Money, Moolah, Dinero, the Green Stuff

Today in Sunday School I taught the Marriage and Family Relations "Finance" lesson.  The lesson no one is supposed to like, but everyone needs.  I actually really enjoyed it, maybe because I had a great group there today and most of us were in the mood to talk.  The lesson got me thinking a bit about money and some interesting things I've learned about it over the years.


First, a  little history.


My dad (age 54 when I was born) put himself through college during the Great Depression.  Yes, THE Great Depression.  He was tight with money, except maybe when it came to spending it on himself.  


When I was a little girl we belonged to he country club.  At one point we lived in a really exclusive area of San Diego and had a live in maid.  My dad drove very nice cars and played a lot of golf.   He eventually ended up losing a lot of money by hanging on to some stock too long.  I didn't really understand what was going on at the time, but I remember him getting upset when he read the stock reports in the morning paper.  


Then, when I moved in with my sister when I was ten and my sister was nineteen (and her husband twenty-one), I quickly moved down the economic ladder.  Mike was in the Navy, and was kicked out of the ROTC-type program he was in when he let his grades slip while my sister nearly died of Cancer.  The Navy had asked him which one was more important, the Navy or his family, and in their eyes he had given the "wrong" answer.  When I was a teenager it seemed to me that we had NO money.  I remember being so poor that we didn't have the money to take the city bus without looking in the couch.  I typically had two pairs of pants at a time, and two pairs of shoes.  I remember my junior and senior year having these hideous green pants that I hated and a pair of jeans.  I sewed many of my clothes from .99 a yard fabric.  


When I went off to BYU I was determined to pay my way through school without debt.  I did it.  I never had a car, rarely ate out, and spent my late nights (Sun-Thurs) working as a custodian from 10:00pm to 2:00am.  One time I lived for two weeks on a box of Malt-o-Meal and a bag of apples.  In the summers I worked at least full time. 


When Spence and I got married we paid for most of the wedding ourselves.  I think our budget was $500.  I sewed dresses for the sisters and maid of honor, and Aloha shirts for the brothers out of more of that .99/yard fabric.  But it worked.   I was married to the right person, in the right place, and that was what mattered.  We were happy.


Since we've been married I've assumed the role of the tight-wad most times, while my husband is a bit freer with the money.  Not irresponsible, just different. He grew up in a different family than I did when it came to money, so his attitudes are a bit different.  That's the way it goes when you are married.  You work it out (or you don't, and have big issues).


Here are some things I've learned about money over the years:


*Money doesn't buy happiness.  Significant research backs me up.  People are more stressed, and therefore less happy, when their income falls below a certain level (recently determined to be $75K- see Time Magazine).  Above that, however, money doesn't make you happier.  My richest time, as a kid, was also my most miserable time.


*Tough times can actually be some of the happiest, when you are going through them together.  I remember a Christmas when my husband was out of work and our budget was really limited.  We talked to the kids about it and they were awesome.  It was a great Christmas.  We made things for each other and it was fun keeping them a secret.  Don't keep your struggles from your kids.  They will generally step up if they know whats going on.


*Be careful with credit.  Do you really NEED that new car?  We've chosen to drive older cars and its made us more able to spend our money on things that we will remember like trips with the family.  


*Spend your money making memories.  This past summer we took a three-week, cross country trip in our van with the eight of us.  It was awesome (believe it or not) even though we did it on a budget. I know we'll all be talking about it for the rest of forever.  "Remember that time..."

*You often get more pleasure from small indulgences that mean a lot to you (fresh flowers, good bread, etc.) than from big-ticket items like TV's.  The fun that comes from those things fades quickly.  See Scientific American- Can Money Buy Happiness?.


And the next time you feel poor, watch this, and count your blessings:

 For more information see The 2010 Miniature Earth Project

The Road to the MTC

I love this picture- wish Spence and Erin were in it, too.

Now, here we are, October, 2011.  My baby, the Gare-bear, is in the Missionary Training Center (MTC) where he will stay until he heads to Buenos Aires, Argentina, in December.  How did this happen?

When Garrett was a little boy he sang “I Hope they Call Me on a Mission” with the best of them.  We always assumed that he would go.  We were active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, of course he would go.  It was an easy decision, a no-brainer. 

Then, suddenly, it was time to actually commit to going, to turn in the papers, to make the decision official.  And it wasn’t so easy.  Garrett wanted to know for himself that it was the right thing to do .  So he thought about it a lot, prayed about it a lot.  Waited a bit.  Did it again. 

We talked about it.  A lot.  With Garrett, I’ve learned that there is a line.  You push too hard, he pushes back.  It needs to be his decision.  Finally we all said, you know, maybe you just need to jump in, submit the papers, then see how you feel.  He decided to do it.  On his own timeline.  Because he was ready.

Once he did he felt good.  Right.  Scared a bit, too.  Sad about leaving us, and his girlfriend.  Nervous.  He got his call May 4, 2011.  He was going to Buenos Aires, Argentina.  He was thrilled.  It was EXACTLY where he wanted to go.  He felt sure that he had made the right decision. 

Time passed. He wasn’t leaving until October 19th.  Who had ever heard of a wait that long?  He turned in his papers at the end of March, and had expected to leave in weeks, a few months at the most.  We had heard of others who were leaving that fast.  But not Garrett.  So, he kept working, playing, hanging out with friends.  Getting closer and closer to his girlfriend.  He quit his restaurant job towards the end because he couldn’t stand it any more.  I was worried that he would sleep his life away and play too many hours of video games.  He did, for a while, then he decided that was stupid, and he started working out, doing things with me, playing with his brothers, bringing his friends around our house even more.  This time turned out to be a gift.  A gift to me.

The big day of Garrett's leap into a new part of life was approaching.  We planned his farewell- a celebration of Garrett and his desire to serve others and the Lord.  It was a wonderful event, a wonderful weekend (see previous post).  

The days ticked by.  We made lists of things he still needed to buy, needed to do.  We checked things off.  Bags were packed. It was time.


I was a little (well, more than a little) worried about Garrett going.  Was he going to be okay?  How would he handle the separation from his girlfriend?  Would she be okay?  How would he handle all of the rules?  Would they make him want to rebel?

Ah, parenting older children.  Full of lessons for the parents.  You just can't control, or fix, everything for your kids.  As much as you would give your life to do it.

His setting apart as a missionary was beautiful, amazing.  The blessing he was given was perfect, just what he needed.  Just what I needed. 

Garrett with his "last meal",
fittingly a Caesar Salad

The big day came.  We drove him to Provo.  Went to lunch.  He clowned around with his brothers, pulled faces for the camera.  We drove to the MTC.  He smilingly said he felt like he was going to throw up.  Said that maybe he needed another month.  Decided it wouldn’t make a difference, he was as ready as he could be.  Pulled up to our assigned spot, number 25.  A couple of elders helped him take out his luggage from the van.  They told me that Garrett was going to be okay, that this was a good place, that he was going to be well taken care of.  His friend (brother for the day) took a video of us saying goodbye.  We took a few pictures.  The whole thing took maybe three minutes.

We drove away, bawling.  Breathe, Janet.  I’ve said that a lot these past days.  The first few days after we left him at the MTC I felt weird- sad in spurts, anxious, emotionally worn out.  I'm doing better every day- less anxious.  More peaceful.  I've sent letters and a package- just some treats and little holiday things and such.  I want him to know that we love him, that we support him, that he is going to be okay.  More than okay.  He is, and is going to be, wonderful.

And so are we.

Before a Missionary, Just my Boy

Garrett, age six months

Three days before my birthday in 1992 a miracle joined the Spencer and Janet Sanders family.  A seven pound, seven ounce miracle we named Garrett Cole Sanders.  We were so excited.  Back in those days ultrasounds weren’t nearly as clear as they are today (I looked at the screen, smiled, nodded and wondered "Is that a baby, a squid, a space alien or..."), but we could have found out our baby's gender if we had wanted to.  We didn’t.  Spence said he didn’t care if we had a boy or a girl, but the absolute joy on this face when he saw our son betrayed his real feelings. 

Garrett has always brought joy to our family.  As a baby, he had blonde hair that would curl a little when it was on the long side.  He was happy and loving.  I got a little worried when he didn’t walk until he was 15 months old, but I had no cause.  Garrett was always bright- a big talker, and full of life.  One day when Garrett was really little, maybe two years old, and very tired he told us "I can't walk.  I need a wheelchair".

My superheroes

He was my little buddy when his sisters were in school.  He loved it when I would pick him up from pre-school and we would have salads with tuna on them.  Garrett always loved his salads.  He was the only kid on the block that would choose a Caesar Salad over a Happy Meal.

Garrett used to love to whistle.  He went through a period where he whistled all the time.    Just a happy little whistle. 

Garrett, age six

Not long after he started first grade Garrett came home one day and told me that he hated school, that it was stupid and boring.  What?  I went in and talked to his teacher.  She told me that she was pulling him out for reading and math because he was so far ahead of the rest of the kids, but that it wasn't really working.  She just couldn’t keep up with him.  He had another little friend, a tiny girl, who was in the same boat, and I remember how excited Garrett was when that friend brought him a Biology textbook (a college text?) as a present to read.  For fun. 

Age 11

We had him tested and he began to attend school in  ALPS (our district’s Accelerated Learners Program).  He stayed there through the ninth grade.  In ALPS Garrett made friends of all kinds- the “cool” kids, the jocks, the preps, the skate-boarders-but also the Steve-Erkel-esque little boy who wore his pants too high and did nothing but put together unbelievable Lego creations.  Garrett played trumpet in the Jazz band, skate boarded, learned a lot, and generally had a good time, no matter what. 

Garrett was always that way.  When I went with him for high school registration his senior year and walked down the halls nearly everyone we passed seemed to know him.  Red mohawk boy, music nerd, football player, the Molly Mormons and the “skanks”.  He has always had a gift with people.  Garrett decided to try to finish his Associates degree while he was still in high school.  He came close, always got good grades (except for a bit of a slip his ninth grade year, when I was going through my Cancer treatment, but that is a different post for a different day) did his homework without being nagged, and generally even seemed to like his parents through his teen years.  His room wasn’t always the cleanest, his haircut wasn’t always my favorite, but , seriously, very little drama.  We tell all of our older kids that they were just too easy, and that’s why we adopted their little brothers.  Lucas joined our family when Garrett was ten. 

Garrett, 13, with Lucas and Max

Speaking of his little brothers, one time, not long after we adopted Lucas and Max, someone at church pulled Garrett aside and asked him “So, what do you REALLY think about your parents adopting these boys?”  Garrett told him, much to his surprise, that he was glad.  And, I think, he generally has been glad.  He’s told me many times that our house would be boring without his little brothers.  I think that having the boys around has helped him stay grounded, and less self-centered than he might have been otherwise. I think that Garrett is confident, smart and good looking enough that he could have been one of the popular/snotty kids- maybe even a kid who would have accepted membership into the “posse” he was once invited to join.  He doesn't see the world through the eyes of entitlement- he's seen what it is to struggle, and that life isn't always easy or fair.  

Garrett and his cousin Chase 2010

Amen, Garrett.

And so, the years fly by and Garrett grows up.  The nineteenth birthday approaches, time for all young Latter Day Saint boys to consider serving a mission- giving up two years of their lives in the service of others and the Lord.  Wow.  


Next time, The Road to the MTC.

Not so Quiet, but Oh so Wonderful

Me and my men, quite the handsome bunch.

Its a quiet Sunday afternoon at my house.  So different from this time last weekend.  Last weekend was the most un-quiet weekend I've had in a very long time.  And one of the best weekends of my life.

I had been preparing for the not-so-quiet weekend for a long time.  I made my lists, "Must be done", "Like to do", etc..  Many items on these lists.  Found I wanted to do the things on the "Like to do" list (things like painting my backsplash in the kitchen- came out well I think!) ever so much more than things on the "Must be done" list (like thoroughly cleaning our too-many bathrooms).  Made my way through the lists remarkably well, for me.

The weekend started with a fun evening out with friends- dear friends, from here and from oh-so-far-away.  A night with friends where we went to four restaurants before finally finding one with where we didn't have too long of a wait, but who cared?  What we ate?  Trivial.  Afterwards coming home to my sis Lyn and her husband Mike who had just driven in from California.  Then, after midnight, the arrival of my awesome brother Dan, who I hadn't seen in two years, but who I related to instantly as well as if it had been only a moment.  Love these people.  Stayed up until 2:30am talking, moving from one room to another saying that we really should go to bed, and only finally stopping because of the big events awaiting us the next day.

Baptism preparation, aided by Veggie Tales

My son Lucas, who just turned nine, has mild/moderate autism.  His brother Max, thirteen months younger,  has serious learning disabilities and can be quite the *angry bird*, especially with me.  When my three older kids turned eight, there was no question that they would be baptized members of our church.  With these boys, it was a little less clear.  We wanted to be sure they understood what they were doing.  We decided it would be better if they were baptized together, going down into the font and being immersed could, after all, be scary.  Would Luke throw a fit and refuse to go in?  Would the family and friends waiting witness a meltdown (or two) of epic proportions?  Would Max loudly tell me to "shut up" and that he "hates me" like he often does when he is stressed?

Turned out my worries were unfounded.  When Lucas went into the font he beamed from ear to ear.  Holding his dad's hands, he looked up at the loving family and friends watching and loudly exclaimed "Hi Guys!!".  Everyone couldn't help laughing, even at this sacred time, but it was a laugh filled with love, understanding and appreciation for this boy.  Max was equally sweet as his big brother Garrett baptized him.  I was SO PROUD and filled with love for these boys, who have come SO far, and overcome SO much.  After the baptism these same family and friends came to our house and ate lunch with us while the kids played and we all visited.  Just perfect.

After a fun trip to the mall with friends (a mall girl I am definitely not- too cheap- but still a fun girl's time out) the cooking bonanza began in preparation for my son Garrett's mission farewell the next day.  It was a talking, cooking, snacking, laughing, running-to-the-store, extra-large Coke Zero drinking party late into the night.  And I loved it.

My missionary

Sunday morning Garrett and my husband Spence talked in church and my girls, my sister Lyn and I sang.  Oh how I love these people.  Garrett started out joking, like he always does.  Someone told me that they were watching the Stake President's face, and that he was smiling as Garrett started joking, then grew a little concerned as he continued joking, then relaxed into a smile as he grew more serious and gave an awesome talk.  So proud of this kid.  I'll be writing more about him later this week.  Oh man.  Can't start writing about him right now or I will totally lose it.  Must. be. strong.

I was fine until the girls and I were about most of the way through our song.  We sang "The Lord is my Light", one of our favorites.  Truth told, we pulled the whole thing together the night before and that morning.  We sang the first verse in unison, then Erin sang the second verse as a solo, then we sang the third verse acapella and the fourth verse with Erin singing a descant.  A dear friend said that Erin doesn't have a talent, she has a gift.  I agree.  I "lost it" during the acapella verse, when I looked at my girls standing beside me and thought about my family, and how incredibly much I love every one of them, and how blessed I am.  Breathe, Janet, just breathe.  Hold in those tears.  Hold it together.  You can do this.

Then the visitors came over.  First wonderful family and friends from outside our neighborhood, then so many from our neighborhood.  So much love, support and friendship for our family.  Overwhelming.  Laughing, small talk, heavier talk, hugs, delicious food, generous gifts to Garrett to help with his mission expenses.  We love these people and never want to move away from this place.  

Eventually the crowd thinned, then the clean up began.  Not much, just enough to keep us busy as we continued to talk.  A call came, come over and visit, we want to see you.  Pictures on the couch with my bffs (did I really just use that term?).  So much of my life I have longed for these kind of friends, friends I can be 100% myself with.  Friends who understand me, see my faults, and love me anyway.  Thank you friends, for helping me be more  of the "me" I've always been down deep inside.  

Now a week has passed.  Mikell has gone back to Provo to survive another week of second grade.  I'm sitting at the kitchen table typing away while Max and Jake go in and out of the door playing (yes, its Sunday, but parenting rules have become more lax with more time and children, get over it). Luke is skipping from room to room picking up various pieces of paper to hold.  Garrett is re-visiting a Star Wars video game he hasn't played in years.  Erin is doing the last few things she needs to do before she goes on a dreaded business trip in an hour.  My daughter on a business trip.  One of many.  A trip somewhat like the one her dad is on right now, the one that will keep him away as Garrett leaves Wednesday.  Breathe, Janet.  

Life is good.

Colonoscopy this week- read on if you dare---

My mother died of Colon Cancer when I was five .  I've had cancer myself twice, and my only sister has had it three times. Stupid stupid Cancer.  So much pain for so many people.  I'd like to punch it in the face.

Since I can't,  I am sure as *heck* going to do all I can not to let it have any more fun with this old body.  That means I get colonoscopies.  No, I'm not 50 quite yet- I started getting colonoscopies early because of my family history.  I think I've had five.  Polyps twice, three clean screens.  I know, this is more about my colon than you wanted to know.  Is it a "fun" experience? No.  Is it terrible, though?  Not really.  And its gotten better since I first got one.

In case you are interested, this is the straight "poop" on colonoscopies (I had to say this, my husband has been making lots to stupid puns about colonoscopies lately, and I do it as an homage to him- maybe he will stop now):

Appointment:  Wednesday, 9:30am
Prep starts: Monday evening- no solid food after 7:00pm.  Monday evening- Tuesday 5:00pm liquids only, no red dye. Delicious "solid" food breakfast of blue jello.  Mmmm.  Got an Icee at the gas station for "dinner", not as good as a Slurpee.  Get one of those next time.
Tuesday evening:  the fun begins.  Mix a WHOLE BOTTLE of Miralax into 64 oz of Gatorade/Powerade (I hate both).  Take four Dulcolax pills.  Drink 32 oz of the delicious Gatorade mixture, 8 oz at a time, every twenty minutes.  Do not go far from the restroom, as you will be visiting it many times.  Many times.  All night. 

Wednesday morning, 4:00am:  Wake up to your alarm, force yourself to go downstairs and get the Gatorade loveliness, start drinking it again.  Set your alarm for 20 minutes later to drink more, but accidentally set it for pm, so you don't wake up until your four year old gets in bed with you at about 7:00am.  Swear and panic a little.  Quickly drink the rest.  It finishes its job.

Honestly, the  appointment itself is easy.  Really.  Fill out the health history, give vitals, get an IV.  Put on the highly attractive gown.  Lay on the gurney and get wheeled into the procedure room.  Lay on your side.  Feel the warm lovely drugs go into the IV- the same stuff Michael Jackson took.  I understand why he liked it.  Zzzzzzz.  

In colonscopies past, they gave you Versed, which is a drug I hate, because it makes me STUPID and OUT OF CONTROL, two things that I hate to be.  The last time I had it I asked my husband on the way home if we were ever going to stop for lunch, and he told me that we already had (and I guess we had).  I almost punched him.  Hate that drug.

Anyway, wake up what feels like no time later.  Feel fine.  No pain.  Sleep a little.  Doctor comes in, tells you what they found or didn't find (in my case, this time they didn't find ANYTHING- YAY!!).   

Awesome nurses, including one that looked really familiar- we eventually realized that he was HAPPY ASIAN GUY from the gym!  This guy is amazing, always running around the track smiling, punching, running backwards, sprinting, and having the BEST TIME doing it. We joked and he brought me a Diet Coke.  Got a burger and fried zucchini without guilt on the way home.  Had a lazy day, painted my backsplash in the kitchen with a cool stencil my talented daughter made me.

So, why I am I writing a blog post about this?  Simple.

COLON CANCER IS THE SECOND LEADING CAUSE OF CANCER DEATH IN THE UNITED STATES and is 90 PERCENT CURABLE with proper screening.  NINETY PERCENT!!

-If colonoscopies had been around when mom was in her thirties and she had been screened, she might be alive for me to love and complain about today.

-If I had never had a colonoscopy and had the polyps I had in my thirties painlessly removed, I might be dead today.

So, its gross, you poop a lot during the prep, its embarrassing to think about someone looking up your bum.  Yup.  Oh well.  Come on folks, you can do this.

If you have a family history of colon cancer, go get screened.

If you are over 50, go get screened.

If your parents are over 50 and haven't gotten screened, kick their butts over to the doctor.  Seriously, folks, put on your big girl pants, and go get screened.

And, before you go in, for a little humorous relief, watch Ricky Gervais from the movie "Ghost Town" (love that show) as he goes in to  get a colonoscopy.  I wanted to post it here, but Youtube took it off, and I don't know how to cut a piece from my dvd. Grrr.

Next time.  

Mermaids

Where I thought we might end up after the swimming pool episode.

When I was little we belonged to a country club.  It fit in well with my Dad's job as an advertising executive for KFMB TV in San Diego.  Stardust (yes, it really was called that) was a place to do business, a place to take potential clients for a round of golf or cocktails.  Very "Mad-Men"-esque (I've actually never seen the show, but from what I've heard about it, my dad would have fit right in with the cast).

Lyn and I on the golf course.

An added benefit to being a member of the club was that my sister Lyn and I got to go there to swim and to have the occasional Shirley Temple or Roy Rogers in the red and black velvet wall-papered lounge.  It was the height of "I may look like a kid, but actually I'm a very cool grown-up in disguise"-ness. Awesome.

One day Lyn and I got really brave at the club.  We were very bad indeed.  There was another lounge at the club and this one was strictly off-limits to kids.  It had a tank behind the bar that took up the full wall.  In that tank, actually a small, deep swimming pool with a glass side, women dressed as mermaids would do an underwater ballet-type show.  One day, when the lounge was closed, Lyn and I snuck in to the glass pool.  I remember thinking it was so dangerous and exciting.  We swam in the pool, did flips underwater, and put on our own show.  There we were, a teenage mermaid and her little sister, swimming behind the bar.  I remember how hard it was to hold my breath long enough to gracefully swim deep enough that I could open my eyes and see through the glass to my imaginary audience.  It was wonderfully dangerous.  I wish I had a picture.

Me, three months, and Lyn, 8 1/2.

Over the years, people who have heard some of my childhood stories have often ask me the question "How did you go through everything you've been through and turn out so normal?".  While I might argue with the "normal" part, I usually answer, from the heart, that I made it through because of the loving foundation my mother gave me in my first five years, and because of my sister, who has ALWAYS been there for me.

Lyn and I shortly after I moved in.

My sister invited me to come for a visit, which turned into forever, with her and her husband the summer before I entered fifth grade.  I was ten and she was 18 and her husband Mike was 21.  Eighteen!  Crazy.  Since then we've been through so many things together- five bouts with Cancer, three life threatening car accidents, the trials and joys of raising our combined total of 12 biological and adopted children-several of whom have had special needs and challenges, deaths in the family, multiple moves, separations, surgeries, heart-aches and holidays.  We don't see each other as often as we would like, but when we do, its like we never left.  We understand.  We've been there. 

Thank you, Lynie, for rescuing me, and for being my forever sister and fellow mermaid.

Ignore the glamorous Costco background.  I like this pic.

The Cinderella Years

Me, about age six

This is me and my Dallas friend in our
look-alike dresses and purses

My mother died the November I was five, and there was no way that my dad was up to putting on a Christmas for us so soon after her death. A friend of my Dad's realized this and flew my sister and I from where we lived in San Diego to their home in Dallas. Texas.  They gave me a dress and purse just like their daughter's, and I remember that it snowed just a few flakes while I was there  I had never seen snow before, so I thought that it was absolutely magical.  At the time I didn't realize what an amazing thing it was that this family I barely knew did for us.  Thank you, Dallas people, whoever and wherever you are, for giving us a bit of normalcy during a crazy time.


Soon the family settled in to a new "normal".  My dad had always been a "meet me at the door with a cocktail after work" businessman, but after my mom's death his drinking increased.  He also started dating.  It seemed like he dated a lot.  I remember once he took my sister and me along when he took a woman away for the weekend.  He bought us all new nightgowns.  The way I remember it I slept in the closet. Maybe that was a different time- it happened more than once.  Anyway,  I remember thinking it was fun.  I remember pretending that I had to live in a space that small forever, and thinking about how I would decorate it and make it work. 

Robin and I with her grandson on his
birthday.  I remember being jealous
of him and this cake.

About a year after my mom died my dad got re-married to a woman named Bessie Etta Hart. She called herself Robin, but I don't know why. She was from Mississippi, and had been married three times before.  My father thought that she was beautiful.  She had dark curly hair and light eyes (blue? violet?).  She was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormons).  We had been Presbyterians before, but hadn't really been to church since my mom's death. I remember the first time I went to an LDS meeting.  It was a children's activity (Primary) and I was sitting in the front row quietly listening to what was going on when the boy next to me suddenly stood up and barfed red kool-aid and hot dogs all over the floor right in front of me.  Awesome.

Robin had the LDS missionaries come over and teach my sister, dad and I about the church.  We all decided to be baptized (I think that my dad mad the choice mostly because Robin wanted it).  I remember the day shortly after my eighth birthday when I was baptized.  I felt wonderful- warm, peaceful and so loved by my Father in Heaven. That feeling got me through many tough times in those years.  Robin was an odd member of the LDS church.  She didn't want to be married to my father in an LDS temple because she thought (just one of her very strange beliefs) that if she was righteous enough she would someday be married to Jesus Christ.  


Life with Robin was hard.  These were my "Cinderella and her Wicked Stepmother" days, at least in my mind.  Here are some "highlights":
- at least two hours of housework every day, including scrubbing the floors on hands and knees and moving all of the furniture and cleaning under it weekly.  Six hours of housework on Saturdays.
- no new clothes or toys .  I wore her daughter's (age 27 and tiny) very out of style and age inappropriate hand me downs. 
- six tablespoons each of cod liver oil and brewers yeast daily as a health food remedy for my dermatitis (it didn't work)
- being forced to eat ant-infested lemon bars that I left out on the counter (ants and all)
- being exiled to my bedroom for two days on Christmas when my dad and Robin had a fight because I didn't come when called to help with Christmas dinner. I had been playing with a toy Robin's adult son had given me.
- frequent discipline with a flyswatter on the legs.
- the bill for my orthodontia being posted on my door with a hand-written note that said something like :"We are paying all of this for you, what are you doing for US?"

I remember I didn't have a costume
this year, so I wore one of my sister's
old dance costumes.  People asked
what I "was" and I said
"a dancing girl". I felt stupid.

But the worst part, for me, was all of the time I spent alone. In the neighborhood where we lived there were two sessions of first grade- morning and afternoon.  I had the afternoon session.  To my memory I was alone every day until school started and was responsible for getting myself dressed and ready, making my lunches, etc..  Needless to say my outfits didn't always match and weren’t necessarily even clean.  Robin didn't want to be bothered with my naturally curly hair, so she cut it very short.  She wouldn't let me have a part in my hair because "Parts look like an Indian chopped your head".   We lived in a very upscale area of San Diego at that time, and I remember the kids at the bus stop stealing my stuff and taunting me until they made me cry because I was shy and so different.  My first grade year was the year when I think it really hit me that my mom was gone, and wasn't coming back.  I cried a lot. 

Lyn throwing the bouquet at her at-home
wedding.  She made her dress and I
think she made mine, too.

Being alone at night was even worse.  I used to check behind every door and the shower curtains to make sure that there were no bad guys in the house.  I remember taking ropes and trying to tie all of the doors closed so no one could get in. All of this happened when I  was between five and nine years old.



My sister was married the week she graduated from high school.  She was seventeen.  She was definitely in love, and is still married to her husband today, but I also think that she was very glad to get out of our house.  I missed her, though, when she wasn't at home with me any more.  So much.


Lessons learned during this time:  Kids need you to put your needs second to theirs, even when it isn't what you feel like doing at the time.  Kids need supervision, even if they seem competent and mature beyond their years.  And, don't forget, there are good people in this world and even when we feel alone we have a Heavenly Father who loves us.

Life goes on, and there are good times along with the bad.  
More about some of those good times next time :)