See Sam Chapter 10

See Sam.Did you know that Sam is an artist?

She loves to color and paint and draw pictures.

Sam can spend an entire 1/2 hour working on this talent.

She paints beautiful rainbows....

She draws amazing self portraits...

And here is a picture of Sam's own hand catching

a pretty blue butterfly.

Usually when Sam has completed an art project, she finds a spot to display it on the fridge. Sometimes, the fridge is so covered with impressive works of art, a person could actually mistake it for a fine art gallery.

Mom loves her little artist.

See Mom.

Guess what Dad got Mom for her birthday?

A new fridge!

Mom got a new fridge for her birthday!

This fridge has fancy settings and lights and two cool freezer drawers.

Mom is so excited, she hugs the fridge.

Dad moves the old fridge out to the dark garage while Sam transfers her art projects to their shiny, new, stainless home.

Mom and Dad are standing in the kitchen, admiring the beautiful new fridge when Sam asks,

"Can I have a flashlight Daddy?"

Dad gets Sam a flashlight as he and Mom discuss all the

exciting features of their new purchase.

A few minutes go by before Mom and Dad

realize that Sam is gone.

Where is she?

"Sam, Sam!"

"Where are you, Sam?" they ask.

Then Mom hears some noise coming from the dark garage.

Mom opens the door to find Sam with her flashlight.

Sam is hanging up all of her precious works of art on the old , white fridge.

"Sami," asks Mom gently,

"Why are you out here in the cold, dark garage?"

"Why are you hanging your beautiful pictures on the old fridge?"

"Because" answers Sam sadly with tears in her eyes,

"they won't stick on the new fridge."

Sam is right.

Magnets won't stick to stainless.

What good is a fancy fridge if you can't use it as an art gallery?

Mom and Sam are sad.

Mom feels extra sad.

Mom feels so sad that suddenly a great idea pops into her head.

Mom grabs her purse and runs to the store.

Mom returns with a few supplies and a couple of hours later, dad hangs up Sam's very own board. It is in a special spot in the kitchen.

Sam quickly fills up her new board with art work.

"I love my Sam Board!" squeals Sam.

"I love my Sam," says mom.

Happy Sam.

Happy Mom.

The Magic of a Zinnia Seed

I love zinnias. They are my most favorite flower, ever.

Their bright, bold colors just seem to say "happy".

I can never get over the potential magic that is tucked away in those humble, unpretentious , seemingly insignificant seeds. It is one of nature's little miracles.

When I get old, I am planning to look very similar to this:

I am going to buy one of these:

Then, I am going to spend my springtimes traveling around, sprinkling little seeds of beauty everywhere I go.

Like Johnny, people will know me as Kimberly Zinnia Seed.

I could possibly become legendary.

It will be awesome!

True, I cannot grow a decent vegetable garden

(3 golf ball size tomatoes this year, sigh and sigh)

but I can always grow a zinnia patch.

So easy, a two year old can do it!

Just take a handful of seeds.

Sprinkle them in a little patch of earth.

Add water and lots of sunshine.

Then sit back and watch the magic unfold.

It really is just that easy!

Because I am still a few years away from traveling the countryside on my bicycle

and because I cannot bring myself to throw any zinnia seeds away,

I have approximately 4,539,087 seeds stored in our gardening shed.

If you would like to discover the magic of a zinnia seed for yourself, please let me know and I will take good care of you.

Oh, and if you happen to understand the magic of a tomato seed and would like to enlighten me, I would so appreciate it.

The Ruth Horne Principle

Last spring I attended the funeral of a wonderful woman.

Her name was Ruth.

We met Ruth and her husband Bruce when we were building homes in our neighborhood about 11 years ago.

Ruth was a seasoned homemaker, gardener and grandmother.

I was a clueless new mom. I barely knew how to sew a button and I had never canned a peach or baked a loaf of bread. (Still haven't baked a successful loaf of bread, sigh.)

Despite the differences in our ages, abilities and stages of life, we became fast friends.

Although I don't have a lot of visible talents, I am pretty good at watching and learning from people I admire. Ruth was one of those people.

Her home was immaculate, her yard was beautiful, you name it and she could sew it. Plus, she was an AMAZING cook.

I sat there at her funeral, reflecting on the things I had learned from Ruth, feeling sad that I wouldn't have the opportunity to learn more from such a remarkable woman.

Then her son shared a few memories of her and in those moments, I learned an invaluable lesson.

He told us about the summer he really learned to work.

He said that he and his siblings always had assigned chores from the time they were small. When they were little, they could get away with a few lumps in their efforts to make a bed. They weren't expected to do a perfect job when they vacuumed or swept the floor as long as they made a good effort.

Then when he was around the age of twelve, things changed. When school got out for the summer, Ruth came to him and said that he was growing up and she expected him to rise to a new standard.

She told him that she would be inspecting his work after each job was completed and if it didn't meet her expectations, he would need to do it again.

He said it was a painful summer. She held him to it.

Sometimes weeding the strawberry patch took two, three, even four attempts.

Other times, he would try to sneak something by her just to see if she would catch it...

she would.

But by summer's end, he knew how to do more than just complete a chore, he knew how to work.

He had learned how to do a job right and take pride in doing it well.

And guess what? 25 years later those habits and work ethic have stayed with him.

His words struck me.

I believe in giving kids chores.

I believe in work before play.

What I am not so good at is making them do a thorough job.

I've been known to let a mid range effort pass and then come behind them to get things to my level of clean. It's just easier that way sometimes.

But let's be real, where's the lesson in that?

I knew it was time to set a higher standard around here.

So when school got out for the summer, I sat the twins down and introduced them to the

"Ruth Horne Principle".

The first day wasn't pretty.

Chores that should have taken two hours dragged on for nearly six hours! I felt like a grumpy warden. Lincoln felt like a picked on prisoner. There were times in those first couple of weeks when it would have been so much easier to just do it myself or let a half done job pass.

But then I would think of Ruth.

I could almost hear her telling me to be consistent and firm. I would switch back to my following them around with a clipboard mentality.

By the end of week #2 they were getting the hang of it and by week #4, a good, thorough job was becoming the norm.

Yards (ours plus Grandma's & Grandpa's) were mowed on Tuesdays and Fridays. Kitchen duty automatically included sweeping the floor and no streaks were allowed on any mirror or faucet. Oh, and they learned that the vacuum comes with attachments for a reason.

My corrections became fewer and fewer. If their quality of work fell a little short I would just say, "Sorry, I don't think Ruth would approve". Sometimes they would roll their eyes but I assured them that this is for their good and that someday they will thank me.

Granted, it may well be at my funeral, but they will thank me.

As the summer has come to a close, I can see the benefits of all that effort.

Even Samantha has assigned chores. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from doing something well, even if it is cleaning a bathroom.

The Ruth Horne Principle is definitely staying.

Someday I hope to catch up to Ruth in that great strawberry patch in the sky.

Maybe I'll bring a loaf of freshly baked bread to go with her jam.

I'll give her a hug and tell her about that summer in 2010 and how her wisdom helped me be a better mom.

Until then, thanks Ruth.

My Bad

My Bad.

Those two words strung together are among my favorites.

Why? Because they imply accountability, responsibility, owning up.

I respect a person who can admit a wrong.

It's hard.

I hate making mistakes, they bug me.

But I have found that mistakes are often our best teachers.

The lessons are in what you choose to do with a mistake.

Today was a rough day at our house.

We had a few Our Bads.

Definitely no fun, but a life lesson none the less.

To frame this story up, I need to give a little background on our family.

We are rule abiders by nature, all of us. I don't say that to boast, it really is just the way we're wired.

When Mark was first called as a Bishop, he came close to memorizing the handbook. He would fall asleep with it almost every night for the first few months. In his years serving in the stake, he has earned a solid reputation of "going by the book". People joke about his commitment to the rules and guidelines. He will not go against them.

I'm the same way. When I was a kid I would stress for a few days before my library books were due. Oh the horror of not turning a library book in on time!

I drive the speed limit.

I pay bills early.

I return phone calls.

I would never dream of parking in a handicapped spot, even for a second.

And I think I would be mortified if I ever violated a home owner's covenant.

Lincoln and Rachel are products of their parents. They have never been in trouble at school. Neither one of them has ever had a B and I can't think of a time they have not had straight honors on citizenship. They have earned many awards for citizenship and leadership because of their rule abiding natures.

It's not just school- the other day I filled a prescription for Linc and later that day Rachel reviewed with me the side effects and dosage instructions. She had read all the information that the pharmacist had enclosed.

We really are a pretty law abiding bunch and that is why what I am about to tell you is so out of the ordinary for us.

Last week, the twins came home and announced that they would both like to run for senate at their school. They brought home the paperwork after school and I read it over.

The rules I remember stated that you could not hand out fliers, wear t-shirts promoting yourself or hand out stickers. Each student could have two posters and one page to state what they would do to improve the school.

And the most important thing in my mind: you couldn't spend over 15.00.

Saturday afternoon we picked up the poster supplies. We carefully tallied the costs. I got a few pictures at Costco and we were still way under budget so while I was there I grabbed a bag of cheap candy for them to write their names on and give out.

Sunday after church, we sat down and pounded out their posters. That was A LOT of work!

We busily cut and glued and cut and glued and cut and glued.

Four posters and one blister later, we finished.

Yesterday I heard the twins calling some of their friends to help them pass out candy at lunch.

Today, they happily headed out the door with posters and candy in hand.

At lunch they were talking to kids and passing out candy when someone said,

" I don't think you're supposed to do that".

They were both a little startled. They looked around and noticed that no one else was giving out candy so they put it away.

Later that afternoon, the advisor approached Rachel and asked her if she and Lincoln had been passing out candy at lunch.

Rach answered that they had.

The teacher, in her gentlest way told Rach that passing out candy was against the rules. She said that a mom of another child had called her and said,

"The twins were passing out candy at lunch so is it ok for my child to as well?"

(Translation: Lincoln and Rachel were breaking rules)

"I'm sorry but I am going to have to disqualify you and your brother," Mrs. Garcia said.

Rach was stunned.

So this afternoon they sadly packed up their posters and came home.

There were a few tears and a couple of devastated faces.

Deep disappointment has been the mood around here.

There it was, written on bright orange paper, NO Handouts.

We all must have read it but none of us processed it.

I was so hung up on not exceeding the 15.00 budget, that's all I really had on my mind.

It was not intentional.

We were not trying to pull a fast one.

But none of that matters, because at the end of the day, we were wrong.

We should have read and re-read the rules.

There is no one to blame but us.

Our bad.

Plain and simple.

Lincoln and Rachel have handled this with such dignity and maturity.

Rach wrote a letter to the teacher involved apologizing for their error and telling her that next time they will read the rules better.

Linc said that he is just going to pick a couple of his friends to really campaign for. He wants to do all he can to help them win.

We counted up the candy that was left in the bag.

They passed out a total of 25 pieces.

25 little pieces of candy.

Probably not enough to sway an election.

But way more than enough to learn a lesson.

My bad.

Two words that sting.

Two words that are part of life.

Two tough words that can help us grow and do better next time.

And next time, we will.

The Bitter and the Sweet

I am alive and breathing ....... barely.

My twins went off to that great and spacious building AKA Jr. High yesterday and I lived to tell the tale.

Remember the sad situation I put myself in when they went to 5th grade?

Letting them go to 5th grade nearly drove me nutty so you can imagine how yesterday went.

I had a picture in my mind of walking them to school and then walking them home.

After all, I've walked them to and from elementary school dozens and dozens and dozens of times. In the afternoons I would often pack a bag

of otter pops or chocolate chip cookies to share with the crew of kids who decided to join us. Those are some of my favorite memories, some of our best talks.

Shockingly, the twins politely declined my offer.

When I insisted that it would be fun, they called in reinforcements.

Their friends ganged up on me, Mark got suckered, my own sister agreed with them and even Always On My Side Roni had to gently put me in my rightful place.

I guess it's not a great idea to walk 7th graders to and from school....

Sigh.

So I moved to plan B. I mentioned showing up to innocently and in a very discreet way, snap a couple of pictures of them in front of their lockers.

They not so politely said no way.

Double sigh.

All I could do was hug and kiss them and wave a tearful goodbye.

Triple sigh plus three large sniffs.

To save my sanity, I carefully planned out the day's events.

I kept hair cuts and shopping sprees off my list and added volunteering at the Food Bank and scrubbing the kitchen floor-- just to keep things in perspective.

I have a love / hate relationship with this whole "kids growing up" business.

I hate leaving behind the things that cause a mother's heart to swell. Like shoes with the lights in them, speech impediments, missing teeth, the magic that comes with learning to read.

Yet, I love watching them become their own people. I love the conversations we have about first crushes, watching them try new things and just their excitement for life.

I hate the thought that they will be exposed to the things of the world, but I know that learning by their own experience is a necessary part of growing.

This milestone is bitter and sweet all rolled into one.

So, today I let them go ahead and venture over to that great and spacious building for day #2.

It's hard.

I miss them.

The clock is ticking extra slow.

I am fighting the urge to so something crazy with my hair or book a sudden trip to Disneyland.

Mark has been warned that for the next week or so I cannot be held 100% responsible for any rash decisions.

Maybe today I will just enjoy every minute with my two year old. We can hang out in the toddler section of the library. We'll pick up a Happy Meal and stop at the playground on the way home. I'll probably give her about a million kisses and remind her to stay little.

Most of all, I'll look heavenward a whisper a little prayer of thanks, that I'm 10 happy years away from sending her to jr. high.

A Tale of Three Chickens

Once upon a time there were three chickens who decided to spend the afternoon at a water park. These particular chickens were broke and had no extra money for tube rentals.

Since most of the non-scary slides required a tube and they had no tubes AND they were in fact chicken of the tube-less slides, it made for an uneventful day at the park.

The girl chickens they were with had plenty of babysitting money, which meant that they were perfectly content being chickens because they could float around on their tubes, sunning their feathers and enjoy themselves in their own non-daring way.

At one point, the three boy chickens tried to heist the tubes of the three girl chickens but the three girl chickens were not having any of that. So, the boy chickens were left to piddle around in the wave pool and kiddie areas and dream about the day that courage would come their way.

A sad scene indeed.

Enter a Tall Handsome Man With A Somewhat Sexy Farmer's Tan which we will refer to hereafter as THMWASSFT.

THMWASST is not of the chicken variety. In fact, it is true that he only throws up on things that go upside down. Since none of the slides go upside down, he was in a position to change the destiny of the three chickens.

He took them to the information board. They read about the thrill of climbing seven stories up only to plunge head first down at a rate of 50 feet per second!

THMWASST was convincing, persuasive, compelling, influential and even inspiring.

One by one the three little chickens started to find their courage. They gathered their feathers about them and clucked over to the speed slides.

The little white chicken lingered behind the others but he did indeed make the long and distant walk.

The three chickens and THMWASSFT waited in line.

The line was long.

The anxiety mounted.

If most regular people would wonder with apprehension about the stability of all those old wooden stairs, you can imagine the angst and distress of the three chickens.

With hearts racing, they began the long climb.

Up they went.

Up. Up. Up.

Finally, they reached the top.

THMWTSSFT went first, to prove that he would arrive safely at the bottom alive and well.

Sure enough there was not so much as a scrape on that sexy farmer tanned man.

One by one, the three chickens took the plunge.

Head first, they soared down that wicked, slippery chute.

At the bottom, smiles replaced fright and confidence

replaced trepidation.

The three chickens were chicken no more!

They couldn't wait to find the three girl chickens and rub the news into their beaks!

Ah, the fabulous-ness of shedding the name "Chicken"!

The three former chickens patted each other on the back and walked off into the sunset.

The moral of the story?

• Have the courage to try.
• Face your fears.
• String a camera around your own neck and claim the job of resident photographer so they'll never know you're the biggest chicken of them all..

If It's Important to Us, It's Important to Him

Well our 2010 baseball season has officially come to an end. What a season it turned out to be!

Back in December, an opportunity arose for Linc to try out for a new team. We happened to pick up our mail on Christmas Day and there was a letter for Lincoln congratulating him on making the team.

This team is much more competitive and advanced than anything he has been involved in, so it took us a little bit by surprise when we got the word that we would have our first round of games in mid January.

We packed up the family and headed to Las Vegas for 12 games in three days. Linc got to play on the brand new Big League Dreams field that had just opened the previous week. The fields are exact replicas of MLB parks. It was so much fun. He fielded well but struggled at the plate. We chalked it up to being the new kid and not having thrown a baseball in about six months.

By February, the team was in full baseball mode. Three practices a week and sometimes, up to four hours of practice on Saturdays.

We felt certain that Linc was doing just fine and that by the Presidents Day Tourney in February, his batting average would improve.

....we were wrong.

He would have an occasional hit here and there but strike outs were starting to become the norm. It was painful to watch. His confidence plummeted. Discouragement set in as he tracked his stats on the team website. We stayed positive, his coaches stayed positive but the person who mattered most quit believing in himself.

It's difficult to describe the pit in my stomach, tightness in my throat, can't bear to watch type of anxiety that filled me when poor Linc stepped up to the plate. My only consolation was that Mark felt as bad as I did and Rachel felt worse than both of us.

The hardest part of the whole thing was watching my sweet son.

Biting his lip, fighting back the tears as he hurried back to the dugout -- strike out after strike out.

I was proud of the way he handled it all. Never throwing a

bat or a helmet, cheering his teammates on from the bench, shaking hands with his coaches and thanking them after every single game and practice.

By the end of March, there was little improvement and by April, things were starting to hit rock bottom. Instead of swinging the bat and missing the ball, he began to watch strikes. Beautiful, perfectly delivered meatballs right down the center of the plate went unchallenged, not even a swipe of the bat.

Disappointment, turned to agony and then to frustration.

Nobody was more frustrated than Lincoln.

One Sunday morning before church, I was getting something from the hall closet when I heard quiet sobs coming from Linc's room. My heart sank as I immediately knew what was wrong. I knocked on his door and found my sweet boy with red eyes and red cheeks sitting on his bed. I will never forget that picture in my mind. Lincoln sitting there in his suit, with his head in his hands. Heartbreak written all over his face and tears dripping from his chin.

"Why?"

"Why can't I hit the ball?" he sobbed.

"I'm letting my team down, I'm letting my coaches down."

I wrapped my arms around him, not sure what to say.

Suddenly, he looked up at me and with tenderness and complete sincerity he asked,

"Mom, do you think it's ok to fast and pray about baseball?"

The question caught me a little off guard.

I paused a moment and then answered,

"Lincoln, if something is important to you, it's important to the Lord."

I assured him that although God has much bigger things to worry about than baseball, I know that He knows Lincoln by name and he loves him. He hears every prayer, especially earnest ones and He answers them. If Heavenly Father notes the fall of the sparrow, He certainly understands the importance of baseball to a 12 year old.

Lincoln asked if I would fast with him that day, Rachel and Mark joined us.

The next week we fasted again and so continued our pattern.

Nearly every prayer that was said in our family over the next couple of months included a plea to help Lincoln believe in himself. One night Rachel plastered notes on the bathroom mirror that said:

You can do it!

We believe in you!

Home Run Hitter!

You are amazing!

We love you!

We also studied scriptures about turning weaknesses into strengths. Studying the scriptures helped Lincoln realize that he had to work hard and do his part and then Heavenly Father would do the rest. We decided to get up early and go hit a couple of buckets before school and then again in the evenings. He didn't complain about waking up at 6:15 am. He didn't complain about giving up any free time at night to go practice hitting.

It was in those early morning practices that we started to see a change. It began with just making contact with the ball and gradually he started hitting to the fence. Within a few weeks, he started hitting over the fence. Confidence returned. It was an amazing transformation.

It didn't take long for the knew attitude to transfer to the games.

Lincoln started hitting the ball!

Singles, doubles, triples, game savers, game winners. Over the last six weeks of the season, he was the top hitter on the team. It was hard to believe we were watching the same kid.

A Disney movie couldn't have captured a come-back of this magnitude.

By the end of the season, he had gone from dead last in the batting order to the #2 spot.

His coaches were thrilled. They even put him on the cover of the team website. We were relieved that the season was ending on a positive note, Rachel started sleeping through the night once again but most of all, Lincoln learned an amazing lesson that will stay with him....

If something is important to us, it is important to the Lord.

If He cares about something as seemingly insignificant as the baseball season of a 12 year old kid, he cares about everything.

Big, small and in-between.

God cares.

He loves His children, He knows us by our names.

He will answer in His time and way.

At times He will let us struggle in order to teach us faith and reliance on Him

But He WILL be in the details of our lives, if we will only invite Him in.

Baseball season 2010....

a lesson for life.