Mourn with Those that Mourn; Comfort Those that Stand in Need of Comfort

"And it came to pass that he said unto them: Behold, here are the waters of Mormon (for thus were they called) and now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;

Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life—

Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?

And now when the people had heard these words, they clapped their hands for joy, and exclaimed: This is the desire of our hearts." Mosiah 18:8-11

This scripture has been running through my mind since I learned of the passing of Kenna three days ago.

At church on Sunday a plan had been put into place for the youth, and the entire ward, really, to show up at Kenna's house to do yard work to help her family.  She was very sick with her cancer, and we were also signing up to take lunch into her, though she couldn't eat much, and signing up to go in during the day to help administer medicines for her.

Come Monday morning we learned that Kenna no longer needed that assistance, however Mosiah chapter 18 began playing through my mind as I thought of Ed and the kids.

And the plan that didn't change for Wednesday evening.

It seems a simple thing, really, to gather and take care of the spring yard work for them, but when I turned onto their street with a car full of Young Women and saw the curbs already lined with cars, and the yard overflowing with people, my neighbors, my friends... it was our way to mourn with them.  Our way to comfort them.

A couple of weeks ago I taught a lesson in Young Women's about why we needed the restoration of the church.  As in, why do we need the organized church, and why do we need to physically attend?

One of the answers from that lesson (taken from Elder D. Todd Christofferson's talk, "Why the Church"), among many, many things, was simply that we can do more good collectively than we can do individually.

I witnessed that last night in the setting sunlight of a neighbor's yard.

Snail Mail Society

I was quite the letter writer, back in the day.

Back when all my friends had trickled off this way and that for church missions, college, or armed forces.

I don't know what it is about receiving an unexpected letter or card in the mail, but it trumps everything.

Happy dance on the sidewalk.

You know what I'm saying.

Over the years email has become mainstream communication, but it still doesn't quite add up to level of excitement of a hand written note in the mailbox.  Aside from the email I received from The Man as our very first communication:

"Hi there, I've been wanting to send you an introduction but I can never think of just what to say.  So what the hey... hello :).ha ha.

Hope to hear from you soon."

He has a way with words, doesn't he? (Full story on how we met here).   He had me hook, line, and sinker.

So aside from that, some of my most precious words have been received through the snail mail system.  I keep them in a drawer in my dresser and refer back to the kind and loving things that were written to me by family, friends, and neighbors over the years.

It's like a piece of them straight to my heart.

Over the past year I've done a couple of posts saying if anyone needed a "pick me up" to like or comment on the status and I would say something I liked about them.  Because sometimes you just need to hear a kind word.  The posts have always been well received and I've been so grateful to tell my friends and family there on facebook how much I love and admire them.  We often complain how much is lost through social media, but I feel these types of posts bring a little something back in way of a renewed connection.

The point of this post is 1. snail mail is cool, and 2. everyone likes the hear a kind word every now and then.

Megan, of Brassy Apple, is amazing.

Hands down.

And she's created the Snail Mail Society.  Go ahead and go read her post on it.

Essentially, we're bringing back snail mail in a way that will spread kind words.

It's a win/win situation.

I'm so excited to be a part of it.

We need people who would like to sign up to write at least one letter a month to someone.

We also need people who are in need of a kind word, whether it's yourself or someone you know.

Pretty easy, yeah?

Please email:

HelloSnailMailSociety@gmail.com and specify if you’d like to join or recieve a letter.

If you are joining, you will be emailed more information including a small list of “rules” about how it works to be a member!

If you are requesting a letter please send your mailing address!

You can peek into some of the Snail Mail Society happenings by searching the hashtag - #snailmailsociety .

If this isn't for you, that's okay, but perhaps you wouldn't mind Megan's introduction so we can spread the word and fill it with kind words.

My Car Got Broken Into. And the Reassurance of Kindness I'm Taking From It.

Last night I took my three older girls up to our church for our weekly Young Women's activity.  We made care packages for the missionaries who are out serving from our ward.

One of those missionaries has a form of autism and is living at home while serving locally in the Bishop's storehouse, so while we packaged the others in boxes for mailing, we put his in a gift bag to deliver on our way home from the church.

As we walked out of the church into the dark, cold evening, the girls were running and screaming in every which direction, as only young teenage girls can do, and we leaders were trying to shepherd them into cars to make sure we didn't leave anyone behind.

As a rush of girls ran to my car I clicked the unlock button on my key ring and they piled in before I even got there.  As I climbed into my seat I noticed that my middle consul was wide open and with a little irritation I closed it remarked, "quit playing with things, guys."

As I pulled out of my parking spot I noticed the car next to me had the back hatch wide open and I absently wondered what activity they were doing to have the back of a car open.

We drove a few streets over and delivered our package.

  And played a few rounds of hands up stands up in a light rain, and I then we began taking girls home.

I dropped off two extras and took my three home with me.

When we pulled into the driveway I went to grab my backpack off the floor of the passenger seat and noticed it wasn't there.

And I got grumpy.  "How could you guys not notice that it fell out?  It's big and heavy, I don't understand.  You guys really need to pay attention, I need that stuff."

So we retraced our steps, looking at the places we had stopped to see if my backpack was on the ground.

We made it all the way back to the church with no luck, but a group of people were standing around the car with the open hatch in the parking lot.  One being my friend and fellow Young Women leader.  She walked over to my car and my first thought was maybe one of them picked it up and she's coming over to tell me.

Instead, "Did your car get broken into too?"

"My backpack is just missing.  I wondered if it fell out."

"Your car probably got broken into, ours did."  I learned that the car with the open hatch had thousands of dollars of tools stolen from it. It began to sink in.

My middle consul had been wide open.  I opened it.  All of our gadgets (two GPS's) and CD's and movies were gone.

I began to look around the car.

Cali's scriptures, gone.

And my over full backpack.

I'm sorry I got upset with you, girls.

Who would do this?

And of all the things that were taken from my car, I wanted my backpack back.  There was nothing of worth to anyone else in that bag.  Except maybe the $200 textbook.  But the notes, the flashcards, the cheap calculator.  What frustrates me the most is my final is in three weeks.  They took an entire semester of math notes.  And I know they're just going to throw it all away while I now have to work double time to recover the information to study.

Luckily I know a guy in my class and he let me borrow his notes to copy over the weekend.

I posted on yard sale sites on Facebook that I was searching for a textbook and why.  A stranger offered me his old textbook free of charge.  The lesson I'm taking from this is this: yes, there are bad people around who want to make life miserable.  But there are also very good people around who will do what they can to help someone out, even if they don't know that person.

Today I'm very thankful for a kind stranger.

The rest is just whatever.

The Time I Tried To Help A Pan Handler.

{pic source}

Generally speaking, when it comes to pan handlers I tell my kids to not feel like they have to hand out money.

Because we do our part.  We donate clothes to the shelter and donate food on every food drive, and being active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormon) we pay our fast offering every month which specifically goes to humanity efforts.

So every single month we're giving money along with the donations of clothes and food through out the year.

We support programs that are there to give food, shelter, warmth, and hope to people who have found themselves down and out (or perhaps a lifestyle as they know nothing different... there's many reasons).  Because we have been blessed with so much abundance in life and I know this.  And I know that were much is given, much is expected and so I really try to give and donate often out of gratitude for my own life.

So for the pan handler standing on the corner, or on the freeway exit if you will, I tell my kids that there's just no way of knowing who they are and why they're there.  People scam.  People trick and lie. And even if they're sincere I don't know that supporting pan handlers on the road is really helping anyone, not even them.

But yesterday while on an errand with a co-worker we saw a man standing on our freeway exit with a sign.  And I found myself reading it, "This is degrading.  I lost my job.  I have a baby and he's almost out of diapers (size 1) and formula.  I promise to pay it forward."

And it hit me with a force.

I looked at my co-worker and said, "I need to get diapers and formula for that man."

And my co-worker, whom I admire and respect, and I talked back and forth about this situation.  He's an investigator and he picks up on things and mulls them over and he said to me, "the thing that gets me is that he put the diaper size on there.  Like, he's not really just asking for money, but hoping for size one diapers."  And with that it was decided that after our errand we would stop at a store and go back to that freeway exit.

At the store I grabbed two packs of diapers, two containers of formula, and then on a whim grabbed some cans of soup and some instant potatoes and checked out.

And then I wrote The Man's number on the back of the receipt with a note saying he may be hiring.

And we hit the freeway, and came off the exit, even pulling along side the shoulder until we could hit a yellow light at the bottom of the ramp and be stopped near where he was standing.

And when we got to the bottom of the ramp... he was gone.

It had only been 40 minutes.

And I'm kind of confused by the incident because I never do something like this for someone standing on the side of the road, and it struck me so strongly that I just wanted to help him.

And then I couldn't.

If only he'd waited just 45 minutes more.

Now all I can do is hope that he finds a way to get by.

I could be judgy and wonder why he isn't looking for a job instead of standing on a street corner, but frankly I don't know the dynamics of his situation so it isn't my place to be judgy.

It is only my place to be the best person that I can be.  And in this situation I felt I could help with diapers and formula.

Plus, I had a cop with me if anything went awry which made me feel a little more brave.

For reasons I can't explain, my heart goes out to the that man asking only for size 1 diapers.

I hope he finds his help. Because really, there are so many places to find it.  WIC for example.  I think the first thing I would do if I lost my job and had no income would be to hit up State assistance, because there's no shame in that if you need that boost until you find another job.  Maybe he has, I don't know.

As for me, I guess all I can do now is take these diapers and containers of formula, and the sack of food to the shelter.

And hope that I still get "credit" for trying.

However that works.

Four Things That Make Me Happy.

Things that make me happy.

Breakfast from Chick-fil-a.  I love that chicken, and they put it on a bagel with egg and cheese.  Shut the front door.

When Sean says, "You know that minion cake on the counter?" (That I made for someone else).
"Yeah..."
"That actually looks pretty cool so could I have that for my birthday cake instead of an ice cream cake?"
Because for that boy to give up ice cream cake in order to have a minion cake instead, is a compliment of the biggest kind.

This video made me happy but in a serene way.  Like, try not to cry at work but man alive did it give me new perspective.



And helping people makes me happy.

I got this email from my friend and I believe in this so much that I'm going to share it with you.

" I am working with Janet to help the African Young Women  go to school this year. I know that they have worked really hard to make these cards and are very proud of their accomplishments. It is very important to get these girls educated and to keep them in school as prostitution is a likely outcome for many young girls there.  Their stake president says that we are literally saving lives with this effort.

If you can spare the money I hope that you will pitch in and help us to make this thing work."

The following was taken from the website made to support this project (here):

These cards were handmade by us (the girls pictured above) in Sierra Leone, a country on the western edge of the Africa West Area in the capitol city of Freetown. Freetown is on mountainous peninsula projecting out into the Atlantic Ocean. We, the young women making the cards, live in single parent families. The unemployment rate here is more than 80% without any means of income. We are obligated to pay for our own schooling, which is about $165 per year and includes a uniform. Many of us have missed a year or two of school, and really hope to be able to complete High School. 

We decided as a group to make gift cards out of free scraps of material that we could find from local seamstresses. The paper was supplied as a donation. Each of us has made one hundred cards, which we hope will give us the amount needed to start school in the fall. The money is deposited directly into the school account of our choice.

We feel that you will be truly blessed for your help in our education. Thank you so much.

Love, the Freetown girls

Christiana Kai Tarawallie, Kadiatu Abdulali, Fatmata Balley, Marian H. Conteh, Joyce N. James, Marian Kalilu

So here's my first initial thought on the matter:  these girls aren't asking for a free hand out, though if you ask me, they certainly could.  The thing that strikes me with these girls is that they have a situation they want to get through and they thought of a plan on how to get through it.  They want to finish high school, something I took for granted.  They need tuition.  So they've sat down, put in the effort and work on a plan on how they can earn the money to go to high school.  They're out to change and better their life.  And I have so much respect and awe for that.

A box of cards costs $16.50 for a box of ten, each card was hand made and is unique.  They come packaged in cellophane and raffia with a picture of the girls and a note included.  These cards could be kept and used by you or you could use them as gifts.

If each girl is able to sell 10 boxes of cards they've earned their tuition for a year of high school.

I can support that.

If you feel you can too, please go to the website HERE to read more about the cards and how to purchase them.

Yeah, that  makes me pretty happy.

Pay It Forward. Childhood Cancer. By Small Things We Can Do Great Things.

There's been a bit of talk about cancer on this blog.  It seems that cancer is so prevalent in so many forms...

As you know I've been struggling with getting the test done for the brca gene (breast cancer gene), not because I'm afraid of breast cancer, but because this gene also causes ovarian cancer.  Ovarian cancer which, as my doctor told me, once it's found, means it's too far advanced to do anything about it.  (here and here).

A recap: My mom had breast cancer when she was 38.  The fact that she had it at a young age was a red flag to my doctor as an indication of this gene.  My mom was adopted and we have no medical history past here so there was no way for me to see if there was a pattern of red flags in other generations.

My doctor filled out the paperwork and  hoped that my insurance would help cover the $3,000 test.  The first time they didn't.  Time passed, I got a new job which meant new insurance, so we tried it again.  I mailed my spit (here) and hoped for better luck.  And we got it.  My insurance called and said they would help cover it.

I waited for two weeks for a call from my doctor with the results.  It's amazing how heavy something like this will sit in the back of your mind.  I'm not going to lie, I was preparing myself mentally for surgery and having to deal with the downsides of a full hysterectomy (no saving ovaries for hormones on something like this).  I didn't tell too many people about it, just a few family members.  And even then I never talked about how heavy it felt to me, except once or twice to The Man.  My last C-section had taken an hour and a half and had been difficult for my doctor.  I have a lot of scar tissue inside of me from having C-sections (apparently I have babies who didn't get the memo that they needed to turn upside down.  Breech babies equals C-sections) and it made my last delivery hard.  My doctor ended with a heavy exhale of breath, "I think it's a really good idea if you don't have anymore babies."

In my mind, I foresaw all of that to be a possible complication in a hysterectomy so as I waited for news of the test results all of this sat in my chest.

Turns out the test was negative and I, in fact, do not have the brca gene.

The relief was almost tangible.

Not only are thoughts about myself dealing with it gone, but thoughts of my girls having to deal with it are also gone.

Life will continue on with only normal chances of getting cancer, as opposed to a 90% chance of getting it.

I'll take the normal odds over that any day.

So speaking of cancer, sometimes around here we also talk about childhood cancer.

Why?

I don't know.

Except for the fact that that issue really tugs at my heart stings.

If childhood cancer tugs at your heart strings too, I have a couple of really easy ways for you to reach out to some children who are bearing bigger burdens than we, as adults, ever have.

I'm In a Book! And Not One That I Made Myself and Stapled Together.

It's not too shabby of a morning when you find this in your emails (even if there is spring snow falling):

I'm excited to be included in Life Well Blogged's newest book.  They work on a charitable platform, donating portions of the book's proceeds to charity.

This latest book, that I get to be included in, will be supporting the charity Autism Speaks.  I don't have an autistic child myself, but I know so many who do and I'm thankful for the opportunity to be a part of something that can help raise money and awareness for the cause of autism.

This Season

Here's a taste of what the Christmas season has been around our house.

With the dinning room being under construction, and the fireplace being in the dinning room, stockings have been hung up the railing with care.

And scotch tape.

And the star is too heavy for the top of our tree...

I helped a co-worker drop clothes off at the Homeless Shelter.

This weekend the kids and I will be cleaning out their closets and their toys.  We'll clean out our blanket closet and go buy a bunch of new socks.

And then, with the kids, we'll take their used clothes and toys (all cleaned up) down to the Homeless shelter.

In a hopes to instill in my children how rich of a life they live, and thus have a responsibility to help others.

I got to eat lunch at the Capitol yesterday with my co-workers for our AG Christmas lunch.

I love that building.

I love downtown.

Jayme made this beautiful rag tree that I've kept under the big tree.

And probably will for every year.

"Wrap yourself in the holiday spirit."

I got my Christmas craft on for our neighborhood Christmas breakfast at the church.

With a huge, huge thanks to my girls.  Those lollipops are a two man job.

You have to put the cellophane on the floor, put the balloon on the cellophane, and then hold the tube (sometimes tubes, sometimes rolled up posterboard) on the balloon.  They would hold it while I gathered and hot glued the cellophane around to the tube so we could secure the balloon in without popping it with the hot glue.  I couldn't have done it with out the extra sets of hands.

And Cali got to see Santa again.

Our friends introduced us to the most awesome, magical Christmas house.

There are so many blow up decorations, covering every inch of their yard, up in their trees, hanging on wires in the air, sitting on their roof...

You just can't see it all with one visit.

I've been three times this week and I still find a new blow up that I hadn't noticed before.

Like the mooning Santa:

And the bear with his tongue stuck to a pole:

And Santa in the outhouse, which sadly, I don't have a picture of.

This weekend will be focused on donating to the Homeless Shelter.  I'm hoping that will set the mood for giving with our Circus.  For giving for the simple fact that it creates joy for someone else, and that alone creates the greatest feeling in ourselves.

We have so very much in this life.

We must reach out to those who need a helping hand.

Because when we give what we have, we always seem to have what we need.

I Never Pick Up Hitch Hikers. Except That One Time.

It was a dark and stormy night, miles from the nearest town.  The two lane road curved through the mountainside, cliff rising up on one side, steep mountainside on the other. The temperature had dropped to freezing and the rain was falling in cold sheets.

I was cruising along, my iPod cranking out my favorite music and my heated seat keeping me toasty as I drove to meet my ex husband and get my girls back from their weekend with him.  After years of making this very drive, every other weekend, I knew the curves of the road like the back of my hand and I flowed with the road easily, despite the weather.

I turned a bend and saw a minivan pulled off to the side of the road with the flashers going.  With my new "don't just think, do" attitude (middle of this post) I contemplated that minivan, but then came to the conclusion that in this particular incident there wasn't a thing I could do.  So I continued on my way.

I turned another bend when my headlights caught a figure walking down the side of the road, shoulders hunched to protect himself from the cold rain, thumb out.  He wore only jeans and a white sweatshirt.

{pic source}

I flew by him, but that feeling was already settling into my gut.

That, "you know what you need to do" feeling.

"Gah!" I exclaimed as I hit the steering wheel.

"I don't pick up hitch hikers!  It's not safe.  I'm alone.  I have no cell service."  Because I talk to myself like that when no one else is around.

In my mind the answers to those statements gnawed at me.

His car broke down.  He has no cell service.  It's literally freezing cold.  He isn't remotely close to anywhere.  You can just take him two miles to where you're meeting your ex.

And I felt calm.

God works that way.

So I flipped around, and went back.

And flipped around again and pulled up beside him.

He was cold and shivering and grateful.  "My family is waiting for me in the car.  It's new and has a flat tire, I didn't realize it didn't have what's needed to change a tire.  I need to call for help."

"I can take you up here a couple of miles to where I'm stopping.  Maybe my ex can help you from there."

"Current Creek?"

"Yes.  But you know they tore that down?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes I get spotty cell reception when I'm there.  Maybe you can get a call out."

By then we were there.  He noted he had one bar on his phone and maybe he could get a call out.

He walked a little to the side and I explained to my ex what was going on as we switched kids and bags from one car to the next.  And then we both waited for him to get off the phone.

He turned around and said he'd gotten through to someone and they were coming, though they were an hour and a half away.  That was really no surprise since we really were in the middle of nowhere.

I told him I could take him back to his car and his family.  Or I could even drive him to Heber where he could wait somewhere warm with his family until his friend could show up.  Unfortunately Heber was the wrong direction for his friend to be coming so he'd have to wait in the car.

So I drove him back and wished him well, and continued on my way back home.

And gave my girls a stern lecture about how we never pick up hitch hikers.

But how many times has that been me stranded on the side of the road?  Even on that very drive, and every time someone has stopped and helped me.  The hitch hiker said it well to me, "isn't it always in a situation as this that things happen?"

I think about society and how it makes us scared to reach out and help each other.  Because you never do know who that stranded person is.

But how grateful I am for the spirit of God that whispers to kind people when I find myself in need, find I'm the stranger on the side of the road.  And how always, I've had help.

And how grateful I am that I can hear the whispers myself.  And be there to help.  God hears our prayers.  And usually the answer comes through someone else.

May this Christmas season be spent in the service of our fellow beings. May we know in whom we can trust.  We are not alone, He is always mindful of us.

Awareness, A Cause, Moral Support

The Circus was on one this morning.

Like, more than usual on one.

Like walking around and calling each other "sibling" instead of using names.

I might have been on one too because when I did Casidee's hair for crazy hair day I swooped her bangs up and asked her if I could safety pin them.

I'm surprised any of us made it out of the house with our pants on.  Or with matching shoes.

Today I have a special guest blogger that would like to introduce you to a subject that is near and dear to her heart.  Every now and then I post things about cancer, whether it be that I have parents who have fought various types of cancer and won, or that I'm fighting the need to be tested for the breast cancer gene but the test is so insanely expensive and not covered by insurance (hello, preventative), or about various causes to raise money for childhood cancer, or about Tayler's desire to raise money for cancer.  That's a tear jerker, that one.  You can read it here.

I'd like to introduce you to Heather.  I don't know what it is about hearing stories of cancer, and realizing how many, many different types there are, but when Heather reached out to me, to introduce me to her story and her cause, I just knew I had to let her tell us all about it.

I wonder if someday I'm going to need help from others of my own, and so I feel such a need to help where I can.

I hope you'll take a minute to read Heather's story that she wrote for us here, and then go check out her blog HERE.  Also her husband's blog HERE has a different perspective that I loved reading.   Because when it comes down to it, we all need each other.  Even if it's just moral support.

I am 43 and a mother to a quirky little 7 year old, Lily. She is my only child, and my whole world. When Lily was just 3 1/2 months old, I was diagnosed with Mesothelioma; a type of cancer that kills 90-95% of those who have it. As I’m sure you can imagine, the first thing that came to mind when I was diagnosed was my baby girl and how I wasn’t going to be able to watch her grow up. After intense treatment and recovery, I'm still here almost 7 years later and cancer free!  My journey with cancer was a terrifying one and I'd like to turn my pain into purpose and become someone that other people can look to for guidance, inspiration, and hope in situations like my own. 

I'm trying to raise awareness of this horrible, little known cancer that is such a deadly killer (and sadly, 100% preventable).



  My Story: Mesothelioma at 36

The three words nobody wants to hear are you have cancer."

Yet, there it was, coming at me during what otherwise was the best time of my life.  I had just become a mother 3 1/2 months earlier.  A doctor gave me the diagnosis.  I had malignant pleural mesothelioma, which is an asbestos exposure-related form of cancer.  What has shocked people the most when I tell them about my diagnosis is that not only has asbestos not been banned, but that I got this disease from secondary exposure.

When I was a little girl my father worked construction.  Apparently, asbestos was in the drywall and other materials he worked with doing drywall taping, mudding and sanding.  He wasn't aware of it at the time, but millions of microscopic asbestos fibers were in the dust that covered his clothes and jacket that he wore home.  They even fell into the car he drove.

I was 36 years old when I was diagnosed.  It was rare at the time to find someone so young with malignant pleural mesothelioma because this disease was at first associated with older men who spent their careers either on military ships or as mechanics, electricians and plumbers, or in the heating trade.  But as time progressed doctors discovered that secondary exposure had sickened the wives and, like me, the children of those men.  They breathed in the innocent looking white dust particles that followed them home from work, caked to their clothes that were subsequently put in with the rest of the family's laundry.  Little children jumped into their daddy's arms when he came home from work.  Many children, like me, put on their father's jackets - without a clue what toxic substances were on those clothes.

Teachers and secretaries who worked in schools that had asbestos have also developed this form of cancer, as have the children who attended those schools.  And of course there are young adults who grew up playing in the vermiculite insulation that was peppered with asbestos in the attics of millions of homes across the country.  These young people, just starting their lives and their own families, are having to put everything else on hold to fight this horrible disease.

The great news is that a growing percentage of patients, young and old, are beating this disease as more advances in the treatment of mesothelioma are being made.  A cancer diagnosis at any age is still more than devastating, but I am hopeful.  Many of us who have mesothelioma have built a community of support for each other.  we cry with each other and we celebrate the successes.

More needs to be done to cure this disease, though, and that's why I continue to share my story.  My hope is that this brings more awareness to this form of cancer that is striking the young and old alike, and to offer hope to mesothelioma patients.

Are you a Weasley? Because you look like a Weasley.

Sometimes when a weekend comes along you find yourself alone with the girls because The Man took The Boy on a guys only riding trip.

So sometimes when  a weekend comes along you find yourself dressing up like a witch

and talking Grandma Julie and Aunt Kristin into meeting you at Gardner Village for some witchy fun.

Wyatt got to wear his Halloween costume.

We didn't go to the Witch Fest.  We just went to see the witch decorations.  And in my search of the witch activities at Gardner Village online (here) I found that they do a lot of crazy witch stuff.

Next year I want to have breakfast with a witch.  You can print a scavenger hunt off and find all the different witches placed around the village and get a chocolate chip cook for 39 cents at the end.  And they do Witchapalooza, a witch dinner and show which I'm certain The Man wants to take me to this weekend for date night.

But what I found that I really wanted to do with the girls was Ride To a Witch.

So we bought our tickets, which ended up being cockroaches.

And got into line.

Let me tell you, Witch Lucinda will give you what for while waiting in that line.  I got yelled at a lot. Lucinda called our tickets crickets since we were going to cricket hollow.  Julie countered with I think this is a cockroach.

We got yelled at for the fact that we are not going to Cockroach Hollow, but Cricket Hollow.  Did we have cockroaches?  We must be in the wrong line then.  So she had us move to the other side of the path to stand in line for Cockroach Hollow.  Except I didn't want to go to Cockroach Hollow, I wanted to go to Cricket Hollow so I said I had a cricket.  I got yelled at for not knowing the difference between a cockroach and a cricket.  Casidee was then told that when she goes wrong in life her mom, a finger wags in my direction, will have no one to blame but herself. 

Tayler, who was the only child with brown eyes in the line (trust me, Witch Lucinda made sure to ask) was told that the mother's of children with brown eyes, who's your mother?  Oh, that figures, mothers of children with brown eyes pick their nose. You might not want to hold your mom's hand anymore. 

I did point out to Tayler that she got her brown eyes from her dad and not her mom, thank you very much.

At one point Julie argued with Witch Lucinda and was asked, "and how long have you been a witch?"  To which Julie replied, "oh for quite some time now."  "I thought so."

Finally we made it on to the hay ride to Cricket Hollow (not Cockroach Hollow because that's just gross).

Where we passed the duck ghosts and arrived to be greeted by a witch who's name I can't remember.

Who told us that the only way you can enter a witch house is if you enter it with witch attitude.  Hand up, hip out, let's go.

And then she taught us about all the delightful things that witches have in their kitchens, like eye of newt.

Outside on our way to a witch dance lesson Witch Prudence wanted to know if Brynn was using the blanket she was carrying to do magic?

And she was quite disgusted when Brynn told her no.

She also accosted Casidee, pulling on a lock of her hair.

"Are you a Weasley?"

"Because you look like a Weasley."

She then proclaimed Casidee her cousin and renamed her Leah.

Off to dance lessons with the witch from the house where I received a phone call from The Man and stepped to the side to talk to him and watch all the fun.

After that Prudence took us over to the cauldron to make a witches brew.

She told Tayler to stir.

Jayme poured some liquid in out of a bottle, then everyone else found a "magic rock", gave it a name, and threw it into the pot.

*poof*  you have just made a spell for your future boyfriend.  The name of your rock will be the name of your boyfriend.

Just for the record, Cali is going to catch herself a Bob.

Next up we met a Jersey witch who's name I can't remember who showed us the witch spa with a farting snake in the bathtub.

And we attended a cockroach funeral where we sang "Amazing Grace" with some pretty twisted lyrics.

And we said good-bye to those crazy witches and left Cricket Hollow. 

Until next year because this is now a tradition.

It was Friday night and Grandma Julie took Brynn and Tayler home with her to sleep over and to earn money by helping her out with some chores around the yard the next day.

I was down to three girls so we stopped at McDonald's for a sweet treat (hot fudge sundaes and smoothies... and I may or may not have chosen to get a Coca-Cola) and then curled up on the coach and watched "Nightmare Before Christmas" because it just seemed fitting.

Sometimes when a weekend comes along you find yourself getting up way too early on a Saturday and helping out at the Stake Farm.

Which is just a giant garden.

The food grown there goes to help with Humanitarian Aid and it's run completely on volunteer work (and local missionaries).

I'm proud of these girls, even though we had to get up early on a chilly fall morning, they were excited.  I'd received a text the night before that said "please please please come help in the morning" and there was no hesitation, they wanted to go.

So sometimes when a weekend comes along you find yourself cutting lettuce out of a garden with your girls.

After that Cali headed to Orem for a birthday party and that left me with Casidee and Jayme.  That also left me with my family pretty much spread across the entire state of  Utah.  West and Sean were in Moab, Brynn and Tayler were up in Davis County, Cali was in Utah County, and Cas, Jay and I were sitting in Salt Lake County.

There was nothing left to do but crank up the music and clean the house.  Jen showed up with her beautiful watches (have you entered to win one yet?  Do it here. Go do it.  Right now.), and then I took the girls out for smothered burritos.  Also, we somehow managed to squeeze in going to the dollar movie once I had collected all five girls back home again.

P.S. Thanks to Grandma Julie for taking Brynn and Tayler.  They loved that they got to earn some spending money.  They loved that they got to hang with Wyatt.  They loved that you took them to McDonald's.  They loved that they got manicures and pedicures... wait a second... can I come earn some spending money from you?

The boys came home Saturday night.  Can I just say that when I hugged that man it just felt so... good.  He'd only been gone one night but I just love being around him.

We had fun as girls though.  We packed the activities in and giggled a lot.

I might just be the luckiest girl in the world to be surrounded with the family that I have.