I'm Wondering...

Does letting my boys have Mohawks for one school day (not a crazy hair day) make me the fun mom or the irresponsible mom?

We'll be shaving them off before church on Sunday.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Everybody Loves Chuck

I've attempted to write this post on March 11 every year since I started this blog. Hopefully this will be the year that it actually makes it out the gate for you to read.

This is a post about my Daddy. Because today is his birthday.

My dad was born in Los Angeles in the late 1950s. He grew up in California, then moved to our small Utah hometown when he was 15 (white t-shirt, black leather jacket and all). He met my mom that year. He likes to tell the story about seeing her picture before he met her and thinking she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

He has worked as a diesel mechanic, at the salt plant near the Great Salt Lake, at an auto supply store and at his current job. I have no idea what his job title is now, but the work he does is really cool -- helping to build and keep running efficiently munitions incinerators all over the world.

He's a fixer. And engineer without the degree and the book-learning that gets in the way of the common sense. He's funny and kind and a phenomenal grandpa.

There's a scripture that always reminds me of my dad.

"We love him, because he first loved us." 1 John 4:19

My dad has this amazing quality of effortlessly loving other people and making them feel comfortable. Hence the title. Everybody loves Chuck, because Chuck loves everybody.

His isn't a visiting-teacher-relief-society-president kind of love. The gooey, cheesy, can-i-bring-you-a-casserole kind of love.

It's the pat-you-on-the-back, make-up-funny-names-for-you, tease-you-relentlessly and put-you-at-ease kind of love.

It's also love in action.

A few years ago, I went to my parents' house to have my dad help me fix our car and teach me how to change the oil. He did, of course. But the whole time I was there, he was also helping a young man who lived in his ward. This man's wife was being treated for cancer, he was depressed and struggling quite a bit. So, with his typical, home-spun kindness, my dad took him under his wing. He came over to his garage many times during that period in his life to fix his cars. While I was there, he helped my dad and I with my van. I have a feeling that there was much more mended at that time than engines.

This is typical of my dad. His heart and his garage are very similar places. There's always room for everyone. There's always someone or something there, being mended, being made better. There's always quite a motley assortment of tools (or people) that my dad knows just how to make feel useful, important and worthwhile.

He was a dad who played with me and that is priceless. He helped me with valentine boxes and science projects. He taught me to hit and catch a softball. He flew kites with me. He shares my love of Thoreau and loves me for my march to a different drummer. He marches to the beat of a different drummer too. He and I are kindred spirits. I have lots of poems to write about him, but they never seem to come out right.

Dad, I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad you're mine. Happy birthday!

{pictures hopefully coming soon, but seriously, it's been yeaaaaars. i have to get this posted.}

My Friday Evening

Gun show. Major muscles!!



Pouty, unhappy, grumbling 9 year old.



Sick, sleepy, cuddly Coco.



Husband working in the dark.



Sweet daughter reading.

Oh and you may have glimpsed my date for later this evening in the picture behind Mashuga. Two whole baskets full...

Happy Friday!

My Husband Is Wonderful

I get a little crazy sometimes. And soul weary. And discouraged.

I'm lucky to have one of the best friends in the world to pull me back. He gives me solid ground to stand on and wings to fly.

I love you, honey.

This song came on the radio today. I'd never heard it before, but it reminds me so much of JDub.

Everybody needs inspiration
Everybody needs a song
A beautiful melody
When the night's are long
Cause there is no guarantee
That this life is easy

Yeah, when my world is falling apart
When there's no light to break up the dark
That's when I, I, I look at you
When the waves are flooding the shore and I
Can't find my way home anymore
That's when I, I, I look at you

When I look at you
I see forgiveness
I see the truth
You love me for who I am
Like the stars hold the moon
Right there where they belong and I know
I'm not alone

Yeah, when my world is falling apart
When there's no light to break up the dark
That's when I, I, I look at you
When the waves are flooding the shore and I
Can't find my way home anymore
That's when I, I, I look at you

You appear just like a dream to me
Just like kaleidoscope colors that
Cover me
All I need
Every breath, that I breathe
Dontcha know?
You're beautiful

Yeah yeah..

When the waves are flooding the shore
And I cant find my way home anymore
Thats when I,
I I look at you
I look at you

Yeah yeah..
Oh oh..
You appear just like a dream to me...

Maladjustment

A quote that has been running through my head for the past few weeks:

"... there are certain things in our nation and in the world which I am proud to be maladjusted and which I hope all men of good-will will be maladjusted until the good societies realize." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

I'm curious. Are there things the world considers normal to which you are grateful to be maladjusted? What are they?