Volunteers in cleanup campaign earn a ‘God bless’ | volunteers, campaign, knocked - Kinston Free Press

Volunteers in cleanup campaign earn a ‘God bless’ | volunteers, campaign, knocked - Kinston Free Press

Hurricane Irene and Mormon Helping Hands

Last week our stake leaders sent out an e-mail inviting stake members to participate in a service activity about an hour and a half away toward the coast.  They asked for "75 men or workers for each of the next two Saturdays. Approx 10 men per ward (14 yr old  and up youth from each ward and women are welcome if they so desire)."


I grew up in a small logging town in Oregon.  My dad was a dentist, but on the side we worked on the family tree farm, which was around 120 acres.  One summer, my sister and I spent the entire summer leaving early in the morning to go work on the farm  pruning trees with a chainsaw and a pole saw.    We did other things also--we had chickens.  I remember shoveling their poop.  My memory is that we worked hard as kids.   And the girls weren't treated any different from my brother.  I'm grateful for this. 


My husband gave me a call Wednesday morning.  "I know you'd like to go to this," he said.  "Would you like to take my place, and I'll stay with the kids?"  


Ooh--I jumped on that.  I was so excited.  But as the week went on, I became more concerned about going alone with the men.  Could I still work really hard?  Was I still strong enough to run the chainsaw?  Who would I ride with? 


Saturday morning, I still wasn't sure I was going to go.  I had decided I would go to the church and see if any other women had turned up.  And then I was going to see how I felt and decide.  


And then suddenly, blurry eyed, Anika stumbled into the bathroom.  She wanted to go.  Suddenly I had a perfect excuse to go and also a companion. 


It's kind of funny that I worried so much about crashing the men's party.  I'm not sure why.  Either way, I went.

As we drove into the town, we were surprised by the damage.  It seemed like every other yard had  large trees down.  We saw many power lines either hanging very low or on the ground.  Every house had a huge brush pile in front of it like this:

A power line is hanging very low on the left.  On the right are three big trees, which we cleared later.  Literally, every street I saw looked like this.  The town was a huge mess.  Many homes were damaged also.

We met first with about 200 other men and a few women at the church there, where we were given Mormon Helping Hands t-shirts and leather gloves.  We were also given work assignments around the area.  Our group was sent first to a park, where a bulldozer had pushed logs and brush into large piles.  Our job was to pull the piles apart and cut them into manageable pieces that could then be piled by the road where a contractor would chip the wood.  


After that, we headed to another park.  At this park, one tree had fallen on a picnic shelter.  After clearing a large tree, we started down the trail, clearing downed trees as we went.  At some points, you couldn't even see where the trail went.  I wondered if one area had been hit by a tornado.  It was a fun obstacle course for me to crash through the branches, go over and  under trees, to at some point climb on top of a horizontal tree that was about the height of my shoulders.  I wish someone had had a camera.  I have never seen such destruction.

The members of the church down there served  us lunch.  They served pork barbecue, coleslaw, and potato salad.  It's funny--I've never liked any of those things.  But as hard as I had worked, I didn't care.  I ate my entire plateful and was grateful.   The ladies who were serving us mentioned that many of them still were without power.  

This tree ruined the park bench. 

We didn't have a chainsaw large enough for this tree. 

Brush like this would go on and on.  Larger trees are of course mixed in there.  

After lunch we headed back to the park and finished clearing the trail.  I wish I had more pictures of the extent trail's damage, but I didn't want to miss any of the action.  these few pictures were taken by Anika.  She worked hard too though--she spent most of the day piling up branches and moving logs.  I sent her to get the camera a couple of times, just to make sure we had some pictures.   I also unfortunately don't have any pictures of her.  


After finishing the trails, we headed to where some other members of our ward were working to pull a bobcat out of a large root hole.  This tree had uprooted, leaving a muddy deep pool of water.  The bobcat had gotten a little too close and slipped in.  

Soon after we arrived, they got the bobcat out (I guess it had taken over an hour).  We sliced up the tree and then headed across the street to work on several trees there.  They were in the yard of a darling 90-year-old couple.  He came out with his walker and offered to pay us.  Of course we turned it down.  "Well, at least," he said, "let me take your picture so I can send it in for a newspaper article."  Hopefully I can get that picture and post it later. 

In the end, we started around 8:45 in the morning, and wrapped up at 6:45, then drove the hour and a half home.  I probably worked hard with that chainsaw for at least eight of those hours. I loved every minute.  There's something wonderful about working hard.  I was soaking wet with sweat all day--it was about 90 degrees and very humid.  I'm a little sore today, but it was a rewarding day yesterday.

We also came home to a surprise.  Matthew and the kids had cleaned the house.  

I'm so glad that my father expected us to work  hard and allowed us to have experiences that I don't think many girls are having.  At one point we came across a huge log straddling the trail about four feet high.  I called my Dad to get some advice on how to remove it safely.   He offered advice and then hung up before he heard me say, "Dad, thanks for teaching me how to use a chain saw."  I said it anyway.  

Just one more note:  I accomplished as much as any of the men out there.  But they were really cool about it, and many of them said so much to my husband today.  

Summer Flowers

I've never even thought about putting flowers in our garden, which I usually plant.  But this year my husband planted the garden, and he planted a couple types of sunflowers and wildflowers around it.  The flowers benefited the plants, as they attracted pollinating bees.  We also were delighted to see bright yellow canaries enjoying the seeds.  Here are some pictures of our flowers.

I love the bumblebees! This is the first time I've seen bumblebees in our yard since we moved in six years ago!

Giant sunflower--these were so fun to grow!  I wish I had a picture of the canaries that frequented them.

From a packet of "wildflower" seeds.

Another Lamp

When does it end?  These days, I don't want my kids to grow up any more (I used to dream of them growing up.)  But I do hope that some day my lamps can survive more than a few months.  I can't find it, but in a post a while back, I included pictures of a lot of lamps we had broken.  This one wasn't broken in rough play at all--this one was broken by Jackie trying to climb onto her father's lap and catching her foot on the cord.  I admit that I'm getting tired of lamps breaking. Will someone please design a childproof lamp for me?

  

Runaway Watermelon

For some reason our garden reminds me of the beanstalk--Jack's beanstalk, that is.  Our watermelon is OUT OF CONTROL!  I can't really figure out where in the world all the water is coming for that thing to grow all the watermelons it's growing (I think I saw 5). I don't water them at all.  Too bad the melons are seeded--next year maybe we'll grow seedless!  Supposedly you do it by planting the sterile seedless plants next to the seeded plants.  That explains why grocery stores still have seeded watermelons.  

The watermelon hiding among our bell peppers.

The plant wound through the tomatoes and peppers and grew this baby on the other side.

This is all on top of gravel!  I have no idea how it does it.  

All that said, I'm sure there must be some seasoned gardener out there cracking up that this would even surprise me.  I hope so.  I love strengthening people's stomach muscles.

On the Edge of Irene

We mostly missed Irene.

The kids and I decided as we drove around that we would categorize Irene by the number of trees we saw uprooted.  We found 2, thus we decided Irene was a Category 2 hurricane.

Here are some pictures.

Typical debris in our neighborhood, along with dead branches of all sizes.  

Thank goodness for a gasoline blower.  The whole yard looks like this.

The tree we're glad stayed strong. 

Another tree that doesn't give us warm fuzzies in a storm.

This one aims for the car, which we parked in the garage.  Below is the mosquito dunk in  the hole in the tree.
At some point this tree needs to come down. 

I added the new mosquito dunk when I found the little wrigglers  the  morning after the storm.

Sure glad this didn't hit our house.

In all seriousness, we're thankful to have missed the brunt of this storm,
and our prayers are with those who are dealing with physical injury or property damage.  

Flavorful Medicine

Henry has been having some unidentified mouth pain for more than a week now.  I'm not sure whether he has a tooth coming in or a long-lasting sore throat.

Either way, he makes a sound like a hissing opossum (I only know what that sound is because I ran into a possum in my garage once.)  If you have never heard one, feel free to find an example on youtube.   Then he asks for some ibuprofen.

Tonight I brought him a medicine cup with medicine made by a different company than usual.

"Mom, it's red," he observed.   Normally his medicine is a light purple color.  "What does it taste like?"

"Maybe strawberries," I guess, "but I'm not really sure."

Henry slowly takes a sip.  "It tastes like chicken nuggets.  And apples mixed together."

Hmmm . . .

Sssssssss . . .

One Sunday morning as my husband and I were walking through the neighborhood, he suddenly jumped back and pushed me over into the road.   There on the side of the road, only a few inches from our feet was a baby copperhead.

This is not the first time I've encountered a copperhead.  One time we were driving back from piano lessons, and my kids were arguing in the back seat.  So I pulled the car over, got them out even though they were bare foot, and talked to them by the side of the car.

As I talked, an older man pulled up in a truck next to us.  As he rolled down his window, I assumed he thought I might need help, so I nodded my head and said, "We're o.k., thank you."

"Oh no, I'm here for that thing," he said, pointing and shaking his head.  In the middle of the road, maybe 15 feet away, was a huge copperhead, curled up into a tight circle.

He climbed out of his truck with a shovel and hesitantly walked over toward the snake.  In the meantime, I've told my kids to get back into the car.  Within, I could feel a giant, angry, protective mother bear awaken.  I watched as the man hesitated and then took a few steps back toward me.  "I admit," he said, "I'm just really afraid of these things."

Mama bear took over.  "Give me that shovel," I growled.

Surely and swiftly, I walked over, lifted the shovel, and with three strokes chopped off the snake's head.

I can't decide if I'm proud of that story or not.  It really seems like I can't take credit for the natural instinct to protect my children.

So back to the baby snake story.  After we saw the snake, we decided to turn around and walk home.  Worried about other walkers--the snake was really hard to see on the side of the road--I grabbed a shovel and drove back to kill the snake.

After some considerable effort to find him again, I first took a picture, and then chopped his head off with the shovel.

This time I was a little more proud of myself, until I got closer.  Here's the snake:

You might not be able to see, but when I chopped the snake's head off,  no blood came out.  In fact, a puff of powder blew into the air.  As I got closer, I saw tiny ants carrying out their decomposition duty.  I had killed a dead snake.  

Just call me The Snake Slayer.

The New Record: 15

Thanks to our friend Abby for showing us this totally cool but totally nerve racking for Mom trick:  pushing pencils through a bag of water.

Our current record for the numbers pencils pushed through without a leak:  15.   Congratulations Jackie.

Please take that back into the kitchen!

Mom's Birthday

On the way home today, Henry worked hard from the back seat of our minivan to get my attention:

"Hey, mom."
"Hey, MOM."
"Hey, MOM!"

"Yes, Henry?" I answer.

"Hey, Mom, when is your birthday?"

"Well," I say, counting on my fingers while I'm stopped at a stoplight.  "Just about exactly four months."

"Mom, I have your birthday present for you already."

"Oh wow, Henry.  That's nice," I reply, sincerely, though I am wondering at this point what my five-year-old could possibly have for my birthday.

"Mom . . . but it's not a toy,"  he apologizes sheepishly.

"That's o.k.  Sometimes Mommies like things that aren't toys."

I wonder if he'll remember to give it to me . . . whatever it is.  I'm kind of curious.

Venus Fly Trap

On the way out the door, I discovered this cup on the porch rail.  

It was a What in the world? moment.  I believe that most parents have many of these moments.  When I questioned the kids, Jackie (7) displayed a knowing smile.  

"Mom, it's a Venus Fly Trap," she confidently explained.   

"Hmmm . . . , " I responded.  Wondering what the tiny balls were, I asked, "What is in your Venus Fly Trap?"

In a sing-song voice, Jackie proudly disclosed her secret recipe:  "Some mouthwash . . . a bit of toothpaste . . . water . . . some air freshener . . . fish food . . . soap.  That's it."  Pause.  She enthusiastically adds with a nod of her head, "The bugs are addicted to the smell."

Funny. . . . we've been talking about Venus Fly Traps.  The kids want to plant some.  We all decided that it would be a good idea to plant them near the garbage can.  But why plant one, when you can make one, right?

Homemade

Looking through my old pictures, I found this old gem from 2009:  the homemade umbrella.

Tested and soon to be patented.    Anyone want to invest?

Devotional

I've been substituting for the 4-year-old class at church for about four months.   Depending on the day, I have anywhere from five to 15 kids.  That number is not exact--just my perception, but close to the truth.  We've had so many move-ins and move-outs that I'm not really sure how many kids are in the class.  I admit that you could walk in at any moment, and my reaction to such a responsibility would be dramatically different than the moment before.  Generally I love it.  We have moments when I can see a little light turn on, and a child clearly understands what I'm teaching.  And we have moments when one boy is sticking his fingers in another boys ears or twisting in his seat.   And all the other kids' eyes are glued on them.  We have moments where five minutes into my lesson half the class needs to use the restroom.  And moments where we sing a song, and the only person singing is me.  

Yesterday when we came home from church, my two youngest kids were talking about their lessons, which somehow they remembered.  It was the same lesson I taught--the Brother of Jared.  Jackie was so excited about her lesson, that she decided she wanted to teach the upcoming family home evening lesson.  And she wanted to teach the same lesson she had just had in her class.  In fact, she got my lesson book out of my church bag and used it to prepare.  She collected small rocks from outside and gathered paper for us to draw on. 

.

With all the preparation, she was too excited to wait until nighttime to give us her lesson, so when we all woke this morning, she insisted on doing a morning devotional with us.  Here she is in her jammies with my manual on her lap.  She's telling the story of the Brother of Jared:

After her lesson, Henry did the activity.  He demonstrated it for us, spitting a ball out of his mouth and into the bucket.  He, by the way, was amazingly precise, landing the ball in the bucket from several feet away. 

Needless to say, we weren't too interested in that game.  The girls groaned, "Ewww!" 

So Henry spontaneously created a different game.  The goal is to bounce the ball out of the drum.

Notice that in the background Jackie is still trying to finish her lesson while Henry is making sure he has the activity ready . . . 

It all ended with us being able to pick our favorite light rocks.  Mine was special.  The rock was inside a shell.

The final lesson learned from the story of the Brother of Jared:  We must have faith in Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.  Though we cannot see them, they are there and they love us.  

Thanks for the lesson Jackie!

New Philosophy

I talked to a good friend today who mentioned that she was trying out a new philosophy on keeping a clean house.  She was trying focusing on the fact that if she let her friends see her house messy, they would feel better about their own houses.

We all know that despite our efforts to present a pristine home to guests, on a day-to-day basis, anyone with more than one child struggles to maintain a perfectly tidy abode.  I have been guilty of making excuses:  "Don't mind my house--I've had a really busy day,"  "My house isn't always this messy," or "I'm sorry, you can't come past the doorstep because you can't see my house today."

Why can't we all just be honest?  There really is only a small percentage of parents who really and truly have a beautiful house every day--maybe 30% or less.  And I believe that a third of those hire a house cleaner.  The other third are extremely strict or their kids watch a lot of t.v..  And the last third are truly inspiring and organized parents whose kids play with one item and return it smiling before getting out something new to play with.

The rest of us get a call from someone who is going to come over, after which we race around madly picking up, wiping up, and sweeping up.  And even then, when the guest arrives, we still make excuses:  "Don't mind my house."  I admit I do that too when someone whose house I've never seen messy comes to my house.

That said, I've always been very conscious of others' feelings.  If I've managed to truly clean up my house before another parent visits, I usually just explain that I spent the morning cleaning because I wanted to impress them.  I've always done that.  However, if my house is messy, maybe instead of being embarrassed, I just need to embrace the fact that I'm making someone else feel good about their own situation.

Thanks, Anna, for the idea.

Circle of Life

Tonight after dinner, the kids headed upstairs to get ready for bed.  As Matthew and I were working together to clean up dinner dishes, he commented, "I haven't heard the baby birds lately  . . . "  My heart sunk immediately.  He was right.  Usually we hear the birds chirping each time the mother returns to our hanging fern.  But they have been quiet.  

Here is what I found:

Only one of four left.  I'm not at all sure what happened to the other three.  I guess another critter needed food.  As I think about it, I'm not surprised.  I remember finding a broken egg on the ground at one point and wondering how it could have possibly fallen out.  Maybe something ate that egg too. 

For those of you who didn't see my previous post, here's the life cycle of our little sweet birds, who nested in our hanging fern.  

That last egg hatched, and there were a total of four babies. 

And tonight:  Only one tiny dead bird left.  

I haven't showed the kids.  Yet. 

First Swim Meet

The truth is . . . I've never wanted to have my kids in swim team.  I hate the heat.  I hate the idea of sweltering fully clothed by a pool while I wait for hours with the only reward being a couple of  two-minute races.

But my little Jackie, who hasn't yet discovered an interest in my favorite sport (basketball), begged and begged to do swim team, so I acquiesced.  Then I decided . . . if I'm going to put one kid in swim team, I might as well put them all in--either way I have to drive, and they might as well all learn to swim fast.

So I forced Morgan to try for a week.  I told her that if she tried and didn't like it, she could stop, and I wouldn't complain about the wasted money.  And I put Henry in, thinking that he would just enjoy doing what his sisters were doing . . . that . . . and, what else was I going to do with him while they swam?

It turned out that we have some friends from church who are doing the same swim team.  So after the first day, this is the conversation Morgan and I had:

Me:  "Morgan, you didn't like swim team, right?  You're not going to do it next week?"

Morgan, sheepishly:  "Well . . . actually, I did."

Me:  "You sure?  You don't have to do it."

Morgan:  "Yes, yes, yes!  I loved it!"

Henry, on the other hand, decided he did not  want to do swim team.  He has played with a friend instead for all the practices.

So tonight was our first swim meet. All the kids decided to participate.  Even Henry.

Ironically, Morgan got out after her first race, walked around the pool, and said, "That was awful."   She chose to leave the meet and go to her basketball practice with me instead.  I honestly was happy about that because our original plan was for her to swim one race and then leave to attend basketball practice.  (I'm the coach, so I care.)

Morgan's races

Jackie's races

Jackie ended up swimming Morgan's leg of the big kids' freestyle relay.  Notice that she and Morgan both have a 76 on their arms--that was the freestyle relay.  Jackie also competed in freestyle and backstroke races.

Henry also swam freestyle.  Before he raced, I came over and reminded him of a few of the swimming techniques we'd been working on--reaching far, keeping his legs straight, flutter kicks, etc.  When the start buzzer went off, he looked around, saw other kids jumping, and jumped straight down  into the water--a slow start.  But he worked at it and made it across the pool next to last.  Afterward, he walked around to me.

Me:  "Nice job Henry!  You had a great first race."

Henry, with a cute incredulous smile:  "What?  That was a race?  Mom, why didn't you tell me!"

Henry was in race #11.