Life

Why is it that we look forward for something to happen with such anticipation, only to finally realize our goal and find out life is still tough? Is it because we didn't reallly understand everything that all would be involved in our dream, or is it because we take ourselves with us, so no matter the circumstances, we we still have problems?

I wanted to be married, but I didn't want my normal life to change. I just wanted to add a husband to earn the living, to love me and make me feel good, and to let me have more children. I wasn't looking for someone to come in and change my life or make me do things his way or change or my children.

Moe had enjoyed being a bachelor for many years when he met me. He liked peace and quiet, he liked doing his own thing when he wanted to do it. Getting married for him meant he wouldn't have to cook or clean or take care of himself anymore. He looked at me and my kids and saw a broken family and got the urge to fix us, to protect and take care of us. The problem was, we didn't need, or want, fixing, or even protection. We just wanted someone to love us.

It's a good thing both Moe and I believed God wanted us to be married, forever, and that He had told us it was the right thing to do. Otherwise it would have been really easy to say, “Hey, this isn't what I bargained for,” and walk away.

Moe was an extremely patient, kind man, but he had his limits. His parents had adopted him when he was a baby, and perhaps they spoiled him because of that. He often admitted that they were more lenient and spent more time praising and building him up than they did his younger brother. Moe's mother used to tell about his bad spells, temper trantrums if you asked me, when he would get mad and go up to his room and not come down for hours, or even days. She said she just left him alone until he worked his way through whatever was bothering him. Even by the time we got married, that was still the way he tended to handle confrontations. He would walk away, or drive away, usually going out to spend time with his folks.

At first this really scared me. I had a phobia, learned all the way back when I was a toddler, about being left. I suspect I got it the day I climbed out of the car and toddled off by myself down Mainstreet. Mom found me at a street corner, happily sucking a lollipop some nice man had given me. I was fine, she was not. She worked hard to impress upon me the severity of going off by myself. By the time I was in 1^st grade I was timid and shy, afraid of being lost or forgotten. I had a difficult time going away to school, being in crowds where I might loose sight of my family, or having to go anywhere without them.

When I was married to my first husband I went through ten years of anxiety, waiting and waiting for him to come home, never knowing if he was going to show up or not. I endured innumerable nights of torture, wondering if a police-man was going to come to my door to tell me my husband had been in an accident or killed. I can't tell you how many funerals I prepared in my mind for that man. Eventually, when he finally admitted to all the rotten stuff he'd been doing during those ten years, I understood why he was always late. At the time, though, he always had some plausable excuse, so I just endured.

When Moe and I got married, then, and he would get upset and drive away, it was like going through that hell all over again. It scared me so much, but he always came back, and I gradually began to trust that he always would. The thing I was most grateful for was that I never worried that he was off seeing another woman or doing something wrong. I might be afraid he wouldn't forgive me and come home, but I knew he wouldn't break his marriage vows. You have no idea how wonderful that was, after the years of living with my first husband.

Slowly, little by little, I began to understand Moe better and get a feeling for what pushed his buttons. Not that I always avoided pushing them, but I tried. I began to figure out that Moe and I didn't communicate very well. My mind doesn't work very fast, and I needed time to explain what I was thinking; sometimes I didn't even know what it was until I'd had a chance to talk it out. Moe tended to hear the first few words and stop listening, focusing on whatever he'd heard to begin with. A lot of times neither one of us actually listened to what the other person was saying because we assumed we knew what they were going to say and we were preparing our rebuttal. How many arguments could have been avoided if we'd only given each other the benefit of the doubt instead of jumping to conclusions?

Still, year by year, we stuck it out. Gradually the children grew up and moved away. First Linnea, then Holly. As each child moved on our family changed. Tensions were released, just a little, but still the younger kids grew older and we had different issues to face. Being a teenager is hard work. They see so clearly the injustices and hypocracies, but aren't old enough to realize they cause most of the problems they are unhappy about. How many times did I go to bed, cover my head with my pillow, and wish I could just go away somewhere for a little while where I didn't have to deal with hurt feelings, egos or pride?

Still, for all the worry and stress, there were moments of happiness and joy interspersed in our lives. Going to the cabin was still one of my favorite escapes, and I blessed dad over and over in my heart for giving me a place where I could find peace. Attending church, reading the scriptures, church magazines, good books, listening to good music, going to the Temple, and taking advantage of all the conferences, classes and seminars I could go to also helped. Each time I was really down it seemed like the Lord gave me the answers, or at least an escape, through feeling the spirit.

Most of all, my family gave me a reason to keep going. I loved them all, so much.

Mom was my best friend. Hardly a day passed when I didn't spend at least a couple of minutes visiting with her, laughing, sharing stories, and just talking. Dad was always there, even though I didn't visit with him that much because he was usually busy outside working. I knew he loved me and was proud of me, and that meant more to me than words can express.

I loved my sisters and sister-in-laws, and we had more fun getting together to do crafts, give each other permanents, try out new recipes, and have fun. Weekly Sunday night gatherings were the happiest times of the week for me, when I could relax, unwind, and just sit around and listen to the jokes and stories my brothers and brother-in-laws told, watch the kids play, and bask in the happiness that being a member of my family gave me.

My own family also brought me such joy. Moe tried hard to make me happy. Often he told me how beautiful I was, and although I assured him that he needed glasses, it made me feel good that he liked the way I looked. The kids wanted much to make me happy, too. They tried to be good, to get along with each other and Moe. They were such good kids.

I didn't want to intrude on Linnea's new marriage, but I enjoyed getting together with her just like I enjoyed being with my own mom. Holly went away to Ricks college in Idaho, but it seemed like we talked even more once she was gone than we did when she was home. Russell suddenly seemed to have all kinds of friends, boys and girls, and they had so much fun. Often he brought them to our house, and I loved feeding them and watching them pal around. Alyssa was also becoming a social butterfly, and her friends came over often. Stephen was happy scouting, camping, playing sports, and working outside with grandpa and Moe, and Kami and Krissi were changing from babies to the cutest little girls in the world. So life was good, stressful, frustrating, but good.

Sneaky Alyssa

“I don't know why I'm so tired,” I yawned loudly. “I know it was almost one before I got all the presents wrapped and you finished up outside, but we still got at least five hours of sleep. I feel like I just went to bed.”

Moe reached an arm around and snuggled me closer into his side, still holding the video camera in his other hand so he could record the fun Kami was having pushing her new baby-doll stroller around the family room. She was making slow progress, since the floor was littered with crumpled wrapping paper, opened boxes, and sleeping people. Holly was sacked out on the other couch, but Alyssa was curled up on the floor, surrounded by her opened presents, and so were Stephen and Russell. Krissi wasn't helping Kami much, either. Every time Kami tried to push the stroller past her, she shoved it in the other direction. Krissi may have been a year and a half younger than Kami, but since she'd turned one she'd figured out how to hold her own and stand up for herself.

“I'm surprised it not light outside yet,” Moe commented, trying to see through the lace curtains covering the window. “It's not overcast, is it?”

“I don't think so,” I replied, squinting at the dark beyond the curtains, too.

“I sure thought the sun came up earlier than this,” Moe wondered.

“So did I,” I replied. “Oh, well, the girls are having fun with their dolls right now. Still, I can't wait for it to get light enough for them to see what's outside in the back yard. I thought they'd barely be finished opening their presents before they saw the surprise.”

Although all the boxes and packages under the tree had been pulled out and opened, there was still one more present waiting for the little girls out in our back yard. Santa had brought a brand new swing set to our house for Christmas this year. Moe had worked long into the night setting it up so the little girls would see it as soon as the sun came up. We'd got up at 6:30, knowing that by 7:30 it would start getting light outside, but the clock on the wall in the family room showed it was getting close to 8:00, and it was still pitch black.

I yawned again, looking over the Christmas mess covering our family room. By the looks of things, it appeared that everyone was happy.

“Knock, knock,” Grandma and Grandpa Russell said as they pushed the double doors leading into their side of the house open. “Merry Christmas!”

“Grandma, grandma!” Krissi and Kami chanted, jumping up to give her a hug. “See what Santa brought!”

Grandma laughed, and came in the room to see the girls dolls. Grandpa followed, stopping to let Stephen show him his new binoculars, and to look at Russell's camouflaged pajamas.

“You guys are up early,” I said with a laugh when mom came to sit down by me. “I hope we didn't wake you up with all our noise.”

“No, you didn't bother us at all,” mom laughed contentedly. “We've been laying in bed for half an hour, thinking it was time to get up and come watch the kids open their presents, but it looks like we missed all the fun.”

“Yes, they're pretty much done now. Except the surprise out in the back yard. We're waiting for it to get light, but I'm sure surprised how late it is.”

“It's only 6:45,” mom laughed. “We got up at 6:30, like we always do. The sun doesn't come up until after 7:30, you know.”

“What time is it?” I asked in surprise, looking back up at the clock. “I thought it was almost eight.

“No, it's almost seven,” mom assured me.

“What on earth?” I exclaimed, turning to Moe. “What time does your watch say?”

“I haven't put it on yet,” he said, just as surprised as me. “The clock says it's nearly 8:00, though. What time does the kitchen clock say?”

Stephen jumped up and ran into the kitchen, calling back to us, “It says it's right before 8:00, too.”

“What's wrong with our clocks?” I asked in some confusion. “I'm sure our alarm-clock upstairs said it was 6:30 when we got up.”

“Well, my watch says it's 6:53 right now,” mother told me laughingly. “I think something must be wrong with your clocks.”

Finally, Alyssa couldn't stand it any longer. She rolled out of her blankets and started laughing.

“What did you do, Alyssa?” I demanded, a sneaking suspicion beginning to dawn in my brain.

“I set the clocks ahead an hour,” she admitted, laughing all the while.

“All of them?” I asked, realizing just how much work she had to do to trick us so thoroughly.

“Yup, all of them,” she admitted proudly. “It worked, too.”

Well, she really had done it that time. Alyssa was like me. She never could sleep soundly on Christmas Eve, and she always woke up early and hated waiting for the rest of the family to get up. This year, she figured out a way to get us moving earlier. No wonder it was still dark outside, clever little duck!

Kami and Krissi

Kids are so much fun, especially when they are your own. As the big kids matured and grew out of getting in trouble, Kami and Krissi grew into it.

One day Kami got into Holly's lipstick and painted her face red. She was so cute! She also found a pair of my pantyhose and figured out how to put them on. I discovered her up in my bathroom, trying to stand in my high-heeled shoes, wearing a diaper and the panty-hose pulled all the way up over her body and the back of her head, her face covered with red. I should have scolded her, but she looked so funny I had to get out the camera and make her pose for pictures instead.

Not long after that she found a pair of scissors and cut off most of her hair. It was a mess! We took her to a beauty shop and they gave her a short, pixie hair cut which was actually adorable, but there wasn't much they could do with the ¼ inch fringe she'd left on top for her bangs.

I thought she'd learned her lesson, but it wasn't long afterwords that she found another pair of scissors and cut some more of her hair. This time I hid all the scissors in the house, and tried to reason with her.

“You mustn't cut your hair anymore,” I told her severely. “I'll have to spank your bottom the next time you do that.”

I thought she understood, but I was wrong. Two or three months later she tried the same stunt all over again. I was exasperated. Just what part of “don't cut your hair” didn't she understand?

“Kami, why did you do this?” I asked when I found her in her bedroom, hair on the floor, scissors in her hand, and a look of “Oh, no, I've been caught” on her face.

“To look pretty,” she told me timidly, waiting to see if I was actually going to spank her or not.

“But when you cut your hair it doesn't look pretty,” I told her crossly, wondering how on earth I was going to be able to get her to understand.

“Holly and Alyssa do,” she told me in an “I don't know what you're so upset about” kind of voice. “I want pretty hair.”

That's when it finally dawned on me that Kami associated getting your hair cut with making it look pretty, and I realized she just wanted to look good. I kept the scissors hidden for years after that.

One evening, about a month before Krissi turned one, she burnt her hands on our kitchen oven. I had been baking something, and went upstairs for a second. The rest of the kids were all in the kitchen. Kami looked inside the oven and left the door open. Krissi was just learning to toddle, so she put both hands on the oven door to support herself. Poor little thing!

I ran downstairs as fast as I could when I heard the rest of the kids start shouting and Krissi begin to cry. Immediately I put both of her hands in cold water, but it was obvious they were badly burned. We rushed her to the Urgent Care Clinic, but by the time we got there she had huge blisters bubbling up all over her palms. They wrapped her hands in bandages up to her elbows, which she had to leave on for weeks. Thank goodness the burns didn't seem to be too painful.

Krissi looked so sweet, her little arms and hands stiff with bandages, trying to hold her bottle or suck her finger. She never did like to suck her thumb, but her pointy finger was always stuck in her mouth, usually upside down, while she would hold a fluffy in her other hand, rubbing it against her cheek. She loved anything soft, especially cotton balls or pieces of soft stuffing she'd pull out of torn quilts or stuffed animals, or yarn or lint, or whatever she could find that was soft.

She and Kami seemed to be exact opposites, but they were both little dolls.

Linnea's Wedding

Linnea began college the fall that Krisann was born. I was pretty busy, what with having both Holly and Russell in high school, Alyssa in junior high, and Stephen in elementary school. Kami was seventeen months when Krissi was born, so what little time I had between taking kids back and forth to school, play practices, ball games, and performances was spent taking care of her and the new baby. There wasn't much time left over to worry about Linnea, but I still missed her.

She went to a junior college down in eastern Arizona, so she wasn't too far away. Once in awhile she'd pop home for weekends, and she came home for the holidays. About Thanksgiving she began talking about “a boy” she was dating, and by Christmas it was sounding serious. Thank goodness he was a good guy.

Jason was the nephew of a dear friend, who was also my second cousin. She'd told us she had a nephew going to school down in Thatcher, and they started hanging out soon after school started. By the middle of January they were officially boyfriend, girlfriend, unofficially engaged in March, and officially in April, planning their wedding for July.

The hardest part about Linnea's wedding was figuring out how to work with Lorrie, my ex-husband's wife. Linnea and I went over to her house one day to talk about plans. Her ideas were pretty extravagant. Lorrie owned her own wedding business, and she told us most weddings cost at least $25,000. I certainly didn't have that kind of money to spend, and had been thinking about something much simpler, where we did all the work, made the refreshments, and decorated the church cultural hall ourselves, spending maybe a thousand dollars, at most.

Linnea had specific ideas about what she wanted, but she didn't want to make her step-mother unhappy. I wanted Linnea to be happy, but I had a limited budget. Although Sheldon insisted we pay for half of the reception and he pay the other half, I talked him into letting me pay for Linnea's dress, her bouquet, and the refreshments, and letting Lori could do the decorations. I figured that way she could spend as much or as little as she wanted.

In the end, it worked much better than I had hoped, with no one getting their feelings hurt, but it was hard on Linnea since she really didn't get to do much her way. She wanted her colors to be yellow and black, but Lorrie couldn't find yellow dresses she liked so she bought her daughters and Alyssa and Holly olive green ones. At least Linnea's best friend, Becky, who was her bridesmaid, had a yellow dress, and I found adorable little yellow outfits for Kami and Krissi and a yellow dress for me. Lorrie decorated the cultural hall with so many flowers and plants and pillars and swings and fountains that it was like stepping into a lush, tropical garden, and it was lovely.

Linnea got married in the Mesa, Arizona Temple, which also presented it's own difficulties. To enter the Temple a Church member must be worthy, trying to be a true disciples of Jesus Christ and trying living all of His commandments. That entails loving each other and not having ill will for someone who is there. I believed I had forgiven Sheldon and harbored no bad feelings, but I still wondered if I was really going to be able to be in the Temple with him and Lorrie and feel right?

Linnea went to the Temple a few days before her wedding for the first time. She had invited her family and special friends to come with her. It was a beautiful evening, and I was pleased to find I felt comfortable and happy sitting next to Linnea's step-mother and across the isle from my ex-husband. Later that evening, though, I found my friend, Jean, in tears in the bathroom, trying to compose herself.

I put my arms around her and she started to sob.

“How can you do it, Gale?” she asked me when she finally got hold of herself. “How could you sit there next to that woman?”

I was startled. I hadn't realized that Jean would be having a hard time with this. Thinking about it, I realized this was the first time she had had to come to grips with Sheldon leaving me, and it was all fresh and painful for her. Jean had known me for a long time, and had been there when Sheldon and I got married in the Mesa Temple, almost exactly twenty years earlier.

Unlike me, she hadn't spent the last ten years trying to forgive him and going on with my life.

“You know, Jean,” I tried to explain. “I almost feel the same way towards Sheldon and Lorrie as I sometimes feel towards my kids. I honestly love them, but sometimes they do things that make me mad and I don't like them for it. But it's their actions I don't like, not they themselves.”

I had the chance to put my words in action during Linnea's reception. It was a long evening, and a little difficult standing in line for two hours next to Sheldon and Lorrie, but many special people came and it was wonderful to see them. Later in the evening when we were taking a break, sitting at a table and sipping punch, my Aunt Ejvor came and sat down next to me.

“You know, Gale,” she whispered in my ear, “when I shook Sheldon's hand he reached out and gave me a hug and said something about it being too long since we'd seen each other.” Aunt Ejvor gave me a wicked grin, and then continued. “It was all I could do not to knee him right there in front of everybody.”

I appreciated her telling me that. Even though I really wanted to have pure charity towards my ex-husband, somehow it made me feel good when other people told me he made them cross, too.

The Terrible Two's

Growing up can be hard, especially in a big family.

Kamala was the sixth of our seven children. For seventeen months she was the baby, the apple of her daddy's eye, the spoiled little princess, then she was replaced by Krisann, and it was tough; for her and for the rest of the family.

It was exciting when at, eighteen months, Kami was old enough to go to nursery during our church meetings. At first it looked like she was going to love it. She played with the other children, listened to the little stories, and seemed to be doing fine for the first hour, until she started to cry. Her teacher brought her to me when she couldn't get her to settle down.

“I'm sorry, Gale,” she told me as I joined her in the hall outside the Relief Society. “Kami seemed to be doing great, but now I can't get her to stop crying.”

“That's OK, Jill,” I assured her, taking Kami into my arms and trying to comfort her. It seemed to help, and Kami settled down a little, resting her tiny head against my shoulder as I rocked back and forth, patting her back, talking over her head with her teacher.

Our older daughters, Alyssa and Tori, were best friends, and I always enjoyed visiting with Jill, but suddenly Kami started to cry again. I turned her around to try holding her over my arm: when the kids were babies it often helped to rest their tummies on my left arm and snuggle them close. Suddenly she struggled up, gave a great heave, and threw up all over herself, Jill, and me! What a mess! No wonder she had been crying.

It seemed that the “terrible two's” began at about eighteen months in our family. Kami didn't let me down, and had them real good by the middle of the following spring. One day she filled the dryer with soap: you can imagine how much fun that was, trying to shake the powder off all the wet clothes I had loaded in before I realized what she had done. Later that same day she pulled a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator, I suppose she wanted a drink, and poured it all over the floor and broke the glass she was using. The next day, just in case life was getting boring, she poured a gallon of milk on the couch. Yuck!

I know I shouldn't complain, she was actually really cute and even while I was frustratedly cleaning up her messes I was chuckling inside. At least she didn't eat dog food out of the garbage can where it had been thrown away after sweeping it up from the floor like her two-year-old cousin did. He dumped the dog food out in the first place, and then while helping himself to the cleaned up chunks he possibly ate some some rat poison that was also in the trash. My pour sister-in-law had to rush him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped, just in case. Nor did she break open a whole dozen eggs over the heating vents on the kitchen floor, like his twin brothers did a few years later, or pour a gallon of vegetable oil down the stairs to watch the pretty waterfall it created.

Like I said, growing up can be hard, especially in a big family. And living through your children growing up can also be difficult, but never boring.

Krisann

When we found out that we were having a baby girl everyone was excited, but we had one problem. What would we name her? All of the older girls had been named after flowers, but I'd used all my favorite flower names by this time. Still, it seemed important to continue this tradition so the baby wouldn't feel left out.

The baby was due the second week of November 11. That was exciting, because in our whole, huge family, there were only two people with November birthdays; Grandma Johnson and my sister, Linda. That made me think about using a family name, like Katrina or Christina, but they weren't flowers.

“We could shorten Christina into Chris,” I suggested one day, “and add Anne as a middle name. Chris Anne could be short for Chrysanthemum.”

“But you didn't let any of the rest of us girls have a middle name,” Alyssa pouted when she heard that suggestion. “It won't be fair if you let this baby have one.”

She was right, but I was having a hard time thinking of anything else. I found the name Kiley in a name book, which said it was a Jewish flower, and I kind of liked it, but I wasn't really sure. It didn't help that we had six older children, each with their own favorite names.

In the end, we came up with a simple plan. If the baby was born with dark hair, I would choose her name. If she was blond, the girls could choose. If she was bald, the boys got to decide, and if she was had red hair, Moe would get to name the baby.

About three weeks before my due date I began to wonder if my amniotic was leaking. I called the doctor's office and tried to explain to the nurse, but she wasn't very excited.

“Just wait until your appointment with the Doctor tomorrow,” she told me. “He can check you out then and see if your fluid is leaking.

My appointment was scheduled for 11:30 the following morning, but about 8:30 his office called and asked if I could come in early.

“Sure,” I told them, thinking it wouldn't make much difference, but I hadn't counted on babysitters. Mom was planning to take care of Kami for me at 11:30, but she had gone to run errands earlier. With no other options, I finally strapped Kami into her car seat and brought her with me to my appointment. She was a good year-and-a-half year old, and the nurses enjoyed seeing her.

When I got in to see the doctor I told him I thought my water might be leaking, but he didn't think it was.

“You're almost ready to have your seventh baby,” he told me consolingly. “You're bladder isn't as young as it used to be, and it probably is just leaking, but I'll check just to make sure.”

He had a different opinion a couple of seconds later, as soon as he began to check the baby. My water broke.

“Well, that decides that,” he told me. “You need to go to the hospital immediately.”

“Immediately?” I asked him, looking over at Kami who was sitting on a chair, swinging her feet. “Can't I take my daughter home and find a babysitter first?”

“No,” the doctor said decidedly. “You need to go straight to the hospital. This baby could come at any time.”

I tried to call Moe, but he wasn't in his office and I had to leave a message. I tried to call mom, but she wasn't home yet. In the end, I buckled Kami back into her car seat and drove the two of us down to the hospital.

It felt kind of funny, checking myself into the hospital, holding Kami on my lap. It was certainly not the way most expectant mothers came in.

Moe got there about ten minutes later, and mom came down right after that to take Kami home. The nurses hooked me up to an IV with pittosin, and I started having contractions before long. A nurse came in a little while later to fill out some more paper work and asked if I was going to have an epidermal. I hadn't even considered the possibility before. After all, I'd had all sixolder children naturally. But all of a sudden it sure sounded like a good idea.

It was the most amazing thing. Once I'd been given the epidermal I didn't feel a thing! Moe and I visited for awhile, I slept a little, but it hardly felt like I was having a baby. By 7:00 I'd begun to think I wasn't going to have the baby until the next day, but not long after 8:00 the nurse came in to tell me the contractions were getting stronger and longer, even though I couldn't feel them. By 9:00 I could tell I needed to push, at at 9:11 our sweet baby girl was born.

“She's got red hair!” the doctor exclaimed as soon as she was born, and she sure did. She looked just like a shiny copper penny, and she was adorable.

“Well,” I said, turning to Moe once the nurses took the baby away to clean her up, “what is her name going to be?”

“Krisann,” he pronounced with a big grin. “Krisann, spent with a K and all one word, but still short for Chrysanthemum.” And so Krisann got her name.

Life Was Good

While being a busy, pregnant, forty-year-old mother of six trying to negotiate peace in a blended family was often frustrating, demanding, and sometimes down right depressing, it also had it's wonderful moments, too. Many of them.

The day Linnea graduated from High school was a major event in our family. She was the oldest granddaughter, as well as my oldest child, and most of our family was there to help her celebrate. I was so proud of her, walking across the football field, up onto the temporary platform, receiving her diploma and shaking hands with her principal and other dignitaries. She was beautiful, and so excited about the future ahead of her.

I had the same feelings as she climbed into her friend's car, waved goodby, and drove off to college, except I also felt like I was going to burst into tears at any moment. I was so proud of her and excited for her future, but I was also going to miss her, dreadfully.

Holly got her driving permit that summer, and started looking for a job. She and Alyssa went to girls camp together, and I missed them while they were gone.

Russell went to boys camp, and he and Stephen spent a lot of time hunting, fishing, and camping and taking Hunter's Safety Classes. It was lonely when they left.

Kami was a dear! She was my little buddy, growing up so quickly that I was afraid to stop watching her for fear I'd miss her childhood. I'd learned that my children grew up way faster than I'd imagined possible.

We lived in a split level house with two sets of stairs. It didn't take long for Kami to figure out how to go up the stairs, she thought she was so smart as she squirmed higher and higher, but coming down was a different matter. Kami was a quick learner, though, and once I'd pulled her by her feet, letting her slide down backwards on her stomach, she got the idea, and pretty soon she was going up and down all by herself. It was really cute to watch.

All the kids loved Kami, and spoiled her rotten, but she had her daddy wrapped around her little finger so tightly he never even realized it. Kami was his little princess, and as far as he was concerned she could do no wrong. She learned how to give kisses that summer, and it was so cute. She would put her little face right up next to her daddy's cheek, stick out her tiny tongue, and smooch.

She liked to help me around the house, too. She was great at emptying the dishwasher, just as soon as I filled it up with dirty dishes. One day she helped me can peaches by testing every peach she could reach by squeezing them and letting the juice run through her fingers. Was she a mess!

We spent a couple of days camping in Rocky Point that summer. The older kids got cross, worn out, and sunburned, but not Kami. She had a ball, filling everything up with sand, even Aunt Linda's water bottle, and she didn't get sunburned at all.

I was told once that you can't spoil a baby with love. I believed that, but I was pretty sure it was possible to spoil children as they grew up. Kami wasn't allowed the luxury of learning how to be spoiled, though, because before she turned a year-and-a-half our family was blessed with our last, and seventh baby.

Turning Forty

“If you look for the bad in mankind, expecting to find it, you surely will.”

I grew up on that quote from Pollyanna, and playing the “Glad Game” came second nature to me. No matter what my circumstances, I knew I could always find something to be glad about, and I really did try. But sometimes, it was darned hard to be happy.

It was hard to be happy when I had three kids in high-school, two in elementary, and and a baby to cart around. It seemed to me that I spent most of my life in the car, taking kids to school, performances, plays, rehearsals, ball-games, meetings, and doctor appointments. My journal from those days was one big list of places we went and things we had to do.

It was hard to be happy when I was so busy you didn't have a spare minute for myself. I was blessed to to serve as Primary President for two years right after Moe and I got married, and I loved that calling with all of my heart. But it kept me busy preparing Sharing Times for Sundays, meeting with my councilors weekly, attending Ward Council and other meetings with the Bishop, and trying to make sure all 100 kids in our ward were looked after, that we had teachers for everyone on Sunday, and organizing and holding all the other scouting and achievement day activities that were part of Primary.

I loved being involved, I loved the kids and the teachers, but once in awhile I just wanted to crawl in bed and hide.

It was hard to be happy when my family was changing and I realized that soon they would start leaving home. Mind you, I raised my children so they could grow up and move on, it was part of the plan, but sometimes I worried if I had done my best. Linnea was preparing for graduation and going away to college. Had I taught her everything she needed to know to be safe and happy?

One night we took her out to dinner with my parents and some of our other family, where we ran into a couple of our best friends. Jean had been my Mutual leader when I was a teenager. I had babysat for her children, and even named Alyssa after her oldest daughter. We visited for awhile, and in the process explained that Linnea was getting ready to move down to Thatcher to go to college. Jean was excited.

“I have a nephew going to school there,” she told Linnea with a wink. “He's really nice, and awfully cute.”

In the back of my mind I couldn't help hoping Linnea would run into Jean's nephew. I couldn't imagine a better family for her to marry into, but at the same time it floored me to think she was actually going to be old enough to get married.

It was also hard to be happy when I felt like my main role in our family was being the referee in a boxing match; the kids on one side, Moe on the other. He tried, he really did, but he hadn't grown up believing that the best way to discipline was to look for the good and make a big deal out of it, so the kids would do even better to get the positive reinforcement. Instead, Moe saw the problems and pointed them out, expecting the kids to change. Kids don't work that way. Mostly, they get cross and act up even more. I sure tried to explain this to Moe, but he just thought I was taking their side and got his feelings hurt.

It was hard to be happy knowing he thought I had bad children. I kept telling myself I had wonderful kids; none of them were into drugs, they all obeyed the law, they went to church, they did well in school, but sometimes they ate with their fingers or reached across the table without asking for things to be passed to them, and it really got on Moe's nerves. Of course, they acted even worse when he told them to stop, and sometimes I really wanted to just walk out the back door and drive away.

Most of all, it was hard to be happy when I was almost forty years old, pregnant again, and tired. That summer sure seemed long and hot and frustrating. I took Linnea and Kami down to Thatcher one weekend in the middle of July so Linnea could register for college and take an entrance exam. It was so nice to get away, even for just a day, and a little bit cooler down there. The monsoons had begun, and it was lovely see cloudy skies and smell the rain.

A couple of weeks later Stephen went up to spend the week in Show-Low with his step-mother and got appendicitis. She called me as she was taking him to the hospital, so as soon as Moe got home from work he and I and Kami and Alyssa drove up to be with him. The operation went smoothly, and we were able to bring Stephen home the next day, sore but fine. I almost wished he had needed to stay a little longer, though, just because it was so nice and cool up in the mountains.

Four days before my fortieth birthday, I got a call from our Bishop, letting me know I was going to be released from being Primary President. It was good timing, I'm sure, since I only had a few months left before my baby was due, and it would give me a chance to slow down and concentrate on the kids and our family, but it still made me a little blue.

My birthday was on Sunday that year. The kids surprised me with a birthday party before church, complete with black caskets and “over the hill” messages and gifts. I tried to act excited, but to tell you the truth, black confetti and streamers all over the kitchen made me feel more like crying than celebrating. I was released from being Primary President during Sacrament meeting, and since it was Fast Sunday I got up and bore my testimony and told my Primary kids thank you and that I loved them, and cried. Then I cried some more during Primary Sharing time, so I had quite the headache by the time we got home.

We always went down to visit Grandma Johnson on Sunday afternoons, and since it was my birthday it was even more important than ever, but it was also the closing ceremonies for the 1996 Olympics, and Moe was very put out about missing them. He still went with us to Grandma's, but he was in a bad mood, which put everyone else in a bad mood, so by the time we got home and I began sweeping up the black confetti and throwing away the black tissue paper, my head aching worse than ever, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend that day had never happened. It was a pretty rotten way to turn forty.

Still, a little voice inside my head told me to look on the bright side and find something to be glad about. As I lay in bed that night, the pillow pressed hard against my forehead to ease my headache, I considered the forty years I surely had ahead of me. All of my kids would grow up, even the babies, eventually. There would be no one left to clean up after, to drive around, to try to negotiate peace with. Perhaps our home would even be peaceful someday. And maybe, just maybe, I'd have have a chance to exercise, read, paint, and write down some of my stories during those next forty years.

One More Baby

Kami was such a fun baby! She was cute, sweet, and everyone loved playing with her. Moe made up a song he sang to her every day: “She's got big blue eyes and a little button nose, the cutest little smile and the teeny tiny toes; she's so very special, she even seems to glow, that's why she's daddy's princess,” or something like that. And she really was a little darling, helping to bring our blended family closer together.

I'd decided even before Kami was born that we needed to have one more baby, so she'd have someone to grow up with. Stephen was ten years old, and it didn't seem fair to make her be alone at the end of our family. Still, I was getting pretty old. I turned 39 that year, and Moe was 50.

The rest of the kids were also growing up. Linnea became a senior that year. She was busy in school, playing the flute in band, participating on the flag team, and she loved dance. One thing she wished was that I had let her take dance classes when she was little, but there just hadn't been enough money or time for that. The best I had been able to do was give the girls a few years of piano lessons.

Holly was a sophomore in High School. She played the cello beautifully, she even thought she might get a scholarship with it for college. She was also heavily involved in the drama club, and was in every play at school. It was obvious that she was a natural actress, and her goal was to live in Paris when she grew up.

Russell moved up to the High School that year, and although he still struggled with his classes, he seemed to enjoy school more. Moe bought him an old computer, and Russell discovered that building and working on computers was something he really enjoyed. He also found out that he was very good at it, and took classes to get even better.

Alyssa was eleven. She played the flute in band, like Linnea, and was a happy, energetic, delightful 6th grader. She always had a big smile on her face, and no matter how down I was, she could made me feel better. She was my friend, and I appreciated having her around more than she knew.

Stephen had turned into Cowboy Jim. All he wanted for Christmas was a guitar and cowboy clothes, and he was the cutest little rootin, tootin, cowboy of them all. He also loved sports, all kinds, and played football and baseball and kept us busy going to his games.

We had a great family, even if we did have three girls with PMS, three teenagers with attitudes, two preteens, a new baby, and a step-dad who meant well but ended up making the kids pretty cranky when he told them what to do or corrected them. There were times when our house sounded and felt like WWIII, but it was worth it.

Still, I was sure we needed to have one more baby, and this time Moe agreed with me from the start. I didn't really look forward to giving birth at forty, nor did I want to be pregnant when my oldest daughter graduated from high-school, but that would be better than being pregnant when she got married, right? Pregnant mother's of the bride looked pretty funny. So we began planning for our seventh baby, and by Kami's 1^st birthday I was expecting one more time, and excited to find out if it would be a girl or a boy.

Linnea

Linnea turned 17 the week after Kami was born. That fall she started her senior year in high school, and it was hard for me to believe she was so old. Wasn't it only yesterday that she was my little baby with  sparkling eyes and the cutest smile? Now she was all grown up.

I'd spent years trying to convince Linnea, and all the kids, that being different was OK.

“You don't have to look, or act, or be like everyone else to be cool,” I'd told them. “Making your own style and being unique is OK  It makes you a character, someone special. Don't just be one of the bunch, be you!”

I'd been learning that philosophy all of my life, from the time I idolized Kathrine, the heroin in my favorite book, “The Middle Window,” to the time I read about the grandma in “the House Without a Christmas Tree.” They were characters, independent, free thinking women who did what they believed was right, regardless what their peers thought. They were my heroes, and I wanted my kids to grow up with the same sense of self esteem so they would be able to stand tall and not just follow the crowd.

Maybe I preached it too much. Maybe I didn't explain the underlying principles well enough. Maybe having your dad walk out on you when you are young leaves a scar that keeps you from ever truly believing in yourself. I don't know, but I sure was proud of how Linnea tried to be her own self, even if inside she doubted.

Each time she was asked to go to a special dance, like Prom or Winter Formal, Linnea needed a dress. I wasn't much help. I'd grown up in a world where your mother made your dresses, even fancy ones, so it never occurred to me that I should buy her a dress. With six children, we didn't have the money for it, anyway. I offered to make her a dress, but only halfheartedly.  I really didn't like to sew.  But Linnea's best friend had a mother who had kept all of her Prom dresses. The girls used to enjoy looking at them, so when the time came that Linnea needed a dress, she immediately thought of those gowns.

“Becky's mother says I can borrow one of her dresses,” she told me, when I asked her if she would like me to make her a dress.

“Oh,” I replied, a little surprised. “OK. That will be easy.” And it was.

Linnea looked lovely when she came upstairs on the night of the dance, wearing a deep red velvet, princess cut dress. I thought she would be the bell of the ball. Only later did she admit how out of place she felt when she walked into the dance to find every other girl dressed in gorgeous gowns bought special for the evening, and she realized her twenty-year old dress was not even in the same category. Retro was not IN in those days. She felt like she stood out like a sore thumb, and suddenly telling herrself that it's OK to do your own thing didn't help make her feel less out of place. Still, she held her head up, smiled, and never let anyone know how insecure she felt inside.

The interesting thing was, for Prom she borrowed another dress, and had the same experience all over again. Looking back now, there's a part of me that wishes I had splurged and bought her a beautiful prom dress, just so she could feel like she was as pretty as the other girls. But what if I had?

Linnea may have felt like everyone was staring at her; she may have thought they were all wondering why she would wear an old fashioned dress; she may have wished she could blend in with the crowd and be just another pea in the pod; but it was experiences like that that gave her the courage to go out on a limb and take on the world of medicine today. She may still feel like a character, a misfit, but in my book, she is a heroin.

How to Create Silence

“I wiggle my fingers, I wiggle my toes, I wiggle my shoulders I wiggle my nose. Now that's all the wiggles that are left in me, and I will be still, as still as can be.”

The kids wiggled furiously as we sang the little jingle, smiling and happily moving about.

“Now comes the hard one,” I told them with a really serious look and a twinkle in my eye. “It's really hard, but I think you can do it. Lets sing the song without making any sound at all.”

I lifted up my hands, wiggled my fingers, and silently mouthed the words to the song. A couple of children who hadn't been paying attention started singing out loud, but in seconds realized they were singing solos and joined the rest of us silently pantomiming the little song with it's actions. Total silence reigned in the chapel. It was really cool.

This was my trade-mark Primary reverence activity. I'd stumbled over it accidentally some time when leading the singing, and found it worked quicker and more efficiently than any other trick I'd tried. The Primary kids expected it at least once a week now, but it always worked.

I was often called to be Primary chorister, but right after Moe and I got married I was asked to be a councilor in the presidency, then a year later to be the President. I loved my calling. It gave me a chance to share stories as well as music with the kids, and to see their eyes light up with understanding when they learned a new concept, and to feel their sweet spirits as we talked about the beautiful principals of the gospel. They were such good kids, a little rambunctious and happy, but good kids, and I loved each of them. And I think, although it sounds kind of funny, that they loved hearing the silence one in awhile, and being a part of it. At any rate, they always joined me in our little activity.

My Second Broken Arm

I was seven years old when I broke my left arm, on the 24^th of July, 1963. I was 39 years old when I broke my right arm, almost exactly 32 years later.

The first time we were up at the cabin, and it was Pioneer day. My brothers and sisters and cousins and I had put on a little pioneer parade for our parents, complete with costumes. Afterwords my cousin and I were playing on a metal trailer when I tripped over the long skirt I was wearing and fell off. The tongue of the trailer crashed down on my arm, breaking it in two. It was quite the experience, but I've written about it on this blog before, so you don't need to hear it again.

The second time it was two days after Pioneer day, we were home, and I was stenciling Alyssa's bedroom with black puppy dog paw prints. I'd painted the prints everywhere, making it look like a puppy had walked in black ink and then ran up and down her walls, even onto the roof. Alyssa was 11, and we were just finishing redecorating her bedroom in black and white. It was really cute.

I had been working on the room all morning with Kami, my two month old baby, happily sitting in her little wind-up swing, watching me. I'd just about finished painting the paw prints, but decided it would look neat if a couple of them actually extended up onto the ceiling.

“I should go get the step ladder to do this,” I thought as I tried to reach up high enough to stipple the paint on with my brush, but I was tired and really just wanted to be done. The ladder was out in the shop. It would be a pain to carry it in through the back door, and even harder to maneuver it down the stairs, and I really didn't want to waste the time for just a couple of paw prints.

“I bet can reach the ceiling if I just stand on this chair,” I thought, gingerly climbing up on a folding chair I'd taken down into Alyssa's bedroom earlier that morning. It was the old fashioned kind, with a wooden seat that swung up to collapse, down to sit on.

Holding my paper plate pallet covered with black paint in my teeth, I reached up onto the ceiling and taped on the paw print stencil. Then carefully, steadying myself with one hand on the ceiling, I picked up my stencil brush, dabbed it into the paint on the plate, and began pounding the black paint onto the ceiling. It was kind of awkward, but I could do it. Leaning forward a little bit, I reached to stencil the second paw print, but that tiny shift of weight pushed my forward foot closer to the back of the chair, and it started to collapse. I seemed to fall in slow motion, tipping over the back of the chair, grabbing for something that wasn't there to steady myself, twisting my body to the side so I would fall that direction and not straight forward onto the baby, and throwing out my right arm to stop my fall as I crashed to the floor.

“Dumb!” I thought as I hit the floor and lay still for a second before carefully rolling over onto my my side to get up. “I should never have tried to stand on that stupid collapsible chair!”

Thank goodness I had missed hitting the baby swing and Kami was safe. Thank goodness the paper plate full of paint had landed right side up on the carpet, and there hadn't been much paint left on it anyway, so I hadn't made too big a mess. Thank goodness the stencil brush was almost dry and it hadn't flung paint everywhere.

I reached for the brush, then realized that my right arm hurt like the dickens. “Darn, darn, darn,!” I muttered under my breath. “Surely I can't have broken it!”

“Mom,” what happened Alyssa exclaimed as she ran into her bedroom. Obviously she'd heard me fall and come running.

“Oh, I just fell off the chair,” I told her, laughing a little self-consciously.

“Are you hurt?” she asked in concern. She wasn't used to seeing me sitting on the floor, holding my arm, almost crying.

“No, I'm fine,” I assured her, trying to stand up, but finding it harder than you might imagine since I was still a little shaky and I couldn't use my right arm to push or pull myself up.

“Why did you fall?” Alyssa wanted to know, but I really didn't feel like explaining the situation to her. “Honey, can you get Kami out of the swing and carry her upstairs for me?” I asked instead. “I think I'm done painting for today.”

Upstairs I sat down on the couch and took a couple of deep breaths. My arm really hurt, and I was beginning to suspect it was more than just bruised.

Alyssa brought Kami upstairs, then hovered over me, looking worried. “Mom, you look like you don't feel very good. I'm going to go get grandma,” she told me.

I didn't stop her. The truth was, I didn't feel very good. Alyssa found mom on her side of the house and brought her back over to our living room.

“Alyssa says you fell down,” she said as soon as she saw me. “Are you hurt?”

“I don't know,” I told her, feeling even more foolish than before. “I fell off a chair onto my arm, and it kind of feels like it might be broken.”

There really wasn't anything to see, not like the first time I broke my arm. Then the bone had been sticking up at a funny angle, and everyone had known it was broken. This time my arm looked perfectly fine, it just hurt like the dickens.

“Maybe you'd better call the doctors and go down and have them look at it,” mom suggested.

I called my doctor and explained what had happened, but they were pretty unexcited over the phone. “Bones don't usually break just from falling on them,” the nurse told me, “but the doctor says to come on down and he'll x-ray it for you if you want him to.”

I left the rest of the kids with mom, but took Kami with me in her baby carrier. It was one of those kinds that snap into a base already strapped into the car, so it wasn't too hard to get it in and out of the car, and I carried it with my left hand. I felt kind of foolish, sitting in the waiting room, but Kami was a good girl and slept most of the time, so I just sat by her and wondered how I could explain my accident without sounding like a total idiot. Telling people I'd fallen off a chair didn't sound very sophisticated.

When they finally worked me in I had to lay my arm on a flat bed so the tech could X-ray it. Just having him arrange it in the right spot hurt.

“I'm sorry,” the doctor told me when he finally got the X-ray developed and I was called back to a room to see him. “I really didn't think your arm would be broken, but it is. It's a clean break, but it's all the way through and I'm afraid it's going to hurt for awhile.”

I was just as glad that it was broken. I'd have felt even stupider if it hadn't been and I'd just been complaining for nothing. The doctor put a cast on, gave me some instructions, and eventually sent me home. “It's going to hurt for awhile,” he warned me as I was leaving. “Try to keep it iced to keep the swelling down, and take the pain medication when you need it.”

I did. My arm hurt! By that evening it felt like the cast was three sizes too small, and I was grumpy and irritable and not a happy camper. Most of all, I felt just plain stupid. How had I been so dumb as to stand on a folding chair in the first place? How was I going to take care of a two month old baby with only one hand, especially just my left one. How was I going to fix my hair, put on my make-up, or take a shower? How could I put roll on deodorant under my left arm using my left hand?

Eventually I figured everything out. First of all, I changed to spray deodorant. Second, I got the kids or Moe to help me change Kami's diapers, especially the poopy ones, to mix her bottles, and even to feed her until my arm stopped hurting enough so I could rest her on my cast and feed her with my left hand.

It seemed like my arm ached and ached, way to much, for the first few days, but eventually the swelling went down and I got used to the cast. In the meantime, all the kids and their friends signed it and wrote me messages. They had fun doing that.

Alyssa's paw prints never did get painted past the first two on her ceiling, so it always kind of looked like a little puppy ran that far, then fell off or something, but it still looked cute. I learned my lesson about standing on folding chairs. From then on, if I was too lazy to drag a ladder over to whatever project I was working on, I made sure I stood on a bed, or a table, or the kitchen counter or something stable like that. I can't say it stopped me from painting on my walls, but it did make me more cautious.

Danny Boy

Perhaps you will wonder why I would choose to print this song on Valentines Day.  The truth is, I don't know, except it keeps playing over and over again in my head, ever since I heard it sung at my brother-in-law's father's funeral two weeks ago.  Perhaps it is a Valentine. 

      (note: I've looked and looked for sources for this third verse.  I find it referred to in different places, but never with these words, but this is the way the choir, Vocal Point, from BYU sings it, and I love it.  So whether it is accurate or not, here it is.)

Danny Boy

 

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,

The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying

'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow

'tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.

Oh Danny boy, oh danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come when all the flowers are dying,

And I am dead, as dead I well may be,

You'll come and find the place where I am lying,

And kneel and say an”Ave” there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be,

If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me,

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

Oh Danny boy, the stream flows cool and slowly,

And pipes still call and echo cross the glen,

Your broken mother sighs and feels so lonely,

For you have not returned to smile again.

So if you've died and crossed the stream before us,

We pray that angels met you on the shore,

And you'll look down and gently you'll emplore us,

To live so we may see your smiling face once more.

The Prince's Valentine (again)

The Prince's Valentine

Author Unknown
    (based upon an old Indian story, thanks to apples4theteacher.com)

 

(Yes, I know I posted this story last year, but everyone seems to enjoy it so much, I'm reposting it today.)

Once upon a time there was a little Prince, and he wanted to give a valentine to a little Princess who lived in a neighboring kingdom. She was a very beautiful little Princess indeed, for her smile was as bright as her golden hair, and her love for her subjects was as deep as the blue of her eyes.

"What kind of a valentine shall I get for the Princess?" the Prince asked.

"A heart, your Highness; nothing but a heart will do!" said the Court Wise Man.

"A beautiful heart, your Highness; nothing but a beautiful heart will do!" said the Court Ladies.

"A priceless heart, your Highness; nothing but a priceless heart will do!" said the Court Chancellor.

So the Prince started out to get a heart valentine for the little Princess that would be both beautiful and beyond price, and he did not know where to find it.

Before long, though, he came to a jeweller's shop that was full of pretty, costly things to wear. There were pins, and bracelets, and necklaces made of silver and gold, and set with rubies, and sapphires, and emeralds, and diamonds.

"This is the place to find a valentine for the little Princess," thought the Prince, and he selected a diamond heart hung on a gold chain as thin as a thread for the little Princess to wear about her neck.

The Prince gave the jeweller his bag of gold and started out of the shop with the diamond heart in his hand. But he stopped at the door, looking at the heart. It was dull, and no longer shining. What was the matter with it, he wondered. Then he remembered. It was not the right valentine for the little Princess because it had been bought with his bag of gold. So the Prince gave the diamond heart back to the jeweller, and went on again.

After the Prince had gone quite a distance he came to a pastry shop. It was full of delicious things to eat, jam tarts, and little strawberry pies, thickly frosted cakes, and plum buns. In the window of the pastry shop was a huge cake baked in the shape of a heart. It was rich with sugar and spices, and the icing on the top was almost as thick as the cake itself.

"This is the place to find the valentine for the little Princess!" thought the Prince, and he pointed to the great heart cake in the window. "How much must I pay for that cake?" he asked of the pastry cook.

"Oh, you could not buy that cake!" the pastry cook replied. "I made it as a decoration for the shop for Valentine's Day. But I will give it to you, your Highness."

So the Prince thanked the pastry cook, and started out of the shop with the great cake in his arms.

"This must surely be the valentine for the little Princess, because I could not buy it," he thought.

Then the Prince almost dropped the cake. It had suddenly grown too heavy for him to carry. What was the matter with the rich, huge cake, he wondered. Then he remembered. It was not the right valentine for the little Princess because something rich to eat is not beautiful. So the Prince gave the cake back to the pastry cook, and went on again.

Now he went a long, long way, and he came to a bird seller beside the road. He had little gold birds, and bright-colored ones in green basket cages. They were all singing as if their throats would burst, but the Prince could hear one soft note above the others, because it was so clear and sweet. It was the cooing of a little dove who sat in her cage apart from the others. The Prince thought he had never seen such a beautiful little dove, as white as snow, and with rose red feet.

"Why does she sing so much more sweetly than the others?" the Prince asked, pointing to the little white dove.

The bird seller smiled.

"She sings because of her heart," he said. "The other birds sing in the sunshine, but look"—he held up the dove's cage, and the Prince saw that the little white dove had closed, blind eyes. "She sings in the dark because of her happy heart," the bird seller said.

"May I buy her," the Prince asked, "to give as a valentine to a little Princess?"

"Oh, I will give her to you," the bird seller said. "Very few people want to take care of a blind bird."

But the little Princess did. She liked the white dove better than any of her other valentines. She hung her cage in a pink rose tree in the sunniest part of the garden, and she often invited the Prince to sit with her under the tree and listen to the dove's sweet song.

Our New Baby

When I was in college I found a name in a World Literature class that I fell in love with: Kamala. It was in a book of Indian Poetry, and meant lotus blossom. I loved that name and decided to use it for one of my daughters, but each time I had a girl she needed a different name. My first daughter Linnea, was named after a Swedish wild flower Grandma Johnson used to pick as a girl. Holly needed to be Holly, because she was born at Christmas. Alyssa was the name of an extinct Greek flower, which was the closest I could come to Aleisa, my favorite friend's daughter. Of course, I couldn't use Kamala for either Russell or Stephen, and then I got divorced. One of the reasons I was so sure I was supposed to remarry was the feeling I had that there was still at least one little girl left up in heaven who was supposed to be my daughter.

When Moe and I finally got married I knew we were supposed to have a baby, but Moe wasn't so sure. He was already 48 years old, and afraid he would be e too old to be a good dad.

“I won't have the energy to go outside and play ball with him if we have a little boy,” he worried, “and I won't be able to stay awake while we wait for her to come home from dates if we have a girl.”

Still, I was sure we were supposed to have more children. “Give me some time,” Moe told me. “I'll know if it's right after we get sealed.” The problem was, I really didn't have a lot of time left to give him. By the time we got sealed I was 38, and that was pushing the limits of my child bearing years.

The kids weren't that sure about having a new baby, either. It was bad enough having to get used to a new dad. Alyssa, especially, was against the idea, but I just knew it was right. Thanks goodness the Lord was on my side. By August of 1994 Moe was softening up to the idea. By September he had decided it was the right thing to do. By the end of October, we were expecting. I was so happy.

Suddenly, Moe was as excited as a little boy, and he couldn't wait to have a little baby to cuddle and spoil. When we found out Kamala was going to be a girl he was thrilled! Gradually the kids also adjusted to idea of a new sister. Alyssa decided she wanted to keep her in her bedroom, kind of like adopting a new pet or something. The boys had wanted a brother, but it didn't take them long to begin looking forward to being Kamala's protecter. Linnea and Holly didn't really say much, but they were the first ones to tell everyone we were going to have a new baby. Linnea's only real objection to a new baby was not wanting to share her birthday with her. Kamala was due the day after hLinnea's birthday.

Once the word got out, all our family and friends got excited. They planned a big baby shower a couple of weeks before Kamala was due, inviting all our neighbors and friends. The shower was scheduled for the Saturday before Labor Day. The kids left the night before to go spend the weekend with their dad, with the understanding that the girls could come back for the shower the next evening.

I woke up early that Saturday, happy to have a little peace and quiet, but for some reason I was uneasy. I realized, after trying to figure out what was wrong, that I hadn't felt the baby kick for a couple of days. I had a friend who had a still born baby, and her story played through my mind.

“Moe, will you give me a blessing?” I asked when he woke up.

“Of course,” he agreed. He layed his hands on my head and gave me a beautiful blessing, assuring me that everything would be fine and the delivery would be smooth. I stopped worrying, but still wondered if I should call the doctor.

“I think you ought to,” Moe told me. “It would be a good idea to just talk to him and see what he has to say.”

Since it was a holiday weekend my doctor was not on call, but the one who was said to come on down to the hospital and let him check the baby, just to be on the safe side.

Moe took me, and we got to the hospital about 8:00 am. They hooked me up to a fetal monitor and found the Kamala's heart beat right away. It sounded great. Still, they wanted to listen to it for aobut an hour just to make sure all was well. At 9:00 the doctor came in to talk to us.

“Everything looks great, and you could go home,” he told Moe and me, “but with your history of having babies so quickly, why don't you just stay here and I'll induce you and you can have the baby today?”

I couldn't believe I was hearing correctly. Have the baby now, today, nine days before my due date? Really?

“That would be great!” I exlaimed excitedly.

The doctor broke my water to get things going. I started having little contractions, but nothing big, so Moe and I walked around the hospital and watched TV and waited. At noon I was dialted to four, not much, still only having little contractions. At 1:30 the doctor started giving me pitossin, which made the contractions stronger, but they still weren't bad. About 4:30 they began to get stronger and actually hurt. The doctor came in at 4:45 and said I was dialated to a seven.

“I think you'll have this baby in the next fifteen minute,” he told me, but I didn't really believe him.

At 5:00 the contractions were hard, and I felt like pushing.

“Go ahead and push whenever you need to,” the doctor told me, so I did With two pushes, the babies head came, and with the third push she was born. Just like that, the pains were over and we had the sweetest, most beautiful baby girl you ever saw. I was so happy!

Moe was in heaven, you've never seen a prouder pappa or a sweeter, more considerate husband. The doctor let him cut the cord, and they joked about using his pocket knife as long as it was sterilized. Thank goodness they didn't actually do that.

My baby shower was scheduled to begin at 6:00, so I had to call my friends and tell them I was sorry, but I wouldn't be able to make it. It didn't phase them. They went right ahead and had the shower without me, and had a wonderful time playing games and opening presents, video taping it so I could watch it later.

The kids came down to see their new baby sister later that evening, and they decided she was kind of cute. Linnea was happy Kamala was born early, so she didn't have to share her birthday. Holly was a little dissapointed with her name. She thought we ought to name her Baby, so when she grew up and went to high school the boys could call, “Hey, baby!” as she walked down the halls, but I was very glad I had my Kamala at last. Only, I'd already decided we needed to have one more baby, to give her a little brother or sister so she wouldn't grow up too spoiled.