Boogers on the Wall

One of my boys on a trip to Lagoon five years ago.

I took a trip to Lagoon this week and found myself near the circling whales. Bulgy the Whale has been a favorite ride of each of my boys at some point and my two-year-old smiled the entire time he rode up and down and round and round.

As I watched him ride I was taken back five years to the summer of 2010. We lost Luca that spring and a few family members pitched together to buy me, my husband, and our two living children, season passes to the local amusement park.

I didn’t realize how great that present was until after taking the boys a few times. Those passes gave me mindless, numbing entertainment at a time when I couldn’t think straight.

I would drive my boys 20 minutes to Lagoon then push them in the double stroller stopping to ride dozens of kiddie rides until my 2 and 4 year olds wore out.

I remember waiting with them in line, helping lift them up, then strapping them in. Then I’d sit back while they rode for hours.

I didn’t have to think. I could walk around like a zombie while they had the time of their lives.

As I watched my fourth little boy take his turn loving the whale ride, I couldn’t help but remember how much that ride saved me that summer, how all of those rides – the cars, the boats, and Puff the Magic Dragon – saved us that summer.

I honestly don’t know how my husband and I made it through that year.

How did he get up and go to work? How did I go grocery shopping and make meals? How did we go on doing all the things we had to do despite our heartache?

Much of that year is a blur to me – probably because I walked around in a sorrowful stupor.

And although I still think of Luca every day, my mind and heart are now able to look beyond his death.

Yet no matter how far I think I have come and how much I think I’ve grieved, there are times when a memory or a smell or a word takes me back and my heart hurts for the loss of our little boy. Like earlier this week when I watched another one of my cute, little boys laugh and laugh as he rode in the whale.

Trips to Lagoon will be quite different this year than they were five years ago. But I’ll never forget how great it was for me while I was lost in my grief.

Thank heavens I had Lagoon that summer.

Thank heavens I had Bulgy.

I may be the only American woman not excited to see more skin this summer.

Shorts, tanks and swimsuits keep shrinking and I keep cringing.

I get it. Women are more comfortable in their own skin. Skimpy shorts and bare minimum suits are all the rage these days for women of all shapes and sizes.

They aren’t afraid to flaunt what they got.

But that doesn’t mean I want to see what it is they think they got.

And I definitely don’t want my boys to see it.

It’s happened more than once. I have taken my boys to the beach or to a local pool. We are running around splashing and swimming when a neighboring swimmer nearly pops out of her top. I usually scramble and stutter trying to distract my boys from wide-eyed staring at the 90 percent naked female.

It makes me nervous. It makes me uncomfortable. And to be frank, it makes that woman look like an idiot.

I’m sick of worrying that my boys are going to see someone’s boobs.

I know scantily-clad’s on TV. I know its on magazine covers and billboards. I’m fighting the battle of naked women exposure each and every day in my own home as more and more risqué images creep onto the public, family-friendly television we choose to watch in our home.

But I can’t flip the channel or cut the power to the group of overly exposed women we run into who want to bare it all at the beach or pool.

The current trend seems to be to thank these women for showing their skin and praise them for their courage and confidence.

I don’t care what shape or size you are I will not thank you for wearing itty, bitty swimwear.

Let me make one thing clear, you will never hear me talk down about a woman’s body size, her figure shape or the amount of flab and dimples she’s donning. I will not poke fun or call names. To me the female body is beautiful in all shapes and sizes. This is not about body size it’s about swimsuit fabric size.

When did baring all become brave?

What happened to respecting yourself enough to not feel the need to share every inch of your beautiful body with everyone else on Earth?

Aside from the fact that I don’t want my three boys gawking at mostly naked, women all summer, I don’t want my baby girl seeing it either.

I don’t want her to correlate confidence with nearly nakedness. I don’t want her to mix up the idea that she has to show the world her body in order to feel good about herself.

She can be brave. She can be smart. She can be the most confident kid at her school without having to sport an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka-dot bikini.

I want my daughter to feel good in her own skin. I want her to know that her body is beautiful and that she is amazing. I want her to walk with her head high, proud that she was created a particular way. I just want her to do it with an adequate sized swimsuit on.

Summer has finally arrived at our house. Today is the last day of school and my kids are FINALLY all mine.

I’ve been killing myself on our kitchen remodel and so I’ve got nothing lately. No energy, no time and – thanks to the major remodel – no money. (Not really but it sure feels that way. Why do things always cost more than we plan on?)

Needless to say, I’m ready for a break – ready to put down my paintbrush and pick up a kickball.

I’ve spent the time I’ve sat nursing our baby girl lately surfing the Internet for new things to try this summer. I’ve posted some links in the past but I’ve added some new ones this year. (I hope we finally get around to making one of those water blobs.)

Here is a list of a few free or really cheap local events and some sites with homemade activities to try. I’m guessing we’ll have some major adventures trying to pull of some of these.

What are you going to do the next couple of months?

1. Weber State University sponsored Arts in the Park program- A rotation of free hands-on art activities that rotate to different parks in Ogden. For dates and times click here.

2. Weber State University sponsored Science in the Park program – A rotation of hands-on science activities where families can experiment for free. For dates and times click here.

3. Davis County Library summer fun events. From Clark Planetarium to the Living Planet Aquarium, kids can learn about things like space travel and protecting the rain forest.

4. Cinemark summer movie clubhouse. $5 for 10 movies or $1 for each show. Find your theater here.

5. Family First Mondays at Station Park in Farmington. Each first Monday of the month they have games, activities, entertainment and more. Specific details are here.

6. 30 Summer science experiments for kids.

7. The Ultimate Summer Bucket List for Bored Kids.

8. 29-Dollar Store Finds That Will Keep Your Kids Busy All Summer.

9. Yard Twister.

10. How to Make A Giant Water Bed.  

We had an amazing Memorial-Day weekend spent in beautiful St. George. We took the kids to Snow Canyon and explored the fascinating lava tubes. We spent an afternoon in Zions National Park hiking easy trails like Weeping Rock.

We spent time with family at my husband’s cousin’s wedding.

I have breathtaking pictures of the red, white and black rocks that surround the landscape. I have funny-faced pics of my kids posing with their grandparents. I even have a picture of my sisters in law and me modeling our new outlet-deal $5 sweaters.

We had a great time.

Yet mixed in the scroll of pictures from our fun getaway are pictures of a tiny grave decorated with flowers.

We left town right after school on Friday and didn’t know if we’d have a chance to visit our little Luca this weekend. No big deal, right? I’ve mentioned before that I don’t love visiting the cemetery.

But for some reason as we rolled out of our driveway headed for a road trip down south I was sad to think that maybe he’d be forgotten.

Memorial day means so much more to me now that I have a part of my immediate family to visit and remember.

Luckily we drove home in time to stop by Luca’s on Monday.

I carefully clipped some purple and white flowers and some yellow wild roses from our backyard and tucked them into a pint mason jar. Then I tied a purple gingham bow around the top.

We took them to Luca and I laid them near his picture.

I love that the flowers came from home. A home that Luca didn’t spend time in while he was on the earth, but a home where we have felt him near.

My boys love to visit the cemetery on Memorial Day – that’s when there are booths set up offering free cans of soda. We didn’t have much time to spend at the cemetery but we sat near his grave as we sipped our drinks and soaked in the sun.

As we were getting ready to leave I noticed a ladybug on the right side of Luca’s headstone. I watched it crawl and thought about how much my boys love bugs and how much Luca would have loved to see it.

Maybe he did see it. Maybe he was there too.

Out of all of the pictures I was able to take this weekend, I think the one below is my favorite. Like I said earlier, Memorial Day is a lot different for me than it used to be. It’s more than a 3-day weekend. It’s more than a vacation to St. George.

It’s another opportunity to remember the ones we’ve loved and lost.

The ones who will remain part of our hearts forever.

If you were anywhere near my house Monday morning you would have heard shouts of “Watch where you’re stepping.” “That’s plenty of dirt.” and “No, no, no, no NO!”

The joys of planting a garden with my 2-year-old helper.

He nearly trampled my tomatoes, he gave the plants an overdose of “food” and he ate three packages of fruit snacks in the span of an hour just to tie him over so I could wrap things up.

Then he got “tired” and sat down to supervise from a lawn chair under our pine tree.

It was rushed, busy work but we did it! We got all our fruits and vegetables planted in between rainstorms.

This is the first year I’ve grown all our plants from seed. I couldn’t have done it without my kids – they have been great helpers all along the way.

My boys helped me fill dirt in the cups, place and cover the seeds and water the plants whenever the soil seemed dry. I took a seed starting class this spring where I learned some tips and tricks to help green up our thumbs.

I set up a mini green house/grow station in my bedroom. I made two PVC-framed grow lights like the ones on this website.

We all watched anxiously as the seeds sprouted and grew.

My 2-year-old was the most enthused. He looked forward to watering time and followed close to my side with his own mini can – many times spilling water all across my carpet on his way to the plants.

When it came time to harden them off, my little helper carried plant containers onto the deck with me. There we let the sun take over.

The plants turned out beautiful – better than I ever hoped for. We ended up with 30 tomatoes, 3 watermelon, 8 zucchini, 8 cucumber, 3 pumpkin, 4 cantaloupe, 16 eggplant, about 30 pepper plants and bunches of basil and cilantro. Then we direct seeded corn, peas and spinach into the ground.

My oldest two didn’t help much with the planting but they worked hard beforehand ripping out grass and ground cover for our garden spot. Now we are getting spots ready to plant the flowers we grew – zinnias, foxglove, strawflowers, lupine and forget me nots.

There’s something mesmerizing about growing plants. Watching something sprout, then caring for it as it develops into what it is meant to be.

It sounds a lot like parenting.

I only hope I can help my kids develop into what they are meant to be. And that they will continue to spend time with me in our yard.

Even if it makes me shout a little.

I’ll never forget watching my parents’ house burn down. The smoke billowing from the eaves and holes in the roof; the flames licking out from the top of the swamp cooler; the firefighters in khaki uniforms with bright yellow stripes, dousing hundreds of gallons of water into the brick structure I once called home.

Neighbors and strangers congregated behind the safe line. Friends and family stood near.

And we all just watched. We were completely helpless.

It’s nearly been a week since flames tore through my parents’ home on May 8, 2015. A week since their lives completely changed.

My husband and kids were taking me out for a Mother’s Day dinner when my mom called to tell me her home was on fire.

What?!?

We raced back into the van and headed straight for her house.

My husband couldn’t drive us fast enough. I was bursting out of my skin; dying to get there. I wanted to scream! My oldest sons were crying in the back, worried about my mom’s keepsake dolls and the family dog.

We were less than 7 miles away but it felt like 700. We could see the smoke from the freeway and I was certain there would be nothing left of the home.

I was the first family member to make it to the scene. We had to park a long ways away – past all the fire trucks, police cars and spectators.

I hopped out and ran faster than I can remember ever running.

But when I got there, there was nothing I could do. Nothing any of us could do.

We sat and waited. The firemen worked for a long time. They cut through the garage door with a chainsaw, they tore down the sheetrock ceiling and one fireman’s leg went through the kitchen floor.

They used thermal cameras to check for hot spots and watched the house to make sure no flames rekindled. A couple of times we heard loud popping noises.

The whole scene was surreal.

My parents were out to dinner when their neighbor called to tell them about the fire. By the time they were able to drive back home all of my siblings and our children were there. We hugged each other, we wiped each other’s tears and we all stood in shock.

I wanted more than anything to rush inside and grab an armful of sentimental pieces out. I wanted to get in there and save some belongings. I wanted to see into the windows and spot what damage may have been done. But we had to wait.

As the sky darkened and a few raindrops fell, we left the scene. A company came to board up the place and the firefighters would watch closely for any new fires sparking up.

It wasn’t safe to enter the home until the next day.

Honestly we all feared the worst. My mind pictured everything burned down to a giant pile of ash.

But it wasn’t.

The kitchen was hit the hardest, but a couple of the back bedrooms were hardly touched. There was water damage everywhere and insulation and sheetrock lined the flooring of each room, but some of the rooms had very little soot and blackness.

My mom had a lot of sentimental keepsakes in her front living room. In my heart I hoped they were all right, but in my mind I knew they were probably gone.

When we stepped inside we were amazed at what we saw.

There stood my mom’s curio cabinet with soot-black glass. When we opened the door, dozens of my mom’s keepsake dolls stared back at us – even the pair of 200-year-old Danish dolls.

It was amazing.

I was amazed at other things we found throughout the house. We saw bright colored packages of fruit snacks seemingly unharmed in a bottom cupboard in the charred kitchen. In the living room and hall we could see outline markings from where decorative shelves and picture frames once hung.

There were inspirational sayings taped to the bathroom mirror that were untouched and a pocket-sized Book of Mormon with only the corners scorched.

We sifted through a giant pile of charred kitchen goods to find some keepsakes from when my sister lived in China. And in the basement most of our pictures and childhood paperwork remained safe in plastic totes. 

We found things we never thought we would see again.

I’ve learned a lot while sifting through the ashes of my parents’ home. A couple of things stand out.

First, I’ve learned to never give up hope. When night begin to fall the night of the fire I was certain we would never get anything out of the home again. I was positive that everything was lost. But just before we left, my mom and dad were allowed inside with the Fire Chief. They came out with a box of photo albums and a picture my mom had commissioned of the Savior holding my little baby Luca.

Since then we have been able to recover much, much more than I ever imagined. Sure there are a lot of things that can’t be saved. Like my mom’s piano – the same piano I learned to play on. The one her parents bought her when she first got married. The one with lose, easy-to-press-down keys. We watched them haul it out to a dumpster today. Even though the notes still played, it was too far gone to repair.

But there are toys and pictures and clothes and books. We even found our old family videos.

Even though at first it all seemed dark, all is not lost.

Second, people are amazing. My parents didn’t have anything the night their house burned down. No pajamas, no beds, no pillows. No contact solution, makeup or curling irons. No medications and no c-pap machines.

They didn’t have toothbrushes or hand soap. No laptops or kindles.

All of it was gone or out of reach.

But people rallied around them. They had friends and family reaching out to give them whatever they could.

They were given basic supply kits with items like toothbrushes and shampoo. One neighbor wrapped a jacket around my mom another let us all use her restroom, multiple times.

People have brought our entire family meals each night since the fire and thousands of dollars have been donated to my parents’ gofundme account.

Perfect strangers have given to my parents. Perfect strangers have offered kind words of encouragement. Perfect strangers have worked at the home, cleaning and gutting it out.

Watching my parent’s home burn down has changed me. I know that everything is going to turn out all right. I know that my parents will continue to pick up and put back together the pieces of their lives. They will rebuild.

But I also know that it will be a long, hard process. I can’t even imagine what they are going through. I wish I could easily fix this mess for them. Easily take away their pain and their burden. But it is out of my control.

So for now I am going to join the group of many, many people who are supporting and cheering them on. I will be by their sides while they sift through the rest of the ashes. They have been there for me during my hardest trials. Now I am going to be there for them.

And I will be there when it’s finished.

We will get through this together. We will rise up from the ashes.

One of these days I’ll get up before my children. I’ll take a long bath without an audience.

When I’m done I might round brush my hair and curl the ends under. I’ll put on something other than a hoodie and I’ll make it to the kitchen before any of my offspring.

I’ll mix them up blueberry pancakes and then I’ll cut the crust off their home-lunch sandwiches into something fancy like a dinosaur or racecar. I’ll check their backpacks for papers I need to sign and hang them on the railing.

I’ll do all of this BEFORE they get up.

Then I’ll be ready for them.

One of these days, while my kids are at school, I’ll clean the house. They won’t be able to write their name in the dust on our TV stand anymore.

I’ll get the laundry folded while they’re gone and then I’ll get something ready for dinner. I’ll pay the bills and run my errands.

I’ll weed and rake my flowerbeds.

Then I’ll be ready for them.

One of these days I’ll have my act together.

One of these days.

There’s nothing like wormy cake. But wormy cake made by two of my favorite people really takes the cake.

A few weeks ago my 6-year-old was asked to bring a cake to auction off at his Cub Scout Blue and Gold Banquet. Sure, no big deal, we could whip something up, right?

The catch…it had to be baked by him and his dad.

I stayed out of the entire process – something that isn’t really easy for me to do – and it turned out great!

My husband came up with a dirty, wormed-filled theme and they headed to the store to grab supplies.

Then they dove right in. I wasn’t home when they baked the cake, but I got to see them decorate it.

I loved watching my husband help our son sprinkle crushed up Oreo “dirt” onto the frosting. My son smiled the whole time he was sticking gummy worms on top.

When we got to the banquet, I couldn’t believe the creativity and talent of the father and son teams. One of the cakes was decorated like a target and had a real arrow stuck inside.

Our wormy cake went for $30 at the silent auction. (We weren’t going to be outbid).

When I first heard about the boys baking cakes with their dads I wondered why the scout troop started this fundraising tradition. Then as I watched my eager son working hand and hand with his dad and saw the smile on his face when people bid for his dessert, I knew why.

I hope they bake another cake together soon.

I have always wanted a Luca tree. He was born on Earth Day and the thought of planting a tree for him has always been in the back of my mind.

This year Luca would have been five. It was a milestone year and I wanted to do something special. So I contacted our city’s parks and recreation department and asked them if we could donate and plant a tree in his memory on his birthday April 22.

I was thrilled when they said yes.

We spent a night at my favorite local nursery a couple of weeks ago picking out Luca’s tree. We chose an Eastern Redbud. It’s bright fuchsia buds will always brighten and bloom in spring.

We took a dusty, bumpy road in a large 4-wheeler/gocart to a giant field filled with trees. We giggled and smiled while we bounced up and down.

We walked through rows and rows of beautiful Eastern Redbuds until we found one that was perfect for us. 

I’ll never forget the man who took us to find it. He was so kind, so loving. The nursery was closing soon but he didn’t rush us. He took his time helping us find our tree then took pictures of our family in front of it.

It was a positive peaceful night.

When it came time to plant the tree a city employee marked the ground with a bright orange spray-painted circle so we would know where to remove the grass.

He gave us the perfect spot for the tree. It sits right next to a black metal park bench and lamppost that face the playground.

We met at the park last night to plant Luca’s tree. Friends and family each took turns shoveling and pulling the grass away. The dirt beneath the grass was filled with hard, thick clay. My dad and I ran to the neighboring hardware store and bought a giant pick shovel to ease the Earth.

When the hole was big enough, several of us scooted the tree over then helped ease it into its spot. We filled in dirt around it, tried to straighten it out as best as we could then we watered it with three giant buckets of water.

Now I hope it grows and grows.

I hope we can visit it when we play at the splash pad in the heat of summer. I hope we can throw out a blanket near its base as we watch movies in the park.

I hope to sit near it as I watch my other kids play on the playground. Then I can feel all of my babies near me.

Several years down the road I can picture myself heading to the library, picking out a new novel and sitting on the bench reading beneath the shade of Luca’s tree.

I hope to spend a lot of time there thinking of my angel and what he has taught me.