Summer-not completely canceled.

Our summer beach-going plans were shelved thanks to COVID.  But it wasn’t ALL bad.  We kicked it off by marching a couple willing kids up and down a mountain on a 13 mile hike over Memorial Day weekend.  It was pretty brutal.  But what views!

We capitalized on everyone else’s reticence to travel by booking a cabin up at Redfish Lake Lodge in Stanley.  Most years they’re completely booked soon after they open their booking window in January.  So it was a last-minute splurge.  We hiked the first day and spent the next on the beach kayaking and paddleboarding.

 

We took an overnight camping trip in early July that almost ended in death thanks to a Google maps mishap that took us on the backside of the mountain on a road that was neither paved (not a big deal for we Idahoans) nor wide enough for our Suburban to navigate safely.  Near-death experiences are not my fave.  After a nail-biting hour and a half, we made it safely to our destination.

On the Fourth of July we marked the occasion by going white-water rafting.  Eve began the trip a little nervous about falling out during a big rapid but by the end of the trip she was doing tricks off the raft.  Such a funny girl.  We were also glad to infuse a bit of our money into a local industry that was suffering the effects of reduced out-of-state travel.  Happy Birthday America!

Later in the month, we booked another campsite at one of our favorites up by the North Fork of the Boise River.  It’s not too far from us as the crow flies, but because the drive includes 19 miles on an unpaved, windy road (graded for regular cars, at least), it takes a couple of hours to get there.

Within a few minutes of our arrival, Eve happened upon a small rattlesnake, which definitely soured our experience from the get-go.  Considering that we were two hours from a reliable medical facility, the thought of anyone in our crew getting bitten was a scary thought.  We stuck one of the girls on “rattlesnake watch” so we could set up the tent without worry.

 

Well, we picked the wrong girl.  She got engrossed in her book and looked up to find the snake within striking distance of her leg.  She flinched slightly and it shook its tail as a warning.  So she held absolutely still until it made its way past her and into a hole in the ground by our neighbor’s campsite.  So we were now two for two on camping trips where we narrowly escaped death.  Scary.

 

The grand finale to our summer was a family reunion with the Jacksons in Island Park, Idaho.   We spent a day in Yellowstone (not near enough, obviously) and the rest of the time hanging with family, ATV-ing, floating the river, playing 9-square, board-gaming horseback-riding and eating.  

 

Add in plenty of trips to the reservoir up the road from us, our annual Boise river float, walks and bike rides along the Greenbelt, summer cooking/sewing classes with friends and a tomato harvest to die for and that’s a wrap.

 

Not too shabby for a COVID summer, eh?

Hopping on the homeschool train.

Eve’s has had more than her fair share of rough days at school.

She gets distracted easily so she beats herself up emotionally over not being “as smart as her sisters”. (Not true, but perception can be powerful.)

She gets in trouble on occasion for doing something impulsive (but completely innocent) and dies inside at the humiliation of being disciplined and STILL not understanding quite why.

She feels the desire to wiggle, and fidget, and express herself freely but has to suppress it all in a public school setting in favor of “not making waves”.

Since about 3rd grade she’s come home from school on several occasions begging me to homeschool her. “Please mom,” she’s said. “I can’t go back there tomorrow.” I told her I’d think about it and that it was not a decision to be made impulsively. And then she’d get a good night’s sleep and head out the door the next day with only a little prodding, consoled by the fact that not every day turns out as badly as the day before had.

I didn’t really want to homeschool her, despite my willingness. I figured the hard-earned lesson of pushing through a difficult situation would be lost if I gave in too easily. Plus, she LOVES her friends. Without the school community to bind them, would those friends come around less and less? It wasn’t worth the risk.

And then COVID happened. And as I sat with her to go over the school work the district provided to finish out the school year, it was clear that there were some serious gaps. I watched her take HOURS on her own to complete assignments that should have taken just over 1 hour.

I listened to her verbally flog herself when she didn’t grasp a concept easily or couldn’t quite come up with the descriptive words she thought would grant her an “A” on a writing assignment. I cringed inside a little when she admitted that she never asked for help on an assignment.

I might have cried when I realized that public school simply wasn’t working for my daughter.

So when the school district came up with a plan for the fall school year that gave us plenty of options-all of them inferior to what school would normally look like (understandably), I made up my mind.

If Eve wasn’t thriving in an optimal public school environment (and I do believe that our local schools are close to optimal in many ways), she certainly would flounder in the current circumstances.

It was time to homeschool. And I was actually giddy about it.

The rest is history. I have shifted my time and energy away from our local elementary school and invested it entirely in my two youngest children. We’re combining efforts with other families through co-ops so that Eve still gets the benefit of associating with and learning from other kids and teachers. And she has a soft place to land when she struggles emotionally. Academically, she is thriving. Absolutely thriving.

Instead of 7 hours a day of school, we average about 3, leaving plenty of time for field trips and pool time and play. It is just what the doctor ordered.

At this rate we may never go back.

P.S. It was amazing to me how once I’d made the decision, everything literally fell into place. One thing after another from the curriculum we chose to the co-ops we formed and even the space we converted into our “classroom”.

One tiny example is that as I was shopping for furniture, I would find exactly what I wanted on Wayfair and then I would check Craigslist, “just in case” I could find something similar for cheaper. Every time I found either the exact same item or something better. For cheaper. Things like that may seem trivial. But, to me, they’re like little love notes from heaven helping me see that we’re on the right track.

The Still Small Voice – Primary Singing Time

The Holy Ghost is a companion I hope to never be without. Listen to the song in the game below and fill in the blanks with the words that are missing. Each missing phrase is a way in which the Spirit helps us in our lives.

Notice that the song reminds us that the Holy Ghost speaks to us in a still, small voice.  If we are never still and our lives are so filled with things and activities, we may risk drowning out the voice of the Spirit.  Let’s remember to be still so that the Holy Ghost can help us in our lives.

Now try singing the song again with all the words.

All the ways that our family’s pandemic experience was an “ideal” one.

When life was “canceled” a few months ago due to the arrival of a pandemic on our shores, I did a little happy dance. Read about it here.

I was suffering from burnout, which can easily become the norm for mothers of several children (five, in my case) who desperately feel the ticking time bomb that is my time with them at home.

It’s tricky to find a balance when trying to give our kids every opportunity in life because along with that comes a whole lot of chauffeuring, volunteering, teaching and training. All while trying to manage a semi-peaceful household.

Well, I have to say that during January through March, I was failing miserably at achieving that balance. Enter COVID-19. Devastating to most. A godsend to me.

So, while I don’t mean to minimize what others have gone through over the past few months, I would be forever ungrateful if I failed to acknowledge the countless advantages our family had during quarantine.

First, my husband had a job that could easily be done remotely. Not only did this guarantee us a stable income but it meant that we could take daily walks during his lunch hour. (And I had backup with child-rearing if I really needed it).

Second, unlike so many couples, who both had to work from home, as well and single parents who go at it alone every day, we had the luxury of a stay-at-home parent. That meant I could minimize interruptions to Tim’s many Zoom calls, keep the kids from killing each other and help with schoolwork without taking a hit to work productivity.

That is a position few families found themselves in and it was not lost on me. Or Tim, for that matter.

Third, we live in a neighborhood with numerous walking paths and enjoy a wonderful fenced backyard where we can be outside while social distancing. Watching videos of Italians serenading one another from their balconies was both heartwarming and heartrending. The thought of the only access to the outside world being from a balcony sure made me feel spoiled in my single-family suburban home.

Fourth. There are seven people in my family. No loneliness in these parts. Want to play a board game? Great! There’s plenty of people to join you. A round of badminton? Doubles? Easily accomplished. Need a shoulder to cry on? Not a problem.

The annoyances that come along with large families are not few, but you can bet we were all glad to have plenty of options for a partner in crime during our quarantine.

Fifth, I finally found myself grateful for the extra 750 square feet we added onto our abode almost two years ago. The process was a terrible headache but you can bet that seven people (most of whom are now adult-sized) crammed into 3200 square feet around the clock is a whole lot better than those same people fighting over 2500 square feet of territory.

Sixth, after evaluating our food storage, I was delighted to find that we could probably last about 6 months without going to the grocery store. Aside from fresh milk, produce and eggs, we were in good shape! And I even had canned varieties of all three if we really got desperate. (But…yuck!)

And on that note, I got my hands on a cow from a local friend (we’ve done this before) just before meat processing plant outbreaks and the price of beef shot up. Our freezer is jam-packed with locally-butchered beef that will last us two years, easy.

Lastly, I can’t say enough about how much my faith sustains me in daily life.

When all this pandemic crap hit the fan, church was canceled indefinitely. Being able to meet in our home for Sunday worship and daily scripture study has been a tender experience. As our family has refocused on the things that matter most, we’ve gained an added measure of peace that things are gonna be all right in the end. It is our faith in Christ that grounds us in that soul-sustaining belief.

So, while I can’t say my first pandemic has been ALL fun and games, I CAN show gratitude for the fact that, in our case, we were dealt a much softer blow than so many. My personal hope is to ease the burden on others for whom this has not been the case. I’m trying anyway.

The summer of the best friend.

When my kids were younger I cringed a little at the term “best friend”. Anytime I’d catch one of my kids and a friend call each other “besties” it just didn’t sit well with me. I’ve always found the term to be a bit exclusive. As most superlatives are.

Though it never evolved into a formal sit-down discussion, my girls knew how I felt on the subject. “It’s just a good idea to surround yourself with lots of great people without unintentionally excluding others by claiming a “bestie” for oneself.”

“It’s better to not put all your eggs in one basket and instead have several good friends that you can count on equally.”

“You might want to include so-and-so in this particular gathering/outing. Otherwise she might feel left out.”

These are the types of things I’d say that likely bred an aversion to “best friends” in my children. Mostly to help them be a little more other-centered and inclusive-also to ensure that they don’t get too complacent in their relationships.

Fast forward to 2020.

After a couple of months of “you can see no one outside your family”, we graduated to “pick a small group of friends and limit yourself to hanging out only with those few this summer.” Huge paradigm shift. But necessary in a pandemic.

So while I am still a huge advocate for casting one’s net wide when it comes to friendships under normal circumstances, it appears that during the pandemic we will be a little bit more choosy about with whom we hang out. “Summer of the best friend”, I’m calling it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.

Father’s Day Primary Songs – Remember These?

Once again, we’re sad we don’t get to hear you Primary kids sing a sweet song for your dads in sacrament meeting this Sunday. But we can review songs you might already know. See how well you remember these Father’s Day Primary Songs:

Fathers

Daddy’s Homecoming

My Dad

Now go give your dad a hug and a kiss. Happy Father’s Day!

Different is good.

When I was a missionary in Taiwan twenty plus years ago, I had an a-ha moment of sorts one day. As I was stopped at an intersection while riding my bike, I heard someone shout the Chinese word for “foreigner”.

That’s what Taiwanese people often do when they notice a non-Asian.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone shout out “foreigner” in reference to me. But it was the first time that I glanced around me, wondering who the heck they were talking about.

You see, I’d been living in Taiwan for 15 months at that point. I’d been living exclusively with native Taiwanese people for half of that time. I spoke the language fluently. My dreams were in Chinese. I’d even begun to acquire a taste for tofu.

For all intents and purposes, I thought I was Taiwanese.

It took me a moment to realize that the “foreigner” was, in fact, me. But the lesson I learned from that experience has stayed with me. I learned that we can become one with people who are different when we are immersed in their culture and truly work to understand and love them.

Racial tensions in the U.S. in recent weeks have upset me more than I can express. It saddens (and sickens) me to see how many lives have been adversely affected because of the color of one’s skin.

As people have shared their experiences with racism, I’ve been shocked. Not because I disbelieve their accounts of those experiences. Still, because I have never witnessed such things, I therefore find it unthinkable that they actually happen.

I think racism has sort of always existed in a bubble to me. When you don’t deal with something on a daily basis, it’s easy to develop a naïveté concerning it. I currently live in a racially homogenous place in comparison to many of the places in which I lived in my earlier years. And in ALL of those places, I was fortunate to associate with mostly compassionate people so it would be difficult to imagine them as perpetrators of racism.

The trouble with living in a bubble is that the assumptions you adopt regarding the inherent goodness of people can inhibit a motivation to fight for those who are marginalized.

Aside from living life as a person of color, the best way to develop a desire to advocate for them is through empathy. And empathy is much easier to achieve when one knows someone personally who has been a target of racism. And despite knowing many people of color throughout the course of my life, I am ashamed to say that I haven’t taken the time to really contemplate what life must be like for them.

Maybe it’s because they never felt safe expressing such sentiments to me. Maybe it just never came up. Maybe, because I cared for them and never really viewed the color of their skin as an impediment, I failed to acknowledge that others might.

I don’t beat myself up too much about it. Because my fundamental belief that we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father has guided the way I treat others.

Still, the events in our world have stirred in me a desire to do better. To ask more questions. To not take for granted the opportunities life has afforded me simply due to the color of my skin. To open my eyes to the plight so many individuals face and try harder to mourn with them. And to ease their burden in any way I can.

I’m not quite sure how to do this yet.

But I know who does know what I can do. He (Jesus Christ) is also the one who will right all wrongs in the end. And although I trust in His ability to do so, it is still my charge to emulate Him and to do my best in this life to advocate for those who cannot do so for themselves.