40 Years and 9 Months Ago Today...

...something or other happened between these two people...

...and I became more than just a twinkle in my father's eye.

40 years ago today, I was born "of goodly parents". It just so happened that my maternal grandmother worked as a nurse anesthetist in the hospital where I was delivered, and as she was walking the halls with me, admiring her very first grandchild, the supervising doctor of the floor walked by her, looked at me, did a double take, walked back and said, "Whose ugly baby is that?"

"This is my granddaughter, you damn fool!" she spat. It's true. I was a very ugly baby. I had a reverse black mohawk, eyes so tiny that no one knew how I could see out of them, and ears that were crooked on my head. They still are. I even have to bend my glasses so that they'll sit correctly on my face, but you can't really tell because now lush dark brown hair covers the flaw.

38 years ago, an experience occurred that would become my first memory. My little sister had just been born, THIS sister, the sister of whom I asked when we were going to throw her in the garbage. She wouldn't stop crying, so my parents, in order to cope, left her in her crib and took me to the park across the street. We could still hear her crying through the open window of my parents bedroom, but I didn't care. I was so happy to have my parents full attention again, that I happily swung and slid down the slide. I don't think we were there very long, and now my sister and I are so close that we talk on the phone nearly every day and she doesn't care if I write posts like THIS about her.

32 years ago, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

30 years ago, I got my period, completely shocking my mother. I had no idea what was going on, except that it was bad. My mother then had to explain the birds and bees to me....not something I was ready to hear. I also learned that year that Santa wasn't real. It was a tough year.

28 years ago, I kissed my first boy during a round of spin the bottle. He was a black boy, and in 1982, that was scandalous.

24 years ago, I heard my father pray for the first time during my 16th birthday dinner party. He had written out his prayer and it was one of the most special days of my life.

22 years ago, I met a soldier from Washington at a dance club, and fell in love with him when he showed up at my graduation with a red rose two days later, and found me, among thousands of people.

21 and a half years ago, I married this soldier.

21 years ago, I gave birth to my first child, a beautiful baby girl. It was a natural childbirth, and up until that time, I had no idea what real pain was. Looking into her eyes, though, and seeing my husband's face in her features made it all worth it. I learned what it was like to love someone more than you loved yourself. I learned to feel perhaps a fraction of the kind of love that God feels for us, His children. I learned that there is no stronger love than that of a mother towards her child.

18 years ago today, I gave birth to our second child, a baby boy. When he came out he was purple, as the cord had been wrapped around his neck, but eventually his color faded to a light pink and he's doing much better now. In case you didn't catch that, yes, today is his birthday, too.

15 years ago, I gave birth to our third child, a baby girl. This time labor was only half as long as the previous two labors, and hers was the best birthing experience to date. I also learned to garden, and 2 weeks after she was born, I dug my first square-foot garden.

14 years ago, I gave birth to our fourth child, a baby boy. He was so dark-skinned, that when I took him to church the first Sunday after his birth, some people came up and asked me whose little Mexican baby I was holding.

10 years ago, I gave birth to our fifth child, another son. Immediately after his birth, I told my husband that no matter how much I begged and pleaded, that he was to never allow me to become pregnant again. Giving birth was just too painful, and having an epidural was never an option for me.

8 years ago, I gave birth to our sixth child, a baby girl. It's amazing how we mom's just forget the pain, isn't it?

5 years and 3 months ago, I endured the worst day of my life when I found my husband having committed suicide in his red Nissan pick up.

5 years and 2 months ago, I saw a lone man sitting in church, across the chapel...

(shown here opening a Father's Day card)

...and a strange feeling passed through me that he would be my next husband. Of course, I immediately dismissed it, as he really wasn't my type and, of course, it was much too soon to be thinking of something like this.

5 years and 1 month ago, I began therapy to help me and my kids deal with the loss of my husband and their father, and I learned that besides dealing with his suicide, I had a few other issues as well. I'm much better now.

5 years and 1 month ago, I was asked to give a talk to all of the adult members of our church in our region of the city at a meeting called a stake conference. I was to talk on how my faith sustains me, and I couldn't do that without talking about my husband's suicide (that talk is HERE). The next day, the same lone man, mentioned above, came to me as I was sitting on a pew with my children and mother, knelt down on one knee in front of me, and told me how my words of the previous night had inspired him.

5 years ago, I had a conversation with my mother after she tried to set me up with a short, mustached Mormon truck driver (not that there's anything wrong with that). I told her that it would be very difficult to find a man suitable for my family, and that for future reference, these were the criteria...

1. He could not be hideously ugly.
2. He needed to be taller than myself.
3. He had to have a job that could support our family of seven.
4 He had to be a member of our church.

(not necessarily listed by order of importance)

Simple, right? My mother and I determined that there were only two options....a man named Br. Coon, who was 90 years old and in a wheel chair, but still loved to kiss the ladies, including myself, and the lone man to whom I referred above.

4 years and 10 months ago, my mother and I plotted how I should go about seducing this lone man, as I had received an answer to prayers that I was to encourage him to date me. I decided I would start going to choir practice so I could scope him out and make sure he was a man to whom I wouldn't mind uniting.

4 years and 10 months ago, I asked John out. I then found out that he only had two of the above criteria....he wasn't hideously ugly, and he was taller than myself. He didn't have a job, as he was on sabbatical, and he wasn't a member of our church. He had been a member 27 years before, but had fallen away, and now was trying to come back "into the fold", as we say. This wasn't what I had bargained for, and I prayed earnestly to God, asking why He had put me in this situation. I told Him that I knew I was supposed to initiate a relationship with John, because of my previous prayers having been answered, but that I also knew I didn't want to be with a man who wasn't a member of our church. As I prayed this prayer, a peace came over me unlike any I'd ever felt before, and I knew I was doing God's will.

4 years and 8 months ago, John and I married, then went to Cancun, Mexico for our honeymoon. It is to this place I go when I need to find a happy place...

3 years and 9 months ago, we welcomed our first child together into the world. The labor and delivery was accompanied by a doula and even though it lasted for 36 hours, it was beautiful to go through that with John.

3 years and 8 months ago, John was rebaptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, an event his parents and siblings had been anxiously awaiting for 27 years. 

2 years and 6 months ago, I experienced one of the happiest days of my life....I found out I was pregnant with twins!

2 years and 2 months ago, John and I became sealed for time and all eternity in the temple.This means that not only will our marriage last "until death do [us] part", but we will be united as a family in the afterlife as well, forever.

23 months ago, I experienced one of the scariest moments of my life, as I waited on the operating table to have the twins cut out of me. Truly, I had never been so terrified, as I had never endured surgery of any kind. I soon realized, though, that having a c-section is much, MUCH easier than giving birth naturally! Oh, except for the part where you recover. It was then that I realized that going through natural child birth is much, MUCH easier!

1 year and 4 months ago, I lost my father, after whom we named one of the twins...

I still cry over losing him regularly.

7 months ago, I learned that I was pregnant again, with my tenth child.

3 months ago, I learned that we were having another boy.

1 week ago, we finally agreed on a name.....Daniel Moroni. Moroni is the name of a valiant warrior of whom is written in The Book of Mormon. Of him it was said, "Yea, verily, verily I say unto you, if all men had been, and were, and ever would be, like unto Moroni, behold, the very powers of hell would have been shaken forever; yea, the devil would never have power over the hearts of the children of men." Moroni is also the name of another man, the last prophet to have written in The Book of Mormon, and it was this man, as a resurrected being, who directed Joseph Smith to said Book of Mormon in 1823.

1 day ago, we watched a movie together, as a family, for the first time in our theater, thanks to John's wallet and the 17- and 13-year-old boys' sweat. Thank you, gentlemen!

1 hour ago, at 3:13 AM, I lay awake, tried to go back to sleep, then waddled out of bed and began this writing.

5 minutes ago, I finished a Styrofoam cup of "fresas con crema", strawberries and cream, a Mexican refreshment John had purchased for me earlier in the day.

It's my birthday! Thanks, Mom, for all you've done for me over the years. Even though I'm 40 years old, you're still such a huge part of my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Can't wait to see you this weekend!

I Never Imagined This Time Would Come

My first husband had this jacket when we met in 1988...



He thought that to wear it was the coolest thing ever, whether he was chopping wood on a camping trip, tinkering under his truck, or enjoying an evening sunset...





He wore it from the time we met until he died, six children and 16 years later. To him, it never went out of style, although to me, it certainly did.

When he died, I placed all of his clothing in large plastic bins, unsure of what else to do. To give them away at that time felt like I was giving part of him away. It felt like I was giving part of our children's memories away. I thought that perhaps the then 12-year-old boy might want to wear them one day, as a way of connecting with his lost father, so I kept them.

Then the 12-year-old boy grew up. He passed his father's stature of 5'10" when he was 14 years old and now, at 17, stands over 6'1". I realized three years ago that he would never fit into his father's clothing even if he had wanted to, and that, even if he could, his father's clothing would certainly be out of style. So after three years of hauling those plastic bins of his clothing through four moves, I finally gave them to a young man we had hired to help build our home who was roughly my husband's size. I think he appreciated it. I hope he did.

But apparently I didn't give away everything. And what I never would have imagined was that the then 8-year-old boy would one day grow up into a young man of 13 years....and find....and want to wear every chance he could....his father's favorite jacket.









(Yes, 13-year-old boy, the photo shoot is over. Thank you for your time. :) )

Questions I Would Ask My Late Husband If I Could See Him Now

There are those who say they visit my blog to be uplifted, to learn something new, to get a chuckle, or just to marvel at my completely chaotic life and count their blessings that they don't have it so insanely. Today, I'm afraid you will get none of that. I've had a difficult week, suffering from a 4-day sinus infection, and it seems as though the 3 three and under have cried more this week than in any other week in their short histories. Perhaps it just feels that way because of the throbbing head aches, but it's getting me down.

There have been some thoughts swimming around in my head about my first husband's suicide and since I haven't been in an uplifting kind of mood, this might be the perfect time to record these feelings. I am warning you that this post will be sad, depressing, and maybe even disturbing. Please feel free to go read another blog now if you want.

If I could see my husband again, there are so many questions I would ask him. And questions I would ask God, if we were talking face-to-face. I guess I could go to God in prayer to ask Him these questions, but I seem to spend more time on my knees worrying about the day-to-day issues of the here and now than fretting over my questions of curiosity about my husband's death.

I think the first question I would ask my husband is...

Where did your spirit go right after you died? Did God shield you from seeing the pain and grief you caused your family or was part of the natural consequence of taking your own life to have to witness the devastation?

Were you there when...

...I found your body, and lifted and yanked you out of your truck with one hand, fell to my knees, and laid you on my lap, screaming help and your name and no?

...after having run into the house to tell my mother to call 911, I administered CPR for 15 minutes, refusing offers of assistance from my brother, even though I was becoming dizzy with the carbon monoxide still in your lungs?

...the police detectives confiscated your 18 pages of suicide writings before I had a chance to get through the first 5 pages?

...I had to tell our children what you did, and did you see how none of them said a word for seemingly eons, until one of them started to cry?

...your father, after having driven 11 hours to come to my parent's home the day you died, walked in the door and embraced my father, and they sobbed together in each other arms like children?

...a young boy of 16 years, who was not your son, but looked up to you as his father and considered you his best friend, sobbed, unabashedly, on my mom's couch, unable to stop for hours, because you were gone?

...we had your funeral? Did you know the chapel would be filled to overflowing? Did you think it was a good funeral? My mother, your best friend and your boss at work even joked about you and people laughed. I laughed, too, like when my mother said you were afraid of my dad's cooking, and every time he would offer you meat, you would accept it, but when he wasn't looking, you would re-cook it in the microwave for 8 or 9 minutes, just to make sure it was done.

Husband, when one of our daughters was sick and dreaming a few days after you left, she said she saw you in a dream and you comforted her, and when she woke, she felt healed. Was that you, or was it just a dream?

When I, too, had a dream about you, but asked you how it was in hell, and you said that that wasn't a very nice thing to say, was that you, or was it just a dream?

When I dreamed about you over and over and over again, usually trying to find answers, only to have you leave me before I could get them, was that ever you, or were they just the dreams of a crushed soul?

Did you know that even though I never planned on doing this, I met and started dating John only 5 months after you died? That I married him 7 months after you died? If so, did that bother you? You had said in your writings that you wanted me to be happy and remarry, but did you know it would happen so soon?

Did you watch over us after you left us, or was there something else God had planned for your soul? Did He need you somewhere else?

What are you doing now? How do you spend your time? Has the memory of us faded away, or do you long for us?

Do you see moments in your children's lives, like when our oldest girl drove out of the DMV with her driver's license, when our oldest boy first put on his football pads and played his first game, or when our youngest, the 2-year-old girl then, learned to ride a bike before her big brother?

Did you know that because of your actions, nearly 3 years later, a young girl close to you would explain her suicidal feelings by saying, "He knew how I feel. He understood, and justify herself?"

Did you try to build a relationship with God before you died?

Did you repent of your sins before you died?

Were you scared?

Did it hurt?

Did you plan it so that I was the one who found you? If so, I'm glad you did. And thank you for looking so peaceful when I found you. And thank you for leaving all of our financial files and life insurance policies easily accessible for me. That was very thoughtful.

So these are some of the questions I would ask. I know they were kind of all over the place, but I guess I still haven't boxed up and organized these thoughts, even after nearly 5 years. Thank you for listening and hopefully tomorrow's post will be more uplifting.

A Memory: An 8-Year-Old Boy's Questions About His Father's Suicide, by a Fireplace

The following is probably one of my most tender, yet heart-wrenching memories during the days that immediately followed my first husband’s suicide. I was torn as to whether or not I should write it here, but because I have been wanting to record this event since it occurred, and I have this forum in which to do it, I thought perhaps it might not only help me, but someone else who has experienced loss as well...

This is the family I was born into (photo taken 14 months ago)…

This is what I will call my family members…

On a chilly fall morning, as I had just returned from taking the 15-year-old girl to the bus stop, I had found my husband’s body a little before 7 o’ clock AM. A few details about that are HERE, so I won’t repeat them in this post. That day, my three sisters, my brother and my husband’s father arrived into town after having found out what had happened. At the time, my husband, myself and our six children had been living with my parents in their home, as a result of the events that lead up to my husband’s suicide. I know that statement is ambiguous, but I cannot give more details about why he committed suicide than that.

As each of my family members arrived into town, they placed their belongings in any room that would hold them, or by the particular sofa on which they would sleep. I really don’t remember too much of what happened that day. There were visits from military officials, tray after disposable tray of food brought from compassionate friends and church members, trips to the store, for I don’t remember what. As the evening fell and the last of the visitors departed, we began making preparations for bed. My husband and I had been sleeping in what my mother calls the “jungle” room, as it is decorated with palm fronds, pineapples and neutral and moss green linens and wall paper. This night, however, I knew there was no way I could sleep alone in my bed. I had a terrible fear that I would wake up in the middle of the night, forget my husband was dead, then be shocked into a spiral of incomprehensible pain once the realization struck again.

So, we moved a queen-sized air mattress into the living room, by the fireplace. There are two sofas in my mother’s living room, each of which would be occupied for the night by one of my siblings. We all stayed up talking, even the kids, until late into the night. As our conversation dwindled down, it became clear that none of my other family members wanted to sleep in their usual rooms either. No one, except my father, who spent most of the next two weeks in his bedroom, I believe because he couldn’t stop crying and was embarrassed, made a move to go to bed, not even my mother. And I didn’t want to ask my kids to leave. So we got out more air mattresses, thick blankets and pillows and made room for every single person in my family to sleep together in my mother’s living room. I even moved the 2-year-old girl’s playpen in so she could be with us.

We finally turned off the lamps, placed a few thick logs into the fireplace, and quieted. A few minutes later, in the dark, with only the glow of the fire penetrating the night, I saw the form of the 8-year-old boy sit up. The 8-year-old boy is currently the 13-year-old boy, but for the purposes of this post, I will call him the 8-year-old boy. Here is a photo of him last year in Mazatlan when he was the 12-year-old boy…

(photo not available)

“Mom?” he whispered, trying not to wake those who, obvious by the sound of their breathing, were already asleep.

“Yes, Son?”

He hesitated, then continued. “Mom, did Dad know that there was poison gas in his truck?”

That morning, as my father, my brother and I had stood in the street, a few feet away from my husband’s lifeless, sheet-covered body, police detectives slowly walking around with clipboards, EMTs rolling up defibrillator cords and zipping up black leather bags, the entire block having been cordoned off by police tape, I had had time to think. I had decided that there would be no secrets, that I would tell the children the truth of what their father had done. Lies were what had contributed to his suicide and lies would play no part in explaining to the kids what had happened. My father, however, had felt differently. While we stood in the street, he had pleaded with me that I not tell them that he had taken his own life, but that I should tell them it was an accident. I denied his pleas, saying that truth would prevail in all that happened from here on out and that I would absolutely not live a lie for the rest of my life. As I turned to walk away, my father grabbed my arm to turn me back to him and with tears in his red eyes, begged me again to withhold the truth from them, suggesting a story I could use. I could say that their father had not been able to sleep that night, so he went out to his truck to read a book, so as not to wake me and the baby. He had gotten cold, as it was November, so he had lit two charcoal grills in the bed of his campered pick-up truck, which opened up to the cab, to keep himself warm. He had then become tired, fallen asleep, and was overcome by the fumes, dying quietly in his sleep.

I was amazed at the speed and ease with which my father had fabricated this somewhat believable story. But how could I tell this to my children, and maintain it for the rest of their lives? Impossible. I gently pulled my arm out of his grip and restated that I would be telling the kids the truth.

I asked the 8-year-old boy to come sit next to me on the air mattress. Pausing for a moment to pull my thoughts together, and saying a brief prayer, I answered. “Yes, 8-year-old boy, he did know there was poison gas in the truck.”

He thought for a moment, then asked, “Well, then why didn’t he get out of the truck?”

After pausing to make sure this was right, I answered, “Because he wanted to die.”

My natural voice is low and mellow, and in soft tones I went on to explain that he had been very, very sad and that he wanted to die so he wouldn’t be sad anymore. I said that his mind was sick and he couldn’t think right. I explained how we all wished he had not done this, that we were all so sad and that Heavenly Father was sad, too, and that we all wished he would have talked to someone about why he was sad so we could have helped him. I reminded him that his dad loved him very much, as he had said in the good-bye letters he had written to each individual child. I said that we would see him again one day, and even though it seemed really far away, that was something we could look forward to.

As I softly spoke these words, the only sounds we could hear were the crackling of the fireplace, the deep breathing of those who were already asleep, and the quiet cries and sobs of my mother, my sister with the 4 kids and my sister with the Ph.D. as they listened to our conversation.

The 8-year-old boy did not have any more questions at that time, but as understanding began to sink in, he began to cry softly also. I held him tight, and rubbed his hair until he was comforted and wanted to go to sleep. He walked the few feet back to the couch and in a few minutes, I could hear his deep breathing as well.

My family and I slept this way for the next two nights, all of us in the living room, falling asleep to the sound of the crackling fire. Eventually, I did sleep in my own bed, but not without the company of the sister with the Ph.D. until she had to fly back to California. Along with The Lord, my family was my rock and I never would have gotten through this ordeal without them by my side. Most of them will probably not read this, but for those who do, please know that I will NEVER, EVER forget how you were there for me. I love you guys.

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All About Me: A Mother to a Multitude, A Wife to One Soldier, A Survivor, A Wife to One Godly Man

This is my life....the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I was born in a mid-size border town to "goodly parents" and had a normal childhood where I roasted pecans on campfires in alfalfa fields with my sisters and drove a '61 VW bug as a teenager. That was in '87, so it wasn't that cool. When I was 18, I met and married a United States soldier and became a mother at 19. I was shocked, completely shocked, at how much time it took to care for a baby. It literally took every. waking. minute. of my life, and things were never to be the same. That being said, I loved being a mom, so I had another baby 2.5 years later, then, as we moved from place to place as per Uncle Sam's request, I had four more babies over the next 9 years totaling six altogether.

My first love and I had more good times than bad during our marriage, but tragedy struck in November of 2004. If you don't want to be momentarily depressed at this space in time, you may want to skip this part and move on to the line of asterisks below...... Okay, you're still with me, so let's continue. Due to a series of heart-wrenching events, my husband and best friend of 16 years left the house in the middle of one cold autumn night, while I slept in our bed, and committed suicide. When I, personally, read of tragedies that have struck others in the blogging community, I have a morbid curiosity to know how the tragedy occurred. I try to go back to their archives to the date of the occurrence to try to find more information, and it's very time consuming and I usually don't find out anything. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who does that. So....I'm going to tell you... right here... how it happened, to save you the trouble of looking through my archives.

He did it for a particular reason, leaving 18 pages of love-filled writings trying to explain it to us. I can't tell you why, for that's his story, not mine. He gassed himself with carbon monoxide in the cab of his red pick-up. I'm the one who found him, and he looked like he was sleeping peacefully. But it wasn't peaceful for me. After I lifted and jerked his 180-pound body out of the truck with one hand, recovered from kneeling on the pavement with him on my lap and screaming "no" and "help" and his name, I administered CPR for 15 minutes, until the EMTs arrived, but it was far too late. I then had the task of telling my six children, ages 2 through 15, and his dad, and his mom. That was probably the hardest thing I have ever done in my life... telling his mom.

Of course, we received professional counseling, me on a weekly basis, and the kids via what is called "coached counseling", where I would speak to my therapist about any issues with the kids and he would coach me on how to resolve them and help the kids work through it. I don't know how well that worked. The kids never talk about it, although I try to gently bring it up, without forcing it, but they remain largely quiet. I don't really know how they've dealt with the whole thing, and that scares me. I still have forgiveness issues. I'm Christian, and I know I'm supposed to forgive 7 x 70, but I don't think I have been able to completely forgive this one thing. I regularly have nightmares about it and I don't know when all that'll end.

My sessions with my therapist ended when I began to fall in love with him, told him that I needed therapy for the fact that I had fallen in love with him, then began to feel awkward and was tired of forking out my entire savings for the sessions anyway. Don't get me wrong, it was probably one of the best ways I have EVER spent my money, but like all good things, it was time for it to come to an end. I learned so much about how to resolve and deal with the issues I was facing, and it turned out that I had a few other problems, completely unrelated to my husband's suicide, that needed to be worked on.... like the fact that I am was a control freak. Hopefully I'm better now.

****************************************

After losing my husband, I thought I would be alone for decades to come. What man in his right mind would want to be with a woman with 6 kids and the kind of baggage I was dealing with. Even if there was someone out there with that level of insanity, I wouldn't even look until one year after the death of my husband. I would find a nice Mormon singles group and make friends and maybe meet someone I could spend time with.

God had other plans. Two and a half weeks after losing my husband, I was asked to speak to the adult members of the Mormon church in our region, scheduled for one month away, about how my faith sustains me. I agreed to do it, but knew I couldn't give an effective talk unless I spoke of what I had just been through. I posted that talk a few weeks ago, and if you would like to read it, it's HERE.

In the audience that Saturday evening was a man named John. The next day at Sunday services he came up to me where I was seated with my mom and six kids, knelt down on one knee in front of me and told me how my talk had inspired him, and how he thought that he was having problems, but now knew that there were others with much bigger ones. I politely thanked him, saying that all I had hoped to do by giving my talk was to inspire someone, then turned back to my children, assuming he was a married man and that further talk would be inappropriate. At this point, he continued to speak with my mother, and when he left, she said, "Jen, he's from _______ (the Mexican town where her mother grew up and where she spent her summers) and he's single!

"Yes, Mother, and he's old!" I replied. To me, he appeared as though he was in his early 60's and I was only 34. "Besides, I've only been a widow for 7 weeks. It's much too early."

As the weeks wore on, and I learned how to cope as a widow, knowing that this was much more than the year-long deployment I had faced when my first husband was stationed in Korea, I began to plan my future. I would most likely be single for years to come, and if that were the case, I was going to make the best of it. We 7 were going to travel all summer and I would do puzzles. I don't know why, because I wasn't a big puzzle person, but at this time, I decided that I would do puzzles. I planned our vacations and I bought my first puzzle, a butterfly mosaic, and stayed up late into each night working on it, listening to Chopin or Dave Matthews or Handel's Messiah or David Gray.

During this time, I quietly observed John. I noticed that one week in church he would sit by a lady close to his age, but the next week they would sit on opposite ends of the chapel. This confused me, but I didn't give it much thought. Five months after my husband had died, my mother began to mention John again and how he was a faithful choir member and that he even teared up while singing some of the numbers. In subsequent talks she would say that he wears loafers, so that makes him trendy and asked if I'd seen his teeth, because they were amazing. I rolled my eyes, but agreed that I would start attending choir practice to scope him out. Before I got too serious, however, I had to find out his age, and upon further investigation, I discovered that he was only 49. He has been going through a difficult time, and I think that had made him look older initially.

To make a very long story short, I was impressed enough by him at choir practice to muster up the courage to ask him out. I didn't do so without first seeking the Lord's guidance, however, and I received as strong an impression as I've ever felt that, indeed, I was to initiate a relationship with this John.

Longer story shorter, I asked him out and we were married 8 weeks later. The kids liked him, and one even asked if he could be our dad when we had only dated for six days, so I knew I was in a win/win situation. I had only finished one puzzle.

After several months of being married, having traveled down to his home town in Mexico several times, we began to feel the pull to move there. We talked to the kids, fasted and prayed, and received confirmation that that was what we were to do. We started the construction of our home soon thereafter, as per THESE posts, then several months later I gave birth to our first child together, my first and only flax-haired little boy. We moved to Mexico a year later, expecting another baby by this time, and moved into the tiny mother-in-law's quarters of our unfinished home, a space that was designed for two. We were eight, as our oldest had already left for college.

During this time I was suffering through early pregnancy, as I am right now, as I write this, but I felt exceptionally fatigued. I chalked it up to the move, my age, the altitude, anything to try to find a reason why I was feeling this bad. Then it came... one of the happiest days of my life. During each of my previous seven pregnancies I had begged and pleaded and prayed for this, but was always left slightly disappointed. Fourteen and a half weeks into my pregnancy, at my first prenatal visit, I learned I was carrying twins!

The twins are now 18-months old, and while the first year was grueling and exhausting, it was wonderful and amazing and I wouldn't trade it for anything! Twin A is the strong, silent type, loves books and watching his brother try things to see what the result will be before he jumps in. Twin B is our rough and tumble boy, who usually can be distinguished from his brother by his ready smile and various bruises on his face from daily experimentation with physics and gravity. Our other children are...

-the 20-year-old girl, who lives on her own, and rock-climbs, and calls me almost everyday on her way home from working with special needs adults;

-the 17-year-old boy, who plays football and puts up with a lot of hormonal issues from me;

-the 14-year-old girl, who sings and writes music and sews and cooks and is my equal when it comes to homemaking skills;

-the 12-year-old boy, who does weird things like earn and save $130 to purchase a light saber online;

-the 9-year-old boy, who, 4.5 years ago, asked if John would be his father;

-the 7-year-old girl, who loves all things pink and girly and holds the babies almost as much as I do;

-and the 3-year-old boy, who has an amazing mind, probably a genius, and will hopefully use his powers for good one day. Not that he doesn't now... he's hysterical, but he wreaks havoc where ever he turns. He's still super-cute.

So that's me and my family, in a nutshell. Perhaps more than you wanted to know, but if you're still reading, I guess it wasn't boring enough for you to move on to the next blog. Thanks for listening.

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Popular Posts of the Past: Losing a Husband, Twins, and a Mannequin

It's been a while since I've posted, I know, but I've been stressed. I decided to spend a week with my mom, and during our stay, I have realized just how twin-proof I have made my own home. We've tried to make adjustments for them, but some things we just can't change. For instance, her couches are lower than mine, so they can climb on them, never allowing me a moment's rest with my laptop without eight limbs climbing all over me. We've put up three gates, but two of them are so tall that it takes our greatest gymnast skills to get over them every time we need to go to the bathroom. So, yes, I'm stressed. With that, since I've neglected you, my readers, all week, I have decided to post a few links to my most popular posts from the past. Here goes...

-Profund Piles of Laundry is a poignant post about laundry and losing my husband.


-Wordless Wednesday: Sleeping Twins Holding Hands (self-explanatory).

-Wally is about our experience with my father's wish to keep his children safe by making them travel with a mannequin. Read about "Wally's" adventures with police officers and our friendly border patrol!


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To speak of my faith during the greatest difficulty of my life...

Today I feel compelled to post this talk I gave over four years ago during a church conference for the adult members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (The Mormons) in our area. I was asked to speak on faith and the conference was to take place only seven and a half weeks after my first husband passed away. Some details, such as my place of birth and my full name, have been omitted.

January 2005....

"Good evening, Brothers and Sisters. My name is Jennifer ___ and I feel very humble and grateful to have been asked to speak to you tonight. The theme of tonight’s conference is Building Faith and Spiritual Reliance. Now I have to tell you that I have been preparing for this talk for about four weeks now, and last night I decided to practice saying it out loud after my children went to bed. I share a room with my two-year-old daughter, and since she hadn’t fallen asleep yet, I thought that my soothing voice would lull her to sleep. Instead, she sat up in her bed and said, “Mama, be quiet please.” I finally was able to practice in my car before I came here, so, believe me, I did try! Before I get to tonight’s theme, I need to give you a brief summary of my life up until this point so that you will know where I’m coming from.

I was born here in ______ in 19--. I had a loving, fun-filled childhood with three younger sisters and one younger brother. When I was 18 years old, I met and fell in love with a soldier in the United States Army. We married and a few months later welcomed our first child, Bethany, into the world. We were then stationed in Germany, where Rob got his first call to overseas duty during the aftermath of Desert Storm. After a long deployment, Rob returned and several months later, our second child, Conor, was born. We were then sent to Fort Polk, Louisiana, where Rob was, again, sent overseas for a period of five months. Several months after his return, we welcomed our third child, Kyla, into our world. We were then stationed back here in ________. Our fourth child, Reid, was born seven months later. When Reid was nine months old, however, Rob was again sent to Southwest Asia for five months. Upon his return, we had about two years of uninterrupted time together, but it wasn’t to last long, as he was again asked to serve another tour of duty in Southwest Asia. Several months after his return, we gave birth to a son, our fifth child, Landon. When Landon was three weeks old, Rob left on an unaccompanied tour to South Korea for a year. Again, several months after his return, we welcomed our sixth child, Claire, into the world.

As you can imagine, Rob and I and our little military family have had many adventures. We’ve had the trials that a marriage and children can often bring coupled with long separations from each other, but we’ve also had huge growth opportunities that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Our love and appreciation for each other was always intensified by separation, and looking back on the sixteen years that we’ve had together, we’ve had a full life, with definitely more good times than not.

It’s with a heavy heart, but also a feeling of deep gratitude to Heavenly Father for the time Rob and I had together, that I share with you that seven weeks and six days ago, due to a series of unforeseeable, unusual, and tragic events, my husband, best friend and father of our six beautiful children committed suicide.

I know that it is shocking to hear those two words uttered, especially from this pulpit, but because we are in the adult session of conference, I felt comfortable speaking freely with you so that you can have a clear picture of how the Lord has worked in my life through the faith I have in him.

Many of us have read Alma 32 in the Book of Mormon. This chapter is a wonderful lesson on faith and how to build and grow faith. During my preparation for this talk, although I had read this chapter many, many times, I felt compelled to pore over it many more times and I would like to share with you some of the things that stood out to me as I’ve begun to try to rebuild my world.

First of all, I need to remind you what faith is not: Alma teaches us in his 32nd chapter of the Book of Mormon that, “-faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things.” That struck me as so important because there are many times when we may have doubts about spiritual matters, but we can still have faith because our knowledge does not have to be perfect.
Alma teaches us that this it the definition of faith: “Therefore, if ye have faith, ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” In a world where God is sometimes feared, we can have assurance that He is a loving, compassionate God who only requires the very simple act of HOPE on our part, in order to work in our lives.

In the New Testament, there is a beautiful story of a father who brought his son to Jesus to heal. This son had had many ailments since he was a young child and his father was greatly tormented by this. He said to Jesus, “-if Thou canst do anything, have compassion on us, and help us.” Just his request alone was obviously an act of faith. This was the Lord’s response: ”If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” Listen now, to the desperate father’s response as he cried out with tears, saying, “Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief.” And because of his faith, his son was healed in front of the multitude. What I love about this example is that all we need to have the Lord work in our lives is a desire to believe. This father humbly admitted that while he believed Jesus could heal his son, there was a portion of him that didn’t believe and he asked the Lord to help his “unbelief”. The Lord has said in many writings, “Ask, and ye shall receive. Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” I can’t imagine a more noble request than to ask Heavenly Father to help our unbelief. I KNOW He will answer us every single time we ask this of Him.

I would like to count some of the ways my faith in the Lord, Jesus Christ and the Atonement has helped me and my children to get through this very difficult time in our lives. I do this in the hopes that, if you haven’t done so already, that you might begin to spiritually prepare yourselves for things to come in your lives.

There are so many things that I wanted to say to you this evening and when I first wrote out my talk, it was twice as long as the time I was allowed, so I had to chop out so many things I wanted to tell you about what The Lord has done in my life. I think one of the most important things I can speak about is the comfort I feel having faith that the Lord has known all the days of my life that I would experience this and that He has been by my side in so many ways preparing me. When I first shared the summary of my life with you, you might have thought that I was given a difficult lot having to go through so many military deployments with so many children. At the time I went through them, I felt the same way and I often wondered why my life seemed so much harder than the average wife’s. I now know what a blessing it was that I learned how to take care of such a large family on my own and I learned many years ago what loneliness felt like and how to deal with it. We sometimes don’t know how our daily hardships can prepare us for future events in our lives of which only God is aware.

Heavenly Father also gave me a very special gift only two months before Rob died. I would like to share this experience with you. In March of last year, my mother had given me a book about a Christian missionary husband and wife couple that was abducted by Al Qaeda terrorists in the Philippines. For various reasons, I wasn’t able to pick it up right then, and actually didn't start reading it until the end of September, some six months after my mother had given it to me. Once I started, I couldn’t put it down. This missionary wife was much like myself. She home schooled her children like I do, went on many adventures with her husband and was very independent. When she and her husband were vacationing in a Philippine resort, they were kidnapped by terrorists and forced to spend a year in the jungles of the Philippines as their captors tried to evade capture by the government. Their story was truly inspiring as the wife, Gracia, wrote how they had befriended their captors and had tried to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with them. Theirs was an amazing story of love, forgiveness and the power that faith in the Lord can have in one’s life. Tragically, however, after a year of being forced to follow their captors through the jungle, in a rescue attempt by the Philippine government, Gracia’s husband, Martin, was shot and killed. She was rescued, but had to face the prospect of a life without the one she loved most in the world. As I read her account of how she told her children what had happened to their father, how she helped her children say good-bye and how strong she was, I sobbed like I never have before during the reading of any other book. I cried for many days afterwards every time I thought about it and cried when I shared the story with my husband. I was puzzled that I would have such a connection to this family and feel such emotion, because I have read many books that were much more tragic than this. I now know why. I now know that I was to follow Gracia’s example of how to honestly tell our children what happened to their father and how to help them deal with the funeral and say goodbye to their dad. It was like God gave me an instruction manual on how to deal with a crushing event like this. Perhaps nothing, besides prayer and scripture study, prepared me more for the initial few days after Rob’s death than did this book. My faith in the Lord has helped me to realize that this was not a random coincidence in the time-space continuum, but that the Lord placed the book in my hands when he did as a specific road map on how to help my children deal with the death of their father. I will never forget this Heavenly gift and I will always cherish it in my heart.

Now that I’ve shared with you how my Faith in The Lord has helped me, let me share with you the steps that one might take to build faith.

The first step that I would like to discuss with you is the way that our thoughts roam around in our heads. We all know that the best way for the Lord to communicate with us and to act in our lives is through a pure heart. When we carry around feelings of bitterness, anger, pessimism, distrust and resentment, we cannot be an effective conduit through which the Spirit of the Lord can flow. I would like to share with you a parable, the parable of the shopvac. Some of you in Hondo Pass Ward have heard this parable, so please bear with me. As you already know, I have six children. In turn, my floors are often in need of serious attention. I have discovered that a using a shopvac is the best way to clean Cheerios, dog hair, dirt, and cheese all at the same time. This is something I use every day. One day, I noticed that my shopvac wasn’t picking up as well as it used to. There was a very gradual, almost imperceptible decline in the performance level that had finally gotten to be so bad that the vacuum was practically useless. I realized that the filter was clogged with months of grime that I would need to remove. This was during the time that Rob was in Korea and I had five small children and I just didn’t feel like loading them all up and going to the store for a new filter. So, I decided to simply remove the filter and bang it as hard as I could on the side of my house. After some pretty brutal banging and an asthma attack because the exertion and the dust, I found that I could replace the filter in the vacuum and it would function just like new. May I compare this to what can happen when we let negativity into our heads? Sometimes, our negative thoughts have come in and piled up so gradually into our minds, that we don’t even realize the fact that they are blocking inspiration and guidance by the Holy Spirit. We truly cannot be effective Latter-Day Saints if we continue to allow these waste products to cloud our minds. Sometimes, we become so dysfunctional, that it takes a good banging against a wall to rid us our of negativity. That is never any fun, and we can avoid it by willingly forgiving those who we might have thought have trespassed against us. I wouldn’t stand up here and ask you to do something that I haven’t done and I want you to know, that during the last four weeks as I have prepared this talk, as I have been able to forgive those whom I had thought had transgressed against me, I have experienced a peace and a clarity of mind that is unbelievable. I know that as I have done this, my mind has had room to dwell on the more beautiful things of life and it is wonderful.

The second step to building faith is the next standard primary answer: Scripture study:
Something occurred to me a few years ago about scripture study as I was doing some woodworking. I was using a circular saw and it slipped and hit my wedding ring. Fortunately, it made only a very small nick in it and can hardly be seen. Later, as I was reading my Book of Mormon, I recalled that that very book was written on gold plates. When I thought about the power it took to put the little tiny nick in my ring, and then when I thought about all of the physical and mental effort it must have taken to compile these writings, it was completely overwhelming. It gave me such a sincere appreciation for how important it was for us to have these writings. It made me wonder how I could have ever gone a day with doing scripture study. Our Heavenly Father, in all of his wisdom, went to great lengths to provide us with a blueprint of how we should live our lives to be able to receive happiness in this life and the next. If we cannot find the time to take advantage of this wonderful gift, then we will truly be missing out on so many sweet blessings in life. I can truly testify that reading our scriptures daily WILL improve our lives. More time in the day will appear, more patience in our voices will sound as we raise our children, more love will show in our countenance as we interact with our fellow human beings, and a more desire will develop in our hearts to be obedient to our Heavenly Father. I have a strong testimony of how scripture study benefits our lives.

The last step is the standard primary answer to almost any question asked of our children: Prayer. I would like to suggest to you one very simple act of faith that you can go home tonight and perform. Get down on your knees and pray to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ. The act of getting on your knees is a true act of faith. Most people wouldn’t willing forego the comfort of their bed to kneel on the hard, cold floor unless they had some hope that there was someone listening to them. You will be rewarded for this simple act of faith. Let’s talk about how we pray. As I’ve reflected on what some of my prayers may have sounded like to our Heavenly Father, I realized that many of my daily prayers have had this repeated kind of blanket thanks for everything, and then quite a few requests for blessings. As I’ve become more acquainted with prayer, I’ve realized that there is so much more to it than that. I would like to read a quote by Gordon B. Hinckley that definitely enlightened me as I read it.

He says, ”We need to build ourselves spiritually. We live in a world of rush and go, of running here and there and in every direction. We are very busy people. We have so much to do. We need to get off by ourselves spiritually. Get by yourself and think of things of the Lord, of things of the Spirit. Think of the things of God. Just meditate and reflect for an hour about yourself and your relationship to your Heavenly Father and your Redeemer. It will do something for you.”

That is so beautiful. How different is this idea of communion with the Lord than perhaps our daily, routine interactions? Our prophet spoke of reflecting for an hour on the things of the Lord. I truly believe that all of us can find the time to do this on a regular basis. If we do, we can know that everything else will fall into place in our lives just as the Lord would have it.

Something else I’ve recently been enjoying very much when I pray is to just start listing, very specifically, all of the ways that God has blessed me and to thank him for it. During this very difficult time for our family, as I’ve reflected on the hundreds of kind gestures and sacrifices that have been made for us, I am able to spend many hours in prayer on my knees listing all of the people and events that I am grateful for. Sometimes I don’t even feel the need to ask for anything from Heavenly Father after doing this because I don’t fell like I even need anything. He has given me such an abundance of blessings that I have cried many, many more tears of gratitude and joy than I have of sorrow. The Lord is such a loving Father.

I want to leave you with my simple testimony. I know that Jesus Christ lives. I know that he is the Redeemer of the world and can save all mankind from their sins. I know that we can live with God again with our families, our families being the most important unit in the universe. I am so grateful that I have been given the opportunity to speak to all of you today and my only wish is that I have inspired or helped someone to make an effort to build their faith in Jesus Christ. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."

I am pleased to list this post @ Cielo's "Hopeful Friday."


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Hermano Juan's Easy Pinto Bean Soup

He was a tall and handsome missionary in Mexico City in 1977. That's when the locals first started calling him Hermano Juan (Brother John). Twenty-seven years later, he would meet a widow with six children, marry her two months later, and before they'd been married three years, he would have three more children, including a set of twins, with his new bride.


He is my friend. He is my lover. He is my husband of three and half years and he makes me whole. He also makes a really mean pot of easy pinto bean soup. Here's how...

Ingredients:
6 cups pinto beans
12 cups chicken stock
4 cans diced tomatoes with the liquid
2 cans diced green chile with the liquid
1 can tomato soup
1 large onion
2 teaspoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste

(Instead of the chicken stock and tomato soup above, Hermano Juan actually uses chicken and tomato boullion, but I have substituted the real stock here to avoid the use of MSG.)

Step 1: Pour all ingredients in a stock pot. Stir.
Step 2: Bring to boil, then turn down to simmer and cover.
Step 3: Cook for four hours or until beans are tender. If you'd like, garnish with cilantro and fresh avocado and serve with tortillas or chips.


See? Easy! Thank you, Hermano Juan, for your bean soup and for all of the other millions of things you do for your family. WE LOVE YOU!


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Welcome to Homemaker Monday! Why don't you stop on by!

Welcome to...


If you're new to blog carnivals, you might want to check out how it works HERE.

This blog carnival is a bit different from others you might have seen. As stated in the graphic above, I will be featuring "YOURS, MINE, and OURS".

YOURS: Each week I will feature my favorite post from the previous week. If I pick you, you can grab this button if you want...


Grab the code below...

<a href="http://rtheyallyours.blogspot.com/2007/08/thanks-so-much-for-stopping-by-welcome.html"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234980845500538194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIB3yHTL0r7S7w-Mq-pR2NPQMgEAcWjHKsuj_hfFGWlTtRxJzBVmG1F9VGaxiYs1GlVt5ieye7OSHZ6CE0wWE2udcmgtxyvwNgKCHBjA4sfpYRNbxGXt48SnhAVP3TwKkG0DkRtbOrx83s/s200/Eleventh+Heaven_Page_82.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4KFSgFxhQmsz8FcpOMT6EvJNSPqsSZwgd3sv3scy-67QANDZ0r_Bm1bOz31K6xMYxl_3HGNIqDZhbGNWz8_R9DJosRJrek4athLNp8SQmjtMl2awXwvFNIhxyy1_Mrm5uGuri_hPs-Lit/s1600-h/Eleventh+Heaven_Page_4.jpg"></a>

...and put it on your sidebar.

MINE: Pretty self-explanatory. I will give you my tip of the week.

OURS: Enter your posts into Mr. Linky and share your know-how with all of us! Old posts are okay, too!

Don't forget - there will be a monthly drawing for all who are part of this carnival. Go over the rules HERE to make sure you qualify for the drawing.

Let's roll!

YOURS:
Picking the "YOURS" post was very difficult, as there were so many well thought out entries. Many of you went to a lot of work to produce your post, but since I could only choose one, I have chosen...

AMANDA B. for her post on how to make chocolate mint brownies with kids!

This post is both imformative and very funny, and has lots of great pictures! We all LOVE pictures, so be sure to add some into your posts!
Not only does she do a great tutorial on how to make a delicious dessert...


...she shows us how to get the kids...




...and even the dog...


...involved! Read her entire post HERE. Thank you, Amanda B. for a job well done!

MINE: Extremely Delicious Chocolate Milkshakes
I've always wanted a cow. By the time our fourth kid came along, we were drinking a gallon of milk a day. Back then it was about $2.50 a gallon, so it cost us $75 a month just for milk! But alas, we lived in the city, where cows are not permitted.

After my first husband passed away, I met John in the city. He married me with my six children and we were happy there until I came here to Mexico to meet his family. I fell in love with the tiny town and asked John what he thought about raising our kids here. We prayed and fasted and received the answer that, indeed, this was the place for us.

Currently we are in the process of building a home on three acres of land here in our small Mexican farm town. We are living in the attached mother-in-law's quarters which were finished last November... and designed for two people. There are ten of us. But that's okay. We're getting to know each other very well. In the midst of this construction, John, seeing how a large family goes through milk, and seeing that our large family has grown by three in the three years we've been married, suggested that we get a cow. After calculating the cost of the cow and the hay as compared to the $4.50 per gallon we pay here, I agreed! (Our cow is pictured on right. I'm so grateful to her!)

It is wonderful to have fresh, raw milk every morning. It has a rich flavor and I can hardly drink pasturized milk anymore. However, our cow produces about three gallons of milk each day. Our family only consumes about five quarts a day, so I knew I had to think of more ways to use dairy products. Since our cow, Daisy, came along, I have learned to make butter, yogurt and ice cream. And ice cream. Oh, I already said that. I love ice cream! This is the machine I use and love...


This baby has a built in compressor, so all I have to do is mix up the ingredients, put it in the bucket and turn on the machine. It's amazing and really too easy. Perhaps that is why I haven't earned my girlish figure back yet after having the twins.

Another thing our family loves are chocolate shakes. Here is a recipe that is to die for. What I do is whisk up a mix, store it in the fridge, then when the kids want a shake, I pour a couple of cups of the mix into the blender, add a few ice cubes, and serve it up! This mix will stay fresh in the fridge for three or four days and it makes making chocolate shakes so easy! Again, too easy!

Here's what you'll need...


5 cups milk
2 cups sugar
2/3 cup chocolate cocoa powder (we like the dark chocolate kind)
3 cups cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
a pinch salt

1. Pour the milk, sugar, and chocolate cocoa powder into the blender. Mix on medium speed for about a minute. This will help the sugar dissolve and get rid of any lumps in the cocoa.

2. While the above mixture is blending, pour the cream, vanilla and salt into a medium-sized bowl.

3. After the milk, sugar and chocolate has blended, pour this mixture into the bowl and stir until blended.

Your shake mix is done. Now you can put it away in the fridge to save for when your kids get home from school or you can pour a cup back into the blender, add three or four ice cubes, and enjoy your gourmet shake before they come home! Just try to save them some, okay? (I couldn't take a picture of the final product because the kids drank it all too fast.)

Just to make sure you caught that, use about a cup of the mix plus three or four ice cubes per serving. Enjoy!

OURS:
Okay, it's your turn! Remember, if you're not sure what to do, go HERE for specific instructions, then come back to this page and enter your post. Archived post are okay, too! Thank you for your entry, don't forget to leave a comment, and have a Happy Homemaker Monday!

Profound Piles of Laundry

I have a special relationship with laundry. I actually LIKE to do it. I love to be able to sit down with a big pile of clean clothes and neatly fold them into their respective piles as I listen to some good music, watch TV or even listen to the scriptures being read online. As I've grown older, I have realized that it is the number of piles that has become profound to me, as they have marked both the joyous and tragic occasions of my life.



When I married my first love, Rob, twenty-years ago, I only had two piles - his and mine. Soon thereafter, our first little baby girl came into the world, and then there were three.

During each of the next five pregnancies, I remember imagining the cute little new pile of clean laundry that would be added to my coffee table as I went through the clothes-folding ritual. After each baby was born, my heart would swell as I looked at the new, tiny pile and I would give thanks to God for letting me bring in another little human into our world.

Laundry piles also symbolized the departure of family members. When Rob would deploy for four, six or even twelve months at a time overseas, as I completed the laundry during the days after he left, his pile would disappear. I would be left with only the kids' and my piles and it would be a sad realization that his pile would not appear for many months to come.

The most heart-wrenching experience I had with piles of laundry was when Rob suddenly and unexpectedly passed away four years ago, leaving me a widow with six children, the youngest of whom was two years old. As I folded up the last of his laundered fatigues after his funeral, I was heart-broken to think that I would never have his pile on the coffee table again. We were down to just seven piles now - the kids' and mine.

A few months after Rob's death, I met a wonderful man at church named John. We are soul mates and we knew it right away, so we married two months after we met. Since then he has added his pile of dress shirts and slacks, and three more little piles as he has given me a beautiful blonde little boy who is his clone and two new twin babies, who look like me. We are only down to ten piles now , though, (but sometimes only nine if the twins happen to be the same size at the time) because our oldest, Bethany has been off to college for a year now. I remember folding her clothes two weeks before she was to leave and thinking that this pile would dwindle to nothing soon, perhaps only to be rekindled briefly during her visits home. It was bittersweet.




How many piles we will end up with only God can tell, but for now, I am going to enjoy my ten while they last. Conor will be leaving in two years. Will we have an eleventh pile before he goes, or a twelveth? Stick around with me and find out!

What are your thoughts on laundry?