Happy Easter!

How grateful we are for our family and that we can be together forever!

SOLD

We sold the house! We sold our house in Washington! Hooray! After 10 months!

Things I have learned:

1. Patience is a virtue, and I am impatient with the amount of patience I have.
2. If a home buyer can't get the financing because he isn't a U.S. citizen, he can't get the financing the second try, either.
3. Co-signers to a non-U.S citizen's loan can suddenly decide they want to buy a "vacation home" in Portland, OR, and not be co-signers anymore.
4. Always ask if the homebuyer is a U.S. citizen with traceable income.
5. Always ask for daily rent money up front, not at closing. It may not come to closing.
   
6. Hire a realtor who knows Real Estate legalities, not simply because he/she is a people-person.
7. Forgive.
8. Referring to your 2nd mortgage as your "vacation home" will get a chuckle or two.
9. "Timing is in the hands of Higher Authority", I thought, as the bank called to remind us the bridge loan is due in 2 days.
   
10. A weight carried for so long is not easily forgotten, even after it is gone, which may be a good thing.
11. Jumping up and down and giving group hugs after losing a hard-fought volleyball game because you announced you closed on the house today creates fast friends.
12. More people are pulling for you than you realize.

Thank you everyone pulling for us. Woohoo!!!!!

Goofy Kids

I am surrounded. Where did they get this tendency?? HMMMMMMMMM...

BOY, noun: a noise with dirt on it.

We spent Sunday afternoon at my brother-in-law's because my nephew, Wyatt, was baptized. They have 5 boys, and their mother, Erica, showed me this definition. Perfect. Just as a comparison and contrast, I walked past the bathroom the other day and about keeled over dead from the smell. The door was open, the light was on, and the fan had not been turned on. I asked who did this out loud, and the answer was "One of the boys". I turned the fan on, sprayed some air freshener, and closed the door, wondering, but not really, whether they had washed their hands. The very next morning as I was in the shower, I hear a little knock on the door. Maren asked if she could come in and use the bathroom. I told her she could. A minute passed and I hear, "Oh, sorry, Mom, its a little stinky in here, so you better plug your nose." I didn't smell a thing. Then she flushes, washes her hands and says, "I'll turn the fan on for ya! Have a nice shower!", and closes the door. I was laughing and shaking my head at the difference.

"Boys are God's way of letting you know your house is too organized"

I spent last week and yesterday putting together the boys' room and a set of bunkbeds. Brandon was out of town, so I just dug in and built stuff. I love to construct things, so I was excited. I believe I get it from my Dad, the engineer. Show me a set of instructions and a box of parts and, heart pounding, I can't get started fast enough. Anyway, back to the boys. Ages 8 and 11, they are paper and rock collecting, busting to get outside, dirty clothes on the floor right next to the laundry basket throwing, can't find my shoes yelling, haircut and shower avoiding, holes in their socks and knees required, please, please change your underwear men, with a tiny toy fascination. OH, how I love them! So, I organized shelves with baskets of all sizes for the treasures, rows of books for them to read and then find a week later at the bottom of their bed, a huge jar to show off their sea shells and rocks, a hamper full of beloved stuffed animals they are too old to have on their bed, but too young to part with, and a desk with adequate lighting so they can pile their papers and not have room to do their homework. An over-the-door shoe organizer holds Star Wars and Bionicle figures, and Jacob's side of the closet has a low-hanging bar he can just toss his shirts over, because hangers are beyond him. I will get them some hooks for their robes and a bulletin board for the papers and pictures, and we have ordered an air purifier for Braeden's ease of breathing down in the dusty basement. And they are so excited, I bet they keep it clean a whole afternoon!

"Oh good, Dear, you made peanut brittle!"

(l-r: Brandon's brother, Chris the Hunter, Brandon the Blind Ref, me the Pirate, Erica and Doug, Brandon's sister-in-law and brother, Mr. & Mrs. Nacho, and little Ren, at last year's Halloween party)

"To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time." ~Clara Ortega

I read this quote and thought of last weekend. We had gone to my mother and father-in-law's home, an hour away, for the afternoon. My husband, Brandon, had 2 college-age cousins (one was newly married and had brought his wife, also) visiting there for the weekend. His Grandma lives there, and Brandon's youngest brother was also there with his family, as they live nearby. When we were married, these cousins were only about five years old, and were part of a mass group of forty or so kids who made a lot of noise and activity at the family reunions. I could barely keep up with the names and which of Brandon's uncles or aunts they belonged to. But, the reunions were annual and fun, and although we may have missed one or two, I got the cousins "down". Kind of. For the last 10 years or so, Brandon's parents have been having their own reunions, and extended get-togethers are not so often. But as we visited and reacquainted ourselves with Michelle, Brian, and his new wife, Heather, it only took minutes before the joking, teasing, laughing and strolling down memory lane filled an age and time gap. We shared stories about first dates, kisses, and proposals, and the kids listened and watched, catching new glimpses of their aged parents as they were in younger days. We played "the water game" with the little ones to bring them out of shyness, and taught them, by bad example, how to make it an even "waterier game". Once again the story was told of how Brandon and Doug left little Chris tied up swinging from a rafter upside-down in the barn and never got caught. We made jokes about the bar cookies that had been cooked so long they were compared to peanut brittle and hard-tack, which lead to a conversation about the civil war and armpits that I won't go into. Great Grandma sat and enjoyed the noise and absurdity from her automatic lift chair (after she kicked Brandon out of it and told him that when he got old he could have one). When Great-Grandpa passed away last summer, and the family was gathered after the service for a dinner at the church gym, there was laughter, singing, joking, smiles and arms thrown around. It was loud. Kids, again, were everywhere, and Grandpa wouldn't have wanted it any other way. The tears had been shed, grief expressed, but it was a fun evening. It very easily is when we get together with our brothers and sisters, our families. We can know each others' hearts. And in the grand scheme of things, we do live outside the touch of time.

That's Why Its Called Sunday

I am getting over a stomach flu bug, fortunately on the down slope of things and actually out of bed today. The 2 youngest kids had it, too and by the time the third of us, Jacob, cried out for help in the middle of the night on Friday, my husband was ready to lose his mind and run screaming out into the fresh 10 degree night air and stay there. But, that is not why I am writing today. The kids bounced back much faster than I did and so went to church with the rest of the family while I slept and attempted to fold the huge piles of laundry that are a side effect of this illness. But I was in bed when they got home from church, looking at the latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens, with the window blinds open and the blue sky and sunshine pouring in on me. Jacob, 8, crept in and climbed into bed beside me and put his head on my shoulder. He asked me if I felt better and kissed me on the cheek. I wearily told him I was very tired, but I had a good rest. He just snuggled and looked at my magazine with me for about 10 minutes, which is saying something because he is not what you would describe as a "restful" child. We should have named him Jacob Fidget Jensen. The words "still" and "slow" are not in his comprehension and neither are "careful" or "calm". He is, however, affectionate and kind. In appreciation for his being so still with me, I leaned over and kissed his forehead. He looked up at me with a grin and I smiled. I admit, I had not genuinely smiled for days, and as I did, his eyes brightened in astonishment, and he said the sweetest words I have heard in a long time. "Mom, when you smiled, the sun shined brighter!"
Now, I know it was probably a little cloud moving out of the way of Mr. Sun, but I allowed the compliment its full meaning and I kissed him again and he just grinned from ear to ear at this bit of magic. And it was a bit of magic, because I did feel better. Much better.

In Her Eyes*

My husband, Brandon, commented the other day that I haven't written anything new on my blog lately. I told him I just didn't have much time lately and I wasn't quite sure what to write about. I have been spending any free-time working on the cookbook I have finally begun to write after 6 years of "thinking about it". Still, I felt I needed to write something after his attention, because he is one of my biggest fans, after all. So, with Valentine's day coming up (BJ, *hint*), I thought I would put together a little list of Thank You's for my big galoot.

Thank you for becoming my best friend at first and again and again.
Thank you for always working your tail off to make sure we have what we need.
Thank you for putting gas in my car.
Thank you for sharing your worries with me, and assuring me through mine.
Thanks for teaching me about football.
Thanks for putting the kaibosh on my poor spending habits.
Thanks for letting me feed you healthy food.
Thanks for being concerned about your health.
Thanks for letting me decorate.
Thanks for bringing out the tomboy from my childhood in me.
Thanks for not letting me win.
Thanks for letting me enjoy a victory.
Thanks for kneeling down and praying.
Thanks for the intelligent conversation...you are brilliant, despite your 50million references to Seinfeld, Blues Brothers, Ishtar, Blazing Saddles, Monty Python, Rustlers Rhapsody, and Mary Poppins.
Thanks for laughing with the kids.
Thanks for giggling with me.
Thank you for loving music, all kinds.
Thanks for telling me I smell so good.

Thank you for helping me find who I am.

Krista

*link to lyrics of a Josh Gorban song

What I Needed This Christmas

I have been waiting for inspiration to strike so I can write this December blog, but at this inspirational time of year, I find my mind is a bit over-inspired, and my body is constantly on the move. Today, however, I have a minute. I have emailed my family and sent out some recent photos of Jacob's Christmas play. We have been to church, fed the missionaries and the dishes are washing. The Christmas cards are addressed and waiting for the copies of the family letter, also finished today. We usually send a picture, but we just haven't gotten to it yet(by the way, check out the antlers growing out of Braeden's head). I think I may forego the plates of cookies I usually make... chewy ginger, minty candy canes, snickerdoodles, and frosted sugar cookies, but now that I see their names in front of me, how can I possibly? We will see. I have sewing to do, gift projects to finish. This year we are having an "old-fashioned" Christmas, keeping gifts simple. It is amazing how much more we think of what we really want to give when the budget is thin. It is far less stressful than being pulled a thousand different directions in the toy section. As I hum along to the carols playing all day, or steal a moment to sit and stare at the memory-inducing decorations and lights on our tree, I am subdued by thoughts of the goings on in the world: the wars and soldiers, families apart, natural disasters, world leaders in contention and struggle, deceit, the decay of morality...why our house in Washington hasn't sold yet, and what would I be getting Brandon for Christmas if it had. But, I was fortunate to view the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on Sunday morning last week, singing a carol I had not heard before, called "Nowell, Nowell, Nowell". The singers were joyous, exuberant, shouting in jubilation for the tiny baby born in Bethlehem who would save the world, even to the point of getting after the shepherds, asking, and I am paraphrasing, "How can you just stand there? You should be leaping and dancing and shouting for joy, sharing the news! This baby brings HOPE to us!" I am not often moved to tears, but I was. Because I have these weighty matters on my mind, because I wished I could give a bigger gift to my husband, and because this song reached out to those worries and plinked them like a piano wire (we had our piano tuned and the tuner told me there were about 2 tons of torque on those wires) and I realized that this joy, this is all we need, this hope. They say the heavens shouted, and I think we, all of us here, were part of that, and that is what I felt during that noisy, beautiful song... I remembered.
A merry, joyful, hopeful Christmas to you all.