A Helping Verb is a Very Fine Man

If you've ever been privileged enough to have Mrs. Casdorph as a teacher, you will easily finish out the rest of one of many grammar chants ingrained so permanently in your memory that they might as well be stamped upon your very soul.

A helping verb is a very fine man;
He gives a verb a helping hand.
Like: am, is, are, was, were,
Be and been,
Have, has, had,
Do, did, does,
May, might, must,
Can, could,
Shall, should,
Will, would.

You might also recall that the first 7 on the list can also appear as linking verbs and the subsequent six, when appearing as the main verb in the sentence, may be action verbs.

And if you haven't ever been a student of Mrs. Casdorph, you will either find yourself relating to this line of thinking or you will write me off as totally crazy.  Fair enough.

The chant is honestly of little importance to the story except as a fun anecdote to introduce the topic of helping verbs in order to tell this story:

Monday morning as we were doing our daily scripture study, Adam questioned the accuracy of the following phrase found in Alma 53:11, "...had it not been for the pity and exceeding love which Ammon and his brethren had had for them."

"Had had?" he questioned.  "Mom, why does it say had twice?"

"Because the first one is a helping verb and the second is an action verb."  I was grateful to share this vocabulary in common with my sons so the fairly complex question could be answered in relatively few words.

And then I remembered this, which I had meant to post as soon as it aired.



And then I started to chant... "A helping verb is a very fine man..."

Three Unrelated Stories

Three Unrelated Stories

about three very related boys

1.

On a Tuesday night in September, I drove Alex to meet Kirk and the other boys at Arctic Circle to make good on our promise to reward captured flags with ice cream.  But that's another, even less related story.  The important detail to note here is that Alex and I got some rare one-on-one time during which he laid out the difficult conundrum with which he currently struggled.  Did he want to become a rock star like Austin or a composer like Ally?  I got all excited to know he had either of these musical aspirations and launched into a full-blown monologue about how he didn't have to choose.  How some people are lucky enough to get to write their songs AND sing them.  Taylor Swift.  Garth Brooks.  And at the restaurant, I showed him YouTube videos of how cool it can be to sing your own songs.

Fast forward 16 hours to the following Wednesday afternoon at school.  The students all filed in to the multi-purpose room for the super-duper-top-secret assembly, the subject of which even the teachers weren't apprised.  Imagine my surprise when there, right before my son, is a man who is famous both for writing and singing his own music.  There, on stage, was Michael McLean.

He opened at the piano:

Do you think that it's possible for strangers like us could be friends
In just a moment or two...

For an hour, he was part musician, part comedian, part motivational speaker, part life coach.

And 100% cool.  The kids loved him.  The teachers loved him.  And I hoped Alex heard every word of the message Mr. McLean had come to share: don't let anybody blow out the candle of your dreams.

And then it happened.  I had walked to the front of the room to put away the sound equipment when I saw it out of the corner of my eye.  Alex, my would be composer, speaking one on one with his new idol.  Michael McLean down on my son's level telling him he could do it.  Not 24 hours after he disclosed his dream to me, Alex seeing someone who had overcome significant odds to make it happen.

2.

My third son has a different dream.  A dream that perhaps his mother might possibly decorate for Halloween.  I never have before, but this year I promised my kids they could throw an awesome Halloween party, which means I have to decorate.

Dylan has developed a new frustration recently; basically he is frustrated with me all the time.  For not knowing what's for lunch.  For not knowing when we will go to the store.  For not committing to a date to decorate.  He asks these incessant questions, and I respond, "I don't know."  To which he huffs, rolls his eyes, and explains yet again, "You can just choose.  You just choose when to decorate."

Well, I finally chose today.  And despite some minor hiccups (like not having any of the supplies on hand), we managed to at least make the monster door he'd chosen from Pinterest.  He insisted it had to be a scary door, and apparently this design fit the bill.

I was beyond frustrated when he wouldn't budge on a single detail.  No, the eyes couldn't be yellow.  No, they couldn't be light orange.  Thankfully, I finally found one sheet of orange paper that met his meticulous eye.

And it was all worth it when he proclaimed the door a success and demanded that I take a picture.  I'm just hoping I haven't set a precedent I'm unwilling to keep up.

3.

Speaking of pictures, I had to snap a quick one of Adam's "Saying and Phrase" assignment this week.  After studying the idiom "birds of a feather," he had to complete a Venn diagram listing the similarities and differences of two people.  No surprise, he chose Aiden B.

We have been hearing about Aiden B. for years.  Aiden B. and Adam have been best friends since 2nd grade, but since we don't live in the same city as the school, hanging out away from school pretty much hasn't happened.

Until this year.

Apparently the boys have decided they will hang out this year, and we frequently find out last minute about the plans he, Aiden B., and Caleb have made.  The disclosure is followed by begging, which is generally followed by the 15 minute drive to Aiden's house.  We finally managed to host Aiden last week, and it was great to pretty much not see either boy for hours as they executed the game-system related plans they had carefully laid.

Having attended a school across the valley from where I lived, I understand how challenging it can be to be friends with people you don't live near.  But my lifelong friendship with my 4th grade BFF, Rosie, helps me put in perspective that Adam's school friends could very well be his friends for life.  Just in case he ends up 33 and still friends with Aiden B., I thought I had better document the Venn diagram showing their similarities (they both like chili) and differences (mostly number of brothers and opinions on seafood).

Proud Mama

"That's his monologue?" Jack questioned, watching Alex study the Hogwarts Sorting Hat song before his Dickens Festival audition last night.  "I'm just reciting the Preamble to the Constitution."

"Well, when you're the director's son," I replied, "and you're a contender for a good role, you have to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove you deserve it."

And I have to say that he has definitely worked hard.  His audition actually began back in July, when our family was asked to speak in church.  I gave Alex the option to sing or speak, and just like his mom would have, he chose to sing.  I chose a song purposefully a bit higher than his comfortable range, curious to see how he would handle it.  I also chose one with difficult intervals so I could get a feel for his skills as a soloist.  "Every Star is Different" from the Primary Children's Songbook fit the bill perfectly and matched the theme he'd been given.

Working with him was a delight!  I was impressed by how teachable he was, and how willing he was to take direction.  We often practiced for 30 to 45 minutes at a time, which seemed pretty remarkable considering Alex's general lack of focus.  And when the big day came, he stood confidently at the podium and sang his song.

He passed my first test.

So I chose an audition song I hoped would impress the vocal director (a.k.a., Grandma).  He has been working on "Solla Sollew" for two months, and he put in hours on it this week alone.  We worked hard on not breathing so frequently, but his asthma makes that difficult for him.  Still, he was willing to try my suggestions and never fought me or got teary.


He passed my second test.

We fought about the monologue, though!  He didn't like any of my ideas, explaining it was hard for him to use an accent on things that weren't written for an accent.  When I suggested something from Harry Potter, he agreed.  I found the Sorting Hat song online, and he liked the quirky lines.  His face lit up each time he delivered the line, "I'll eat myself if I can find a smarter hat than me."  Sold.  In one week, he memorized its 32 lines and practiced with his cute accent.  He sat on the front porch and recited. He practiced in the car.  He only rolled his eyes once when I suggested that we practice.

(His first attempt at all 32 lines unassisted, caught on video by placing my phone in the glove box.  Keep in mind this was 6:45 a.m., and that he could see himself on the forward facing camera.)

He passed my third test.

Auditions finally came last night, and I didn't really need to hear his song or see his monologue.  I was evaluating his attitude.  He entered in a group of six auditioners which included his brother, his Uncle Jack, and our good friend Logan - a sure recipe for distraction should he choose to make it.  He sat quietly on his chair, waiting his turn, and made no disruptions during the other five auditions.  He approached the audition table hesitantly, and I saw a brief flash of what could quickly become silliness.  But he took a breath, suppressed his giggles, and forged confidently on.

He passed my fourth test.

There are more tests in store as he attends callbacks today.  Will he take direction from Grandma?  Can he work hard in a group with other kids?  How will he interact with the potential Cratchit parents?  Can he sing high enough for Tiny Tim's song?  I don't know.

But this mama is proud that he made callbacks!

And speaking of proud...

Remember my child that has only been speaking for 2 years?  Last year, he was too shy to even walk into the same room as me if I was running a rehearsal.  This year he stepped up to the plate and not only auditioned, but blew his Grandma away.  Well done, Dylan.  (He matched pitch even better at his audition.)



It's fun to be a theater mom, and I love directing the Dickens Festival shows.  It's even better when I get to do both!

That Shoud Have Been a B Flat

One of the most frequently occurring annoying scenes of my childhood went something like this:

I sat at the piano located one floor below my parents.  In our yellow house in Kearns, their bedroom was upstairs while the piano was on the main floor.  When we moved to Draper, their bedroom and kitchen were on the main floor with the piano in the basement.  

My dad went about his business on the upper floor.  (Most memorably, he was in the kitchen.)

I played a sour note on the piano.

Dad called down, "That should have been a B flat..."

I groaned in exasperation that not only did he call me out on my mistake, but that he could pinpoint from a floor away exactly which note I had missed.

It was nearly as annoying as I found him to be when playing pool.  I'm sorry, but when someone insists on sharing with you the mathematical angles they intend to use before sinking a ball into a predicted pocket... on every. single. shot... it really is just annoying.

He would misinterpret my groans as the desire to hear him gloat about exactly how he knew exactly which note I'd missed.  I tuned this part out, but seem to recall it generally having to do with a combination of the fact that he has nearly perfect pitch and some excellent knowledge of music theory on which he could base his Sherlockian deductive reasoning to determine that the note I had missed was the fourth of the scale, meaning I was likely playing in the key of F, because who would miss the fourth in say, the key of C or the key of G... and therefore it was obviously a missed B flat.

Fast forward many years to a family-altering decision Kirk and I made almost a year ago.  Our boys absolutely loved their piano teacher, but she didn't actually have room for both of them, so they were sharing a lesson time slot and getting only a 15 minute lesson each per week.  They were not progressing as rapidly as I had hoped, and even Kirk was noticing that they weren't as good at the piano as he'd expected.  We decided on an option I had sworn never to do: home school piano lessons.

I'm calling it home school with complete respect for those who've decided to pursue this option for their children's entire education and in reference to all the best parts of homeschooling:

• flexibility
• pacing specific to each child
• lessons that fit the values and priorities of the family

I decided against rigid once-a-week lessons for the boys and instead instituted a loose framework in which the boys study piano nearly independently but with my experience nearby.  Basically, I provide the piano books.  The requirement is that they practice for 15 minutes each day or pass off one song, whichever comes first.  This moves the boys through the Bastien books I used to teach from at approximately the same rate as me assigning 4 to 5 songs per week, which is actually one more song that I used to generally assign when I formally taught.  I also provide insight and help when I hear, "Mom, I need help."  Other than that, I stay out of it.

Mostly.

I have definitely been guilty of giving an unsolicited, "That should have been a B flat." 

But in my dad's defense, it turns out it really isn't that hard to know which note Adam is missing.  It really is possible to determine that the note he missed was the fourth note of a major scale, and that he wouldn't have been likely to miss the fourth in the key of C or the key of G.  So obviously he missed a B flat.

Plus he misses B flats nearly every day.

Did You Look in the Downstairs Bathroom?

I caught a bit of Saturday Night Live recently, just enough to catch most of Louis CK's hilarious monologue that sounded to me like the kinds of questions LDS missionaries must answer all the time.  

• "Do you guys think there’s a Heaven?" 
• “Where’s Heaven?”
• "How do you know [there's no God]?"
• "'Our father, who art in Heaven.' Where’s our mother? What happened to our mom?" 

Of course, he wasn't really looking for any answers; he was using these common questions as a jumping off point for what was, in my opinion, hilarious albeit a bit irreverent.  Still, I found the questions to be good solid questions, and his theories to be worth contemplating.  I particularly enjoyed his take on faith (even if he didn't realize that's what he was discussing).  

I’m not religious. I don’t know if there’s a God. That’s all I can say, honestly, is “I don’t know.” Some people think that they know that there isn’t. That’s a weird thing to think you can know. “Yeah, there’s no God.” Are you sure? “Yeah, no, there’s no God.” How do you know? “Cause I didn’t see Him.” There’s a vast universe! You can see for about 100 yards — when there’s not a building in the way. How could you possibly… Did you look everywhere? Did you look in the downstairs bathroom? Where did you look so far? “No, I didn’t see Him yet.” I haven’t seen 12 Years a Slave yet; it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’m just waiting until it comes on cable.

(For more info and a video from this monologue, click here.)

I watched this on a Saturday night.  Yep, I know for sure, because it was Saturday Night Live.  The following Monday, the boys and I reached Alma 30 in our morning scripture study.  We met Korihor, the anti-Christ, who demanded a sign to know if there is a God.  The exchange between Alma and Korihor went like this:

And then Alma said unto him: Believest thou that there is a God?  And he answered, Nay.  Now Alma said unto him: Will ye deny again that there is a God, and also deny the Christ?  For behold, I say unto you, I know there is a God, and also that Christ shall come.  And now what evidence have ye that there is no God, or that Christ cometh not?  I say unto you that he have none, save it be your word only.  But, behold, I have all things as a testimony that these things are true; and ye also have all things as a testimony unto you that they are true; and will ye deny them?  Believest thou that these things are true?

After Korihor demands a sign "that I may be convinced there is a God," Alma responds:

Thou hast had signs enough; will ye tempt your God?  Will ye say, Show unto me a sign, when ye have the testimony of all these thy brethren, and also all the holy prophets?  The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which more in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.

I, too, believe that the earth and the galaxy and the intricate way in which each continue to perform the necessary functions to sustain life are evidence of a God.  But I also get that for the scientific minded, there may be many other explanations of how and why the universe functions.  Therefore, I cannot say that I know there is a God because of the wonders of the earth.  

I was talking to my friend Logan, a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints recently returned from his mission to Chicago.  He told me that he and his best friend Taylor like to ask people to share their conversion story - that it is a great way to get to know someone.  And so I thought about my own conversion story, the moment at which I decided to say for sure there is a God.

It went something like this.

It was in the fall of 2003, making me a newly minted 22-year-old.  I had been married for two years, and since I had gotten married in the temple, that meant I had made sacred covenants in the temple with regards to myself and my marriage.  Up until the previous year, I had never experienced anything I would have considered to be a trial of my faith, and as such I had a very young testimony.  If asked, I would have expressed my belief, but my actions over the course of a very difficult year would have testified otherwise.  

In 2003, I experienced the devastating miscarriage of a pregnancy we'd tried to achieve for a year.  Two months later, Kirk went in for the knee surgery that altered the course of our whole lives, costing him the muscles in his left thigh and us our first home together.  While we lived with Kirk's parents, I witnessed my sister-in-law become happily pregnant despite a lifestyle contrary to the principles I held dear.  I helped my husband in and out of bed so he could perform life's most basic functions like using the restroom.  I attempted to begin a career in real estate, despite my overwhelming desire to avoid people in general after losing our baby.  And Kirk and I suffered silently, each afraid to add to the other's burden.

My faith was tried.  Suddenly the principles I'd held to my whole life seemed less likely to be the principles that would bring me happiness.  I made choices contrary to the teachings of the prophets.  I put my sacred covenants in jeopardy.  And I came to a point when I realized I had to decide.

It all came down to one very big if.

IF everything I had been taught was true, there was only one way for my family to be eternal.  If I wanted the comfort of knowing the spirit of the child I lost was happy living with my Heavenly Father, then I would have to believe there was a God.  And if I believed that much, I would need to choose to live the way He would expect me to live.  

IF none of it was true, then my choices didn't matter, and I could continue to search for happiness outside the principles of the gospel.

Interestingly, my faith-affirming conversion moment came down to one simple thought, not too far from the comedic monologue with which this post began.

How could I possible know for sure it wasn't true?

My decision to right my life was based on nothing more than a hope that all I'd been taught was true.  A hope that through obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel, my family could be happy again.  And to that hope, I have carefully added testimony, line upon line as directed in the scriptures until now I could give a list of evidences.

Most days, I know there is a God; I know He is a loving Father who wants nothing more than for me to choose to follow His plan and receive the blessings He has in store for me.  I know it because when I follow the commandments He has given through the mouth of living prophets, I am happy. 

But some days, His hand in my life is a little harder to see.  Some days, all I have is hope. 

Maybe I can't always say "I know."  But I have faith.  As Alma says a few chapters after his experiences with Korihor:

And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.

I don't have to check the downstairs bathroom.  I don't need to see God.  My faith - my hope - is the foundation of my testimony.  And that's enough for me.

Clown-faced Apple Eater

When I shipped the kids off to spend a week with Grandma Tess and Grandpa Randy, I sent Dylan with a whole bag of food.  The contents of that bag included:

- Enriched white bread
- String cheese with the highest amount of protein per serving
- 100% fruit juice boxes
- Cheese slices
- Bacon
- Yogurt (key lime, orange creme, lemon pie, and vanilla)

This, plus an assortment of breakfast foods, is what Dylan eats every day.  A typical meal consists of a cheese sandwich with ketchup on it plus a helping of either bacon, string cheese, or yogurt depending on his mood.  A recent well-child check up indicated that Dylan is in perfect health, and that I actually don't need to worry about his incredibly limited diet because he is actually managing to get the nutrition he needs.  At my insistence, however, our pediatrician agreed to consult with the Primary Children's Rehabilitation therapists across the hall to find out if there are any therapies available to help me send my child into adulthood eating more items that I can fit in one grocery bag.

I've been looking forward to the evaluation all summer.  I figured it would result in either a pat on the back and assurances that I needn't worry or in an action plan to help Dylan try new foods without gagging.  It's not like I haven't tried everything to get him to eat.  I mean, I really have tried.  Coercion, consequences, bribing, pleading, forcing, starving... you name it, I've tried it.  It wasn't until I read a study linking kids who talk late with kids who have sensory sensitivities to food that I realized this was maybe out of Dylan's control.

And then I backed off.  It was actually during this back-off period that Dylan added string cheese and bacon to his list of approved foods.  He also recently helped eat an order of cheese fries, and opted to try a banana - without even being asked.  Backing off seems to be working pretty well, but I still looked forward to the evaluation to see if there was anything at all that I could be doing to help him on his quest to find foods he considers "yummy for him."

I got up early Thursday morning to prepare for the evaluation.  I was asked to bring a selection of foods I know he will eat and foods I would like him to eat.  Adam was pretty jealous this morning as I prepared eggs, chicken, mashed potatoes, and bacon... and then told Adam to have a bowl of cereal.  I added yogurt and string cheese to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox and headed off to D's first session of therapy.

I had to stifle laughter as I participated along with Dylan as his therapist, Helene, guided him through getting closer to eating the new foods on his plate.  She asked him to move the food from its container to his plate using his bare fingers.  It was interesting to see how difficult it was for him to even touch eggs with his fingers.  Helene added an apple from her own lunch to the array, and he didn't mind adding that one to his plate.

She started with the bacon, an item she knew he would eat.  She asked him to touch the bacon to his nose, cheeks, and chin before eventually giving the bacon a kiss.  I had to mirror these actions with my own piece of bacon; I have to say it's the first time I've ever kissed my food before eating it.  He had no problem kissing the bacon, but when asked to repeat the process with the egg, he adamantly refused.  Only after Helene had picked up the egg and touched it to his nose, cheeks, and chin and then after I had repeated the procedure was he able to pick up the egg and touch it to his various facial features.  He repeated the process with the chicken, with much less resistance.  Helene asked him to bite off a piece of the chicken and spit it out.  He was able to do so, but immediately wiped the inside of his mouth on the outside of his arm once the offending chicken had been spit out.  She didn't push chicken any further.

Next came the apple.  After completing the touching and kissing ritual, Helene showed him how to make a clown face using the apple.  I thought it was a pretty sneaky way to get him to bite into the flesh of the apple!  After he posed for a picture, she asked him to bite the apple and spit it out.  He didn't wipe his mouth clean, so she directed him to take another bite, chew it, and spit it out.  Only after he had accomplished that did she ask him to take a bite, chew it, and swallow it.  She showed him how to move the portion he'd eat to the side of his mouth for chewing and explained that he wouldn't feel so much like gagging if he chewed it over there.  He successfully chewed and swallowed the apple!  She asked him to take another, bigger bite, but his compliance resulted in an involuntary gag reflex.  She explained to him that it will take practice, but if he keeps practicing, his mouth won't think apples are yucky anymore.

Helene explained to me that a child his age should be able to eat 10 foods in the protein, starch, and fruits & veggies categories.  After filling out his 10-10-10 chart, I could see that he only eats 6 proteins (4 of which come from dairy and one of which is specific to a certain Thai restaurant in Sandy), 8 starches (none of which are whole grains), and 0 fruits and veggies.  Adding apples as his very first fruit/veggie was a huge milestone.

I've been tasked with the homework of getting him to chew and swallow 2 new foods per week, and he's been tasked with eating more apples.  But our plan consists of more than that.  After watching Dylan eat and considering which foods he already eats, Helene informed me that she believes Dylan has reflux.  The foods he has chosen are precisely the sorts of foods that limit stomach acid production and help relieve the pain of reflux.  In addition, he frequently complains of stomach pain, which I had dismissed as a sign of continual hunger.  Dylan gets to join me in taking daily medication to limit the production of stomach acid, and we will monitor him over several months to see if his symptoms decrease.  Hopefully the combination of treating the underlying medical condition as well as working daily to help him accept a wider variety of food textures will result in a kid who eats a healthy variety of foods.

To be honest, I'm overwhelmed.  He needs to meet with Helene twice monthly, and I need to work daily food practice into our routine.  But I am encouraged that there is a plan, that Helene is confident we will see results, and that with any luck, our days of ordering a cheeseburger with no burger are in the past!

Puerto Rico: Part II

Having three rental cars and staying at two different locations meant a bit of natural grouping as we went about our way.  We spent most of Day 1 with Brett and Lisa, most of our travel time with Skye, Michelle, and got to spend most of Day 5 with Jack.  As we moved in and out of these smaller groups, we would all come back together with funny stories of the day to share.  Whether it was recounting that Suman thought there would be pandas (because there was bamboo…), that Jack screamed like a girl when a bat flew by him, that Dad fell into a river face first, or that Lisa heckled the person in the kayak next to her (thinking it was Michelle), telling stories about each other was one of the most fun parts of the trip.  Here are my favorite stories about each of my 9 travel companions.  For fun, I’ve listed them oldest to youngest.

Dad:

Day 1 found us in Old San Juan, touring the defensive military forts once used to protect the island.  After stopping to eat lunch between the two major castilles, Dad suggested we get a family picture near a particularly valiant looking sheep statue.  We gathered around, Jack recruited a nearby ice cream vendor to take our picture, and we posed.  Dad was a bit disappointed, however, assuming he would get in trouble if he chose to sit atop the sheep.  When one of the local police decided to photo bomb our picture, my mom asked if my dad would be allowed to sit up there.  He looked a bit confused by the question, then shrugged and responded, “We say nothing…” then continued to contemplate, “… except maybe be careful?”  So Dad climbed up on the sheep statue, reminding me that one of my dad’s best qualities is enduring ability to stay young.

Mom:
Before we left for Puerto Rico, my mom explained that she had decided not to participate in the zip lines, because being terrified really isn’t her definition of fun.  She asked that we not tease her about her decision or pressure her into changing it, so we were all very surprised when at the last second she had me sign her up for our reservations.  I remember witnessing her fear of heights once as a child when the small ferris wheel at Liberty Park got stuck with us at the top, and I knew I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for her to strap on the safety gear and head out to that first zip line.  She managed each of the first seven runs, seemingly glad to be up there with the rest of us.

It was on the 8th and final run, however, that I could see her start to waver just a bit.  This run stretched out over a huge canyon with nothing except open air in front of us.  Several people were not making it all the way across, meaning they were left to pull themselves in with their arms as they dangled by their safety harness over the canyon.  Suman went right before her, and he didn’t make it across.  Still, she stepped up and allowed herself to be hooked in.  Lisa, Michelle, and I watched as she went across, each hoping aloud that she would make it to the other side.  We watched her dot in distance slow to nearly a crawl, but it appeared she had never stopped moving.  Convinced she must have made it, we were surprised to find out that she had stopped short of the target and had to pull herself in, she had just done it so quickly we didn’t even know she had stopped.  It feels pretty awesome to know Mom would put herself through that just so she could hang out with us.  (I don't have a zip line picture, so I'm posting Mom trying the natural waterslide.)


Kirk:
Probably what I will remember most about Kirk from the trip was that every time we passed a Church’s Chicken restaurant, he yelled out, “Church’s Chicken!”  We passed a lot of them.  Just sayin’.  Pretty much any memory I can conjure of Kirk is one in which I was laughing.  So I will include this picture for posterity.  (His idea, of course.)

Brett:
There are few people in this world who will, without question or reservation, go along with whatever foolish idea I come up with at 4:00 a.m.  I am very lucky that one of those people married my sister.  Our flights arrived at the San Juan airport around midnight on Friday, but we could not pick up our rental cars until 8:00 a.m.  This meant 8 hours together in the airport.  We were a bit surprised to find out that we had absolutely no furniture to sit on and no access to drinking fountains or restrooms during the night.  So we settled in to make the most of it.

The frequent TSA announcements in both English and Spanish got old really fast, so I proposed turning them into a game.  When the announcement was in English, the last person to put a hand on his or her head had to do 20 jumping jacks.  When in Spanish, the last person to touch a finger to his or her nose had to do 5 push ups.  Not only did Brett joyfully execute over 200 punishment jacks, but he was the first on board when I proposed the next level.  When English, we each had to run to touch one of the airport’s many support columns (no two people on one column, a different column than last time).  When Spanish, we had to stand on a nearby ledge.  It was Brett’s playful personality that had me running from column to column because he would consistently beat me there and who managed to block Michelle from standing on the ledge.  If I know I have to pull an all-nighter, I know I want Brett there with me.

Lisa: 

Somehow when we chose teams for the game of football we played on a sandbar in the ocean, the split seemed a bit skewed.  The four youngest members of the family joined together on one team, leaving Dad, Mom, Lisa, Brett, and I on the other.  We were losing terribly, discovering that all it took was a long throw from Skye to Jack who was waiting idly in the end zone for their team to score.  Our team, on the other hand, had to carefully gain yardage on each of the four allowed downs.  On our final down, Dad had the ball and was scanning for an open teammate to throw it to.  Each of us was blocked by an opponent, until Lisa ran up the bank to ground higher than everyone.  Dad threw the ball, and Lisa scored the touchdown.  Her face beamed with pride, and I just thought, “That’s my sister!”  Sadly, I don't have a picture of that.  Instead, I'm posting a picture of her nursing her ant-bitten legs back to health.  Seriously, I have never seen ant bites swell like that!

Michelle:
While some of us had big fears to conquer and did so in highly visible ways, I watched Michelle push herself just one step further than her comfort zone whenever she could.  Her first day in the ocean, she headed out further than she had ever gone.  Although the rainforest vegetation reminded her of Jurassic Park, and she harbors a very literal fear of dinosaurs, she put up with family’s teasing and headed off into the jungles.  Though she couldn’t bring herself to squeeze through a cave’s small opening, she was willing to enter when Skye found a less claustrophobic tunnel.  When everyone was jumping off tall rocks and cliffs, she chose a ledge just out of her comfort zone and jumped from that.  She then completed several subsequent jumps, starting a little higher each time.  Not surprisingly, she did it all in her own quiet style, conquering Puerto Rico in her own way.  And yeah, if she's gonna make faces like this, I'm gonna post them.

Skye:

My young, cool, brother-in-law has a bit of an addiction.  He is addicted to climbing stuff and jumping into water.  This trip provided three different locations for him to get his fix and two favorite moments I will remember.  The first was when he climbed up the rocky face of  La Niebla to get to a jumping place.  I watched as the waterfall beat down on him from above, and he carefully studied the rock for his next foothold.  I’ve never seen anybody look so at peace in their surroundings.  The second was when he stood at the top of La Cascada and chose not to jump.  After assessing the conditions, he decided it wasn’t safe.  Even though I am always impressed by the stuff he is willing to jump from, I was more impressed to see that he really does know how to keep himself safe.

Jack: 
Always the first to say, “I’m in,” whenever an adventure was mentioned, Jack signed up for the 5:00 a.m. departure group on Thursday.  Planned to include 5.5 hours of driving for 6.5 hours of adventure, we knew we had to hit the road early.  At 4:40, I checked his “bedroom” (he chose to sleep on a lawn chair in the laundry room) to make sure he was awake.  I expected to see my little brother, someone whom I would need to wake up and help supervise.  Instead, I saw a grown man, kneeling beside his lawn chair bed, with his hands clasped in prayer.  I quietly ducked back out, confident that my “little brother” can certainly handle himself, and teach his big sister a thing or two with his excellent example.  Also, he likes to climb stuff.

Suman:

When I climbed to the top of the 25’ cliff to jump into the pooled river water, I saw Suman just hanging out up top.  I asked him if he was going to jump.  “I want to,” he said, “but I can’t find the courage.”  I explained to him that I didn’t have the courage either.  I had started on a smaller rock to test myself, and only after that felt fun did I decide to try the tall cliff.  I told him I would jump with him from the smaller rock if he wanted, and then if that felt fun to him, he could try the big cliff.  We both jumped from the shorter location, and then I got busy doing other things.  Several minutes later, Suman had climbed the cliff again, and he seemed ready to jump.  With the whole family cheering him on, he found his courage and made the jump.  I guess maybe I do still have a little brother to look out for.

Of course Puerto Rico itself was incredible.  But it was great to get a chance to remember how incredible the adults in our family can be without the distractions of our young kids.  Three long matches of 5 on 5 volleyball without anyone having to leave to settle a dispute, change a diaper, or plan around nap time?  That may honestly have been the best part of the whole trip.