your first wobbly steps, the wonder on your face, and the shared bond of discovery.  The thought of seeing your smile bloom for the first time, a reflection of pure joy, brings a tear to my eye.  Imagining the connections we would have built, filled with love and laughter, is both bittersweet and comforting.  I treasure the thought of the emotional journey we would have shared, filled with milestones and shared laughter.

My mind paints a picture of future moments, filled with adventure, laughter, and shared experiences.  Excitement and anticipation mingle with longing as I imagine seeing your growth and discovering who you will become.  The thought of nurturing your potential and celebrating your accomplishments fills me with bittersweet hope.

I imagine a spirit fueled by curiosity and intelligence, reaching for knowledge and adventure.  Kindness and humor intertwined, creating a personality both playful and compassionate.  Traces of adventure leave playful reminders, muddy footprints, and forgotten toys scattered with love.  Growth brings its joys and tribulations, moments of learning and laughter intermingling with playful mischief.  The vibrant energy of youth fills the air, a whirlwind of boundless enthusiasm and exploration. Laughter echoing through the air, the rush of joyful movement, a blur of fur and happiness with your loyal companion Alexi Lou side by side, hearts and paws pounding in a joyful dance. 

My mind dances with dreams of everyday moments, laughter-filled walks, playful mischief, and the bittersweet of growing up.  I envision seeing milestones of independence, the thrill of first crushes, and the resilience gained through life’s challenges. I picture a playful competition and share moments of laughter with your dad from teasing rivalries to triumphs and celebrations together.  I envision seeing gestures of love, like a flower brought with pride or a heartfelt gift, you found in the neighbor’s prized flower bed, reflecting the unique bond we would have shared.  I imagine us bonded by shared passion whether it’s exploring the world through video games, or the thrill of adventure in the outdoors.

I can imagine every Christmas ornament or Mother’s Day gift treasured and crafted with your tiny hands.  These tokens of affection are proudly displayed, whispering memories of a love that transcends time.  More precious than any ornament, shining through as a homemade gift.

While I can imagine countless experiences we might have shared, I hold dear the moments we cherished.  Instead of dwelling on what could have been, I find solace in building new traditions and remembering you through those traditions. Like continuing to celebrate your birthday at Red Robin, filled with love and lots of salty fries. 

Though my imagination fills the canvas, the love for you stays constant, a thread woven through every dream.  These envisioned moments may remain unlived, but the connection we share transcends time and space.  In my heart, I carry the essence of who you could have been, a reminder of the love that forever binds us.

Out of all the memories I missed out on, people not meeting you is what I miss the most.  Though they may not have met you physically, I share your spirit and essence with the world, keeping your memory alive.  Words may not paint a complete picture, but I weave stories of your potential, laughter, and impact on my life.  My heart overflows with the joy of who you could have been, and I share that light with others, ensuring you’re never forgotten.

Instead of dwelling on missed encounters, I build connections that share our story and the love embodied within it.  Each connection becomes a bridge, carrying your memory forward and ensuring your light touches more lives.  

Sharing stories about you can be emotionally challenging, as people may not understand or know how to respond.  I long to celebrate and brag about the person you are, just like any parent.  The limitations around sharing sometimes leave me feeling isolated and misunderstood.  I do try to find creative ways to keep my memory alive and share aspects of my life that are meaningful to me.  While traditional avenues may not be available, I find solace in honoring your memory in my ways.

Our family grew in a different way than we initially planned, welcoming two wonderful children through adoption.  While we missed the infant and toddler years, the joy of parenthood filled our hearts in new and unexpected ways.  Adopting older children brought different experiences and challenges, but the love and connection we built are just as strong and meaningful.  Every family journey is unique, and ours began with open arms and open hearts.

While we cherish the memories of what could have been, we focus on the blessings of the present and the exciting future we’re building with our adopted children.  Every day is a chance to learn, grow, and connect as a family.  We are incredibly grateful for the opportunity to love and nurture these amazing children.  While we acknowledge the unique experiences of adoption, we wouldn’t trade our beautiful family for anything.

The love I have for your siblings is powerful and deep, though it may differ in its expression.  I love your siblings fiercely, in a way that fills my heart with a different kind of joy.  Each one of your siblings brings out unique love within me and holds a special place in my heart.  My love for each child is different, like a star in the sky, each shining brightly in its unique way.  The love I have for your siblings is just as real and precious, though it may not look the same as what we share.  There are many ways to love, and each expression is beautiful and profound. Though our journey to become a family is different, the love we share is real and binding.  We may not have begun as a traditional family, but the love shared makes us truly connected.

Life unfolds in unexpected ways, weaving joys and heartbreaks into a unique tapestry.  Though dreams of you being here with us didn’t come true, new opportunities blossomed, leading us down paths we never imagined.  With open arms and open hearts, we embrace the unexpected gifts life brings, cherishing the present.  Every journey, even those marked by loss, offers lessons that shape who we become.  Gratitude fills my heart for the blessings present, even as I acknowledge the bittersweet beauty of what could have been.  Through challenges and joys, I find strength and resilience, embracing the future with unwavering hope.

Life’s journey is rarely linear, filled with both sunshine and showers, shaping us along the way.  We each walk unique paths, yet the human spirit’s resilience and ability for love bind us together.  With an open mind and open heart, we embrace the lessons life teaches cherishing the connections we forge.

With you gone I wouldn’t have needed to adjust to a new family dynamic requiring resilience and flexibility, even though the journey brought on unexpected strength and growth.  Life for us took an unexpected turn, leading me down a path of parenthood I never expected, yet filled with its rewards and challenges.  Our family may have formed differently, but the love and dedication poured into nurturing and remained constant, adapting to each new experience.

Navigating these complex emotions hasn’t been easy, and that’s completely understandable.  Life unfolds in unpredictable ways, and it’s okay to wonder and explore different possibilities.  With time and self-compassion, we learn to accept the path life takes, even as we acknowledge the challenges and sadness it brings.  Though our journey is difficult, every experience shapes us and helps us grow into stronger, more resilient individuals.  Life’s experiences even the painful ones, can offer valuable lessons and guide us towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.   Instead of dwelling on what could have been, I try to focus on the blessings and opportunities of the present moment.  With hope and determination, I embrace the future, carrying the lessons of the past while creating new joys and memories.

As much as I miss you, I find solace in the hope that our story continues, even if in different ways.  My love for you transcends time and space, and I hold onto the hope that our connection will endure, even if I can’t explain how.  Though our paths diverged, the spark you ignited within me continues to shine, guiding me and giving me hope for the future. 

The journey has been challenging, but you’ve shaped me into someone stronger and more resilient, who carries your memory with love.  Loss has changed me, but your spirit lives on in the values I strive to embody and the love I share with others.  Though grief stays, it’s intertwined with gratitude for the lessons learned and the strength gained through carrying your memory.

Even though you are no longer physically present, our connection remains unbreakable, woven into the fabric of my being.  No matter what the future holds, the love we share will forever be a cherished treasure, a guiding light on my path.  While words may fall short, the imprint you left on my heart is still indelible, a constant reminder of the love we share.

Living through this loss has changed me in many ways.  I find myself more connected to others who have faced similar challenges.  This experience has helped me grow and develop my ability for compassion and love.  However, it has also brought up difficult emotions like frustration and envy.  Seeing other mothers with their children can be difficult for me, and I am working on understanding and managing these feelings. It’s understandable to feel jealous or frustrated in this situation, and it’s important to acknowledge your emotions.  It’s okay not to understand why things happened the way they did, but I can find support and healing as I navigate these emotions.

Talking to a therapist has helped me process these complex emotions.  Connecting with other parents who have experienced loss has helped provide support and understanding.  And most importantly I have focused on self-care practices like mindfulness and journaling to help me manage difficult emotions.

My heart holds onto the dream of one day reconnecting with your spirit.  The potential you embodied continues to inspire me, and the joy you brought lives on in every happy recollection.  While tears may flow, they are often mingled with gratitude for the moments we shared and the impact you left on my soul.    CJ please don’t forget about me.  Please keep watch over me.  You are always in my heart.  And I will love you until I can no longer love you again.  The seashell wind chime whispers sweet memories, a tangible reminder of you here with us.  Through stories and celebrations, I will keep your spirit alive and the love we share still is constant, a precious gift I forever hold dear.  You will never be forgotten.  I love you, my precious turtle.  

The year 2020, what can I say about that? We ended 2019 thinking, I couldn’t wait until the next year. It was a pretty tough year for me. We had an amazing New Year’s Eve party with lots of friends and family. Welcome 2020!

January, right after Father Time came and the clock moved. I got a massive cold. I went to the doctor multiple times. I have a upper respiratory infection, at least that’s what I kept getting told. I was on all kinds of antibiotics, inhalers, and cough suppressants. This infection lasted 5 weeks. Yes, 5 weeks of coughing until I blacked out. Smashing my head into the shelf from violently coughing. Having blood in lungs and constant fevers, was a daily thing. Finally, I got better. Thank goodness! We got a cute kitten from a dear friend. We named him Artemis Fowl. Yes, after the show on Disney. He is a beautiful tabby cat with the softness of a bunny. We gave him to my daughter as a therapy cat. You see her other cat passed away just before Christmas from throwing a blood clot into her lungs at the young age of 5. See! One of the bad things that happened in 2019. Chris turned 37. I can never remember how old he is. Even as I wrote this, I said, you turned 38, right. He rolled his eyes and said in slow mode, thirty….seven….

February came and left pretty quickly. My son Cruz signed his first lease on an apartment. My son CJ was born in February. He would’ve been 10 years old. We did celebrate our third anniversary. Seems like yesterday we got married. Wow! Married 12 years, now.

March is when things started changing. That’s when we were told of Covid-19. Yup, a pandemic. You read about it happening to other nations. We read it in our history books. Never thought this would happen in my life. But, yup it did. March 13, my husband and I started teleworking. Thank Heaven, Chris and I have been blessed with a job that allowed us to be safe at home and employed. Cruz lost his job. And, Alexa now is doing home schooling. Yeah, I’m not a teacher. Bless those who are! You are truly heroes! Alexa started doing Zoom meetings for all her sports. And, the world got sad. We had an earthquake. There was no toilet paper, paper towels, Lysol, shower spray, hand soap, hand sanitizer canned foods, and pretty much any other end of world need. The public went into panic mode. We had to start wearing masks in public. And, if you sneezed, everyone thought you were contagious. Atom turned 11.

In April, we had to find things that kept us busy. Plans consisted of what activities could you do at home in your bubble of sanitation. We started our garden. The neighborhood had a sanitize Easter egg hunt. It was nice to see neighbors out and about. Even if we were at a distance. Alexa created a derby video. We went on daily walks around the pond. And built multiple puzzles. And, did our best to celebrate Easter with my little family of four. My mom turned the big 60! We decorated her front yard. It felt weird to not celebrate with her. I went fishing at the pond by my house. I haven’t been fishing in forever. I caught a very large cat fish! We got to meet our newest member of the family. My sister and her family adopted the tiniest puppy I have ever seen. Miss Raider is her name. Next to our Great Pyrenees, Annie she looked like a fluffy ball that fell off her. And one last thing, Artemis had his berries removed. Poor kitty.

Finally in May, I got to hang out with my whole family. We celebrated Mother’s Day. I think the pressure of being isolated was getting to my family. Because, things were said and done that broke me down. I hadn’t been hurt like that in a very long time, emotionally. I felt horrible. Alexa went back to cheer. And, was able to go back into the tumble gym. She also started skating again. Instead of at the depot, her team practiced in a parking lot. We put in a patio for BBQ’s. And finally the school year was over. No more home schooling, I thought anyways. Annie turned 2. And Abbie turned 8.

June, my birthday month!! I turned 44. Not, a big achievement. But, we braved having a BBQ with friends. I felt the risk was worth it. I needed to see my friends and have fun again. My mental state was deteriorating and I was scared to go down into the depths of depression. We saw rioting happen. And, loved ones hurting. The world was falling into hard deep soul crushing pain, I can’t describe how my heart broke for those I love so very much. I was scared. Pools started opening up. And, we got to swim with friends. I can’t tell you how much my family needed that. My baby sister, Samantha and her husband had their first child. I loved knowing such a precious spirit came to this world. It gave me hope.

Independence Day, July 4 is one of my absolute favorite holidays! Wake up and go and get a pancake breakfast before the parade. Then watch the parade. After that, spend too much money on a funnel cake. And get sunburnt. Then go home and nap until dinner time. Chris then usually had to go to the ball park to work. I would go swimming and enjoy hotdogs at my sister’s house. Maybe take a dip in her pool. Then later on, I would sit outside and watch all the neighbors light off their fireworks with a nice glass of wine in my hand. As I’m thinking about my dad and all the amazing memories we have. This year there were no parades, no funnel cakes and no large gatherings. We had a small BBQ with friends. I think I’ll actually cherish this year’s celebration. Even though it was different, I had a lot of fun. Including us lighting fireworks, I saw so many fireworks in the sky. I took it as the nation lit up our sky. I saw Americans celebrate for the first time in months. I felt alive! I also laughed for the first time in months. And I laughed so hard, it hurt my sides! Thanks to one of our friends who jumped sky high when I threw, what I thought to be, a firework that was done into the fire pit and it blew up! KABOOM!!! Run!! And, I have it on video. No one got hurt and it was confined in the fire pit. But, damn that was funny!!!

August came and Alexa started 9th grade. She started going to the school two times a week. The rest was still home schooled. Ugh…. I am grateful they did it this way. Have the kids transition slowly back into it. I felt it was the safer way to keep the risk of exposure down. Alexa finally took her truck load of homeless necessities to the Lantern House. Chris and Alexa got to go on a boat for the first time with friends. Alexa almost succeeded her first time on a surf board. It makes me want a boat even more!

About September, I started to embrace change. What can I do about the pandemic? I can keep pouting or just take it at face value. I realized that because of this happening, I was able to slow down and appreciate the things I do have. I had more time with my family doing things with each other. I cooked better and more complex meals. Making me a better cook. I canned home grown goods out of my garden. And, got more exercise and vitamin D than I have in years. And, we have been healthy!! And Cruz got a job.

In October, Alexa made the roller derby travel competition team. She went to her first candle light vigil to honor a beautiful soul who supported the roller derby community. We normally go on a small vacation in October. This year, we couldn’t. But, we did our best to have fun. We went to Park City and went out to eat and shopped. We still handed out candy for Halloween. Just made sure we social distanced. Instead of regular hot dogs, we handed out gummy ones. We had the fire pit out and a movie projected. We truly did our best to keep it normal.

November the time you really get into celebrating, right!!! I love the holidays! Cruz turned 21!!!! He’s completely legal now. Where did the time go? Alexa went back to school full time. We had her cheer showcase. Things are really looking up. NOPE!! Covid numbers went sky high. Back to taking extra precautions again. Elections happened and president elect Biden wins. So, much hate during this election. I can only hope that things will get better. Thanksgiving felt weird to me. I’m used to everyone coming over and enjoying a feast. This year is was just my small family. So, you can imagine the leftovers! I miss shopping on Black Friday with my sister right after we eat and into the next day. Instead this year, I shopped online and had a total of 21 boxes delivered to my house. Eek! It was the easiest shopping I have ever done. And, I got super excited every time a delivery truck showed up. But nothing beats being out with crazy people like my sister and I shopping for that massive deal of $10 off! And, meeting people while standing in line for hours.

Now December, the last month of 2020. Alexa turned 15. We decorated for Christmas. And, continued to go about our normal lives. Alexa had her first cheer competition, virtual style. And the team placed first. She also had a mock tumbling meet. We didn’t do our normal friend Brunchmas. I usually cook up a massive spread and our friends come over. We play games, laugh and exchange gifts. This year we delivered gifts and had a few friends over. I did get the chance to have my whole family over for Christmas Eve Tracy enchiladas and cookie decorating. Then on Christmas morning they came over again for orange rolls and breakfast burritos, Amos style. Then for dinner, Chris’s brothers came over for the traditional ham meal.

Now as I’m sitting here on my couch writing this blog on New Year’s Eve. I’m looking back at what 2020 gave to us. I can say it gave us Covid-19. It gave us face mask accessories. Hand sanitizer carried in every purse, car, and pocket. It caused pain for many. It put us in fear and isolation. And caused a lot of sickness and death. But, I’m not going to blame 2020 for that. We still have a lot of healing to do. And I hope, in the year 2021, it’s a year of healing. What I am going to tell you is that 2020 gave me an appreciation for the things I had, have, and will have. My little family was the healthiest we’ve been in years. We accomplished so many things. My family is the closest we have ever been. And, I saw so much love and compassion in my community. I saw people group together to help one another. I saw growth in myself, mentally and spiritually. I took time to look at things and embrace them. I got to take care of myself.

So, I am not going to hate on the things that happened this year. I’m just going to embrace them, learn from them, and share my story. This is my hindsight 2020.

People have this preconceived notion of what Roller Derby is. I can remember back when I was young seeing these women on skates, wearing trashy clothes, beating each other up on a round track. I didn’t understand it. And, to be frankly honest, I didn’t care for to. It fit in the same category as that fake wresting on tv. As I grew older, I never once even thought about Roller Derby. To me, sports consisted of football, basketball, baseball, and all other matters concerning the use of a ball. I was into dance. Later on my kids introduced me to cheer. Which is a whole other misconception of what sports are. But, that’s for another day. Those are sports to me. Something that makes your body work, sweat and has a team unity. Sports teaches you to be determined, loyal and to be strong. Is Derby a sport? I saw women beating each other up on skates, for no reason on tv. How can this be anything good? Well today, I have a whole new outlook on what Derby really is. I learned by looking through my daughter’s eyes. And embracing it through her outlook.

Some may know, others have no idea of the struggles my daughter has. Yes, I say has, as in the present. Because her struggles are every day. And, they may always be, everyday. My daughter has depression, ADHD, and PTSD. Now, you ask yourself, how can a child have so much going on. My daughter came into my home at the age of 6 with her brother, then at age 12. My children were in foster care before my husband and I adopted them. Now, I’m not going to go into details on the trauma these two went through. Let’s just say, no child should go through as much as they have. What I am going to do is touch on a topic of this trauma that is dangerous. That topic is suicide. My daughter has tried 3 times to end her life. Know one can understand the pain in her. Know one will understand, why she doesn’t want to exist. Know one, not even her, can understand why she thinks death is her only way out of the pain and demons she fights daily. What I do know is she I’d determined to fight everyday. She wakes up everyday and faces the world. She talks to a therapist. She takes medication. She does the best she can, to fight off these thoughts and actions. When I say, she’s the strongest person I know. I really mean it! My daughter hides behind the people she loves. She pours all her love into helping others. She supports success. She pushes everyday to be kind and generous. My daughter is determined to show the world is good.

So, you ask how does all this fit into a Derby. Well, my daughter back in December 2018, lost her “ride or die” friend. This friend was not a positive relationship. Her friend had been going through things with her family, that caused some pretty emotional and psychological damage to her. She taught my daughter other dangerous ways of coping with pain, like cutting. These two had a runaway suicide pact, if one or the other couldn’t handle “life” any longer. My daughter tried running away. Losing her friend set her over the edge. And, on December 28, 2018, my daughter tried to kill herself again.

After that, her whole life seemed to crumble. She lost her friend. She had a young man tell lies about her, turning other friends against her. Her brother had moved out. Our relationship was really struggling. She was pushing limits. Her cheer team at the time, wasn’t doing well. And, she didn’t make the junior high cheer team. And, she was always angry. To you and me, some of this stuff is silly. To a then, 13 year old, it was her life and everything was going bad. She ended up quitting cheer. I told her, she needs to find something else to do. Because, I don’t want her sitting around and doing nothing. To me sports have always been a good thing for her. Being active helps keep her brain functioning in a positive manner. It makes her happy. She eats better. And, it teaches her values.

One day, we were at a friend’s house. And, they mentioned having my daughter try Roller Derby. Their teens are into it. I was like ok. They had her try on some skates to see if this was interesting to her. Of course, she couldn’t stand on them. But, I think, out of respect, my daughter said she would come to the next practice. We showed up to the depot on the next scheduled practice day. Just to watch, you know check it out. I’m still thinking, do I want my child to be in a violent sport? We go inside and our friend comes over and asks if my daughter wants to dress for practice? I kindly tell her, we don’t have equipment. My friend says, that’s ok. We have loaner gear. What’s loaner gear? It’s gear that’s set aside for those who can’t afford gear or are just beginning. They don’t want parents going out buying gear at first. Just in case your child doesn’t like it. They also think all kids should have the opportunity to join, regardless of their parents income or situation. Well, my daughter dresses in gear and heads over to the fresh meat, freshies area to learn the basics. I watch her fall, slide, and roll 5 feet in skates. I could see her frustration. This has to hurt, right? I’m thinking, yup, she’s going to quit after the first day. I could see her watching the travel team practice on the oval. They were fast, going in all directions and hardly anyone falling. I could see her analyzing the team and telling herself, nope I could never do that! I would see her glance my way, each time she “failed”. What I didn’t see, was the coach encouraging her. Telling her, she’s a natural. And, forcing her to not quit. I didn’t see the other athletes, picking her spirits up. And, telling her, you got this, I remember being where you’re at. And, you are amazing! We left practice and on our way home, my daughter said, Mom this is my sport. I was like WHAT? You looked like you hated it the whole time. She broke down in tears and said no mom. These people are like me. I said, how so? They all have different demons to face. Some have depression. Some have anger. Some are gay. Some have no one but the team. And, everyone understands. No one judges you for being different and a little broken. And, the best part is, the coaches know we are different and they too are different. Everyone encourages each other.

Wait, I didn’t really see any of this. I was wrong in my observations. I thought to myself, this isn’t a sport that beats you up. There’s no anger. This place is the island of misfit toys. Broken, damaged and lost. Yet, loved by all. This is the place that gives them a home and family. This is my daughter’s therapy.

As, I sit here and look out my window on a rainy day. The clouds are heavy with moisture. My new house has nothing but mud. I have a naughty soggy muddy doggy, as I call her on these day. And, the cold rain keeps coming down. The sun is a figment of the sky. Our bills are high. Our life is hectic. And, I never know what emotion I will feel from day to day.

However, all those things that bring anxiety, depression and sadness cannot compare to what my daughter was called this week. She was told that she’s a bad influence and not modest by the clothes she wears. Am I doing something wrong as a parent? Am I oblivious to what I see? I don’t know. I’ll let you make that decision.

I think about my daughter and the choices she’s making in life. Is she doing what’s right? Is she making good choices? Is this young lady a burden to society? I don’t think so. Let me tell you a little about this young lady I love with all my heart.

Her name is Alexa. Yes, she gets angry at the kids who tease her about her name. “Alexa” is used for the Echo system. “Alexa” knows everything. Just say “hey, Alexa tell me.” No, my Alexa doesn’t know everything. She’s not supposed too. I don’t. So, why should she?

My daughter has some mental illnesses. She was torn from her birth mom. Abandoned and left alone to survive in a world where she was supposed to never experience the things she went through. So, yes, she has PTSD and depression. But, she is also the strongest person I know. What makes her weak, also makes her tough. She cares so much for people. She would do anything to make sure the world was happy, healthy, and loved. This young lady loves with all her heart. She feels pain when you do. She feels excitement when do. And, she has to be involved in it all. Does that make her companionate or nosey?

My daughter doesn’t take honor classes at school. She struggles with math and spelling. Sometimes she just doesn’t get it. And, gets frustrated and throws her pencil. I see a young lady on high honor rolls at school. Goes to school everyday because she wants too. Always getting her homework turned in. And, doesn’t get into trouble with her teachers. So, is she a bad student?

My daughter has a full schedule every week. She hardly ever gets to hang out with friends outside of school. Schedules are tough when Mom or Dad have to drive you and your friends around. She gets sad when we tell her no. She pouts and cusses under her breath. When she’s with her friends, I hear laughter. I see support amongst each other. I see new ideas and inventions. I see happiness. So, when she gets upset that I can’t let her friends come over. Does that make her a brat?

Alexa is a cheerleader. Goes to practice and doesn’t like to let her team down. I’ve seen her sick and hurt. Yet, still goes. I’ve seen her cry and get angry with her coaches because they push her limits. She thinks they are mean. I see her improvement and get rewarded for it. I’ve seen her become a champion. I’ve seen her run and hug a team who hasn’t won and tell them how great they are anyways. So, her having unsportsmanlike conduct at times is normal, right? Or, is she lazy?

My daughter loves gathering and making things for the homeless. From hygiene kits, to socks, and now making blankets out of old T-shirt’s. She feels bad for the guy on the street who goes hungry. Gets upset when animals and children are cold and in the bad weather. She hates the smell of marijuana. Yes, she knows the smell from her past. She blames society for not taking care of our homeless alcoholic drug addicted population. She wants everyone to have a home, full belly, and happy drug free life. She even hates me having a glass of wine or beer once in a while. Calls me an idiot. So, I guess she’s not understanding and judges others, right?

My daughter loves our military men and women. She’s proud her parents support the war fighter in their jobs. She boasts about having an “Uncle Luke” and Grandpa who served our country. She cringes when she hears our armed forces are fighting in a war where they get hurt, if not killed. She blames our President and Congress for not taking better care of our military. She thinks they don’t get paid enough. Have good enough benefits. And, she hates families being separated from each other because of war and too many committing suicide. She just signed up to help with service animals for those who have PTSD from fighting for our country. So, because she doesn’t agree with war, does that make her un-American?

Alexa tends to wear clothes that are form fitting to her. She’s a size 00 in pants. A size XS in shirts. She wears crop tops and leggings. She wears a bikini on the beach. At practice, she wears a sports bra and spandex. She loves baggy sweatshirts. She doesn’t wear dresses often. Prefers boots and tennis shoes. I don’t know what kids think are in style or not. But, I think she looks cute. So, I guess I don’t know what she should wear. Maybe you can help me?

As, sit here and write all the things that make my daughter who she is. I can’t help but be grateful that I am bringing up a companionate, loving, smart, independent, talented, and well dressed teenager. So, do I have a teen that is a bad influence?

Here’s how I feel. I love my bad influence daughter. I wouldn’t change anything about her. I am blessed she is mine. I love her just the way she is! And, I’m good with that.

I started a new career path this week. It’s a bitter sweet feeling. On one hand, I’m saddened to know I’ll no longer walk through the doors of my last employment of 8 years. And, the other hand, I get to work for the best company in the Nation, the United States Government at Hill Air Force Base.  

I’ve been in what they call “Inbound Processing.” If you work for the government already, you would call it death by PowerPoint.  Basically, it’s orientation.  For me, a week and a half of presentations and speakers talking about a variety of subjects. 

One thing I’ve found about my new employer is, they care very much about the well being of the employee. They offer discounts on outdoor activities to 3 hours of gym time a week during work hours, just to keep you healthy. They offer wellness clinics and courses that will help you focus on nutrition and ways to keep yourself healthy. I love how the idea of having a “wingman” and being a “wingman” is very important to them. Basically, they want you to take care of yourself first. Then, help take care of others. 

With suicide being common more and more these days, I think it’s very important to focus on being a better you. If you can love yourself. You can achieve your goals. A good way to avoid that feeling of helplessness is to find the better you and cling onto your beliefs of how important you truly are. 

Currently, I’m out giving myself some much needed me time. Me time is when you take time away from your fast busy life. You have to be away from anyone you know on a personal level.  I believe if you can get away from all the people you know, you can focus on who you are as an individual. It’s also an opportunity to immerse yourself in a society of personal reflection. For instance, today I’m sitting in a chair getting my hair colored writing my blog as I am being pampered by beautiful people.   I even get to talk to a stranger who’s only goal is to listen to me talk about life and make me feel beautiful!

You should try to find ways to increase your happy zone each day. Even, if it’s taking a moment to breath, or buy yourself a much needed treat. By taking care of yourself, you will be prepared to take on any challenge you come across. 

I now challenge all of you to find something that you can do just to make yourself happier, healthier, or just plain smile. Remember you are a beautiful and amazing individual! 

#takingcare #individual #goals

As the temperatures rise in the summer, I wonder how one cools off. In Utah, it gets into the 100’s at times. It’s a dry heat here. I’ve lived in places where humidity is horrid. Even though my hair and skin is soft, the humidity is stifling compared to the dry heat. I think though it is easier for me to burn with direct sunlight on me here in Utah.   Sometimes so bad, that not even 110 proof sunscreen will work. So how do you cool off without spending  a lot of money?

I like to swim. However, I’m in the sun getting burnt. The cool refreshing water feels amazing on your hot body. It’s a great atmosphere to be around. Everyone is laughing and having a good time. And I don’t want to lie, watching the hot bodies flaunt their stuff is enjoyable too. 

When I do go swimming, it’s a feet in itself. My bag has to consist of; sunscreen, water, lip balm with sunscreen, a swim suit that covers most my unmentionables, a cover for the swim suit, beach towels and blanket, water, snacks, goggles and a mermaid tail for my daughter, sun tan lotion for my son, plenty of cash for extra snacks, and most important sunglasses.  I honestly don’t know how it all fits in one bag. 

I’m not sure if it’s all worth it. But, for two hours of cool bliss, I’ll keep doing it every summer.  Maybe even this weekend again. 

#pool #slides

This last weekend, my family went camping up at Weber Memorial in Utah. It’s a beautiful site. If you have never seen the Rocky Mountains, you would be in awe of what God has created!  The mountains seem to reach for the stars. I love hearing the river ripple down. The trees swaying in the breeze feels amazing. The hot fire blazing in your face keeping you warm at night. Even, the little chipmunk yelling at my mom for hanging a bag in his tree, is an experience everyone should do. 

How many have sat by a fire cooking the best hot dog you have ever tasted?  Camping is the only time a burnt wiener is okay. After dinner of burnt hotdogs, potato chips and Diet Pepsi, we get to enjoy dessert. S’MORES!  That little sticky bundle of amazing.  I know in my family, the time it takes to make this delitful treat is totally worth the laughter and yelling that comes with this process. You ask how you can laugh and yell?  Well, laughter comes when dad’s mouth is so full of burnt mallows he cannot even talk. And just as he swallows, another kid has burnt the next one. Open up dad, here’s your next sugar rush. This is how parents stay up so late after the kids go lay down for the night. We combine that laughter with moms yelling at their kids swinging their sticks in the air with blazing sugary balls of artillery barely missing each other. And running around the fire tripping over each other, just sets us parents’ nerves to crazy. So, why do we keep letting the kids make s’mores?  Because they are SO GOOD! 

My sister’s family sleeps in a trailer. They have a freezer with creamy ice cream in it. A toilet you don’t have to hike to hoping there is toilet paper or find a tree with a big branch to balance on as you squat in fear of someone or something walking up to you as a ant bites your booty. But, I think to get the true camping experience is to sleep in a tent. We sleep in a tent. My mom sleeps in a tent. In a tent you get to fall asleep listening to the wilderness. Or you can take the cover on top off and lay underneath the stars. It feels free.  Just watch out for that coon who thinks it’s fun to explore the zippers on the tent. 

We also get to tube down the river. The water is ice cold. But you don’t care because floating down a river with your child next to you laughing with joy makes every rock your body hits worth the soreness you feel the next day. I even anchored my tube into a spot that is deep and smooth. I just floated with my eyes closed listening to the water. You feel spiritual and content. The stress just leaves your body. 

The only family member that absolutely hates camping is our little dog Atom. He hates the great outdoors. So much, he refuses to sit on the ground. We have found him in chairs, the tent, on the picnic table and even in a tree. He won’t eat. He won’t sleep. This poor little guy looks the an abused pup. It baffles me how one of God’s creatures can hate his natural habitat. 

I think camping is a good way to detox from society as well. My daughter and son can’t believe there is no WI-FI!!!  They have to read, play games and actually spend time with each other. My 16 year old son has to ride his bike instead of drive. You get away from pollution. And in our elevation, we get to enjoy almost pure oxygen. We get vitamin D from the sun. Even the soil around us gives us natural minerals. 

I can’t wait to go again. If you have never been camping, I suggest you do. Enjoy the wonders of God’s Earth. Feel the blessings of nature. Trust me, you won’t regret it. 

#camping #wilderness #summertime

My daughter is quite an amazing young lady. She came to me with a simple request. Mom, may I help the homeless?  How can you say no to that. So, I asked how would you like to help?  She said with socks. I want to give them cozy socks because you always feel better when your feet are nice and warm with soft socks. I said ok, let’s do it. She also asked for a Facebook page. That, I had to say no too.  She is to young. So, we compromised. I started a new page for her.  You can find it under Cheerfull  Kids.   We know Cheerfull is spelled incorrectly. But, we chose this spelling because she is full of cheer to those who need a smile. 

Her first request, to get socks, was to ask people at the Fourth of July parade in Clearfield, Utah.  So, we posted we would be there to gather socks and donations.  We went to the parade. While there we walked a short distance asking for donations.  Watching my daughter ask complete strangers to give some spare change made my heart feel with joy.  Such a compassionate heart she has.  We were able to collect about $30 and a package of socks that day. She was so excited!  I thought what a great start. 

I have a friend who recommended “blessings bags”.  Those are gallon size zip lock bags with a some items that could be helpful to the needy. My daughter loved that idea. So, she is going to take her donations and make the bags for Christmas. They will include socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, chap stick, snacks and a couple of bucks.  She will then hand them out to the homeless. 

I can’t express how important this is to her. I know that having her do these things at such a young age will create a woman of excellence. A woman that people look up to and admire. My little girl is going to change the world for good!  I know we will hear her name come out of people’s mouths as this amazing person we all look up to and can depend on. 

If you could help her achieve this goal anything would be gravely appreciated. I will post different times and places we will be at. Or you can contact me personally to set up a time to meet up.  Thank you so much for everything you have done for my kids and I. We love you! 

Lately I’ve had a lot of babies being born, people passing on, and those who have had some sort of medical treatment around me. And I know how difficult it is to take time to cook for your family during these times in our lives. How many of you had a kind friend or family member bring over a dinner dish for you to enjoy?  I know I have. And each time I am very grateful for this kind gesture. Sometimes the smallest of things have the biggest impact. 

So, thought I would share one of my favorite casserole dishes. This dish was been handed down for as long as I can remember. It’s my, “go to”dish when someone needs a little boost. It’s gone to new moms. It’s gone to people out of the hospital. And even sat on a table or two after a loss. This dish is super easy to make and can feed many at a time. When I’ve gone out of town, I’ve made it for my family to heat up. A wonderful freezer meal when you just don’t feel like cooking. 

I don’t know it’s formal name. I think it has a few different variations. But, I call it Tater Tot Casserole. I’m sure some have heard about it. And others go, what?  Well I’m telling you it’s good. 

Here is my version of the recipe.   And please share your own ideas and versions. And, if you have any other quick and easy dishes like this, I would love to hear about them. A mom who is always on the go could definitely use some advise. 

Thank you and Enjoy