A Day At The Rancho

My Philosophy of Teaching

2012-01-06T18:00:00.000-08:00

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful
beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us…”

Marianne Williamson

When I think of education the word opportunity comes to mind: Opportunity to learn; opportunity to overcome; opportunity to see that we are “powerful beyond measure”.

For my father, education opened the door of opportunity and provided an escape from poverty. For me and my children, the door remains open, presenting experiences and possibilities that my father could only imagine. And now, as a teacher, it is my responsibility to show my students that they too are powerful beyond measure.

What Education Is

Education is more than the memorization of facts and numbers. It goes beyond basic skills, academics, technical knowledge, discipline, and citizenship… and includes processing knowledge, using inspiration, visionary ambitions, creativity, risk, ability to bounce back from failure, and motivation. It is the wealth of knowledge that comes after studying particular subjects or experiencing life’s lessons. It brings understanding of the world, ourselves, and the idea that we are not inadequate.

What Education Should Be

When asked, “If education were a kind of music, what should it be?” Theodore Sizer, one of education’s most influential thinkers answered, “It should be a rich symphony, all kinds of instruments and tunes and trills”.

Like a symphony education should be a combination of strategy and technique. It should include direct instruction, cooperative learning, guided practice, individual work, questions, wait time, differentiation… modeling, manipulating, exploring, doing… And like a symphony, each individual part and each individual student should be honored for who and what they are.

Personal Objectives

As a teacher it is my responsibility to open the door of opportunity. To help my students succeed I will:

Provide opportunities for students to take intellectual

risks and develop social responsibility.

Remember that each child is a unique blend

of interests, abilities, learning styles, culture and

economic background. And that each child

deserves the opportunity to succeed.

Always be an advocate.

Know and use appropriate instructional

strategies and techniques.

Take time to know my students and establish

meaningful relationships of trust.

Remember that children learn best by doing, and

provide opportunities for active learning.

Remember that teaching requires collaboration,

and when I work and plan with others my

experience is significantly enhanced.

Make learning relevant so that students feel

ownership, and are motivated and empowered.

Remember why I chose to be a teacher,

and the passion I felt when I wrote this.

Preparation

It is my education, both formal and informal, that prepared me for this role. As a young student I learned how to learn. As a mother I learned how to love. As a graduate student I learned theory, pedagogy, and practice. And as a teacher I am constantly learning how all these pieces fit together.

At times I wonder what to do, and at times I feel inadequate. But I remember that “It is our light, not our darkness that frightens us”. And if I am to inspire and lift those I teach I must remember that education brings opportunity, and that each student is “powerful beyond measure”.

Pieces

2011-08-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

"On Monday
I am waiting,
on Tuesday I am fading, on Wednesday I can't sleep...and then the darkness is clear because you've come to rescue me."

A. Simpson

She hardly recognizes the woman in the mirror anymore. The woman she once knew – the one full of life who loved to travel and try new things… the one who turned heads, who was not afraid, who did what she wanted because she wanted. She is gone. Lost in crowsfeet that sit on the edges of her eyes; lost in an expanded midline and streaks of gray that peek from dark strands she wears pulled back these days.

As she looks she feels the tiredness and the subtle aches, and the beginnings of an emptiness that threatens to fill any unfilled space. And she wonders about the dreams and hopes of that woman; wonders if her companion really knows her, and if she is forever lost amid the piles of unfolded laundry, sticky hands, and endless demands. And she worries that she might just slowly slip away until there is not one little piece left of her. And she questions if anyone will even notice.

Then she feels a tug at her side; a small hand reaching for hers. He tells her that when he stretches his body grows, and when he drinks too much water it makes his boogers come out. He talks about the dog, the frogs in the pond, and says he likes peanut butter. He tells her he has a secret and when she bends so that his mouth is close to her ear he whispers that she is "the most beautifulest mommy in the world."

And suddenly she realizes that maybe she hasn’t lost herself after all. Maybe she has been looking in all the wrong spaces. And maybe the pieces are standing right in front of her. She lifts him into her arms, but really he is lifting her.

To Dream

2011-08-04T07:49:00.000-07:00

"Follow your dreams, for as you dream
you shall become."
Anonymous

A few weeks ago I sat with my five children at the Washington State University graduation ceremony. We listened to the keynote speakers, the university president, and then watched as each graduating student walked across the stage and received recognition for his or her accomplishment. The sixth student to walk was my husband who received his Doctorate in Education Leadership. His accomplishment was the realization of many dreams.

"Mr. V" was born the son of an immigrant mother and a migrant farm worker father. To his parents education represented opportunity, and opportunity presented a way out from hindering circumstances. They taught their children the importance of education and encouraged them to dream big. And that is exactly what we did.

Twenty years ago, as a new married couple, we sat down and made goals for ourselves. One of these goals included education. We didn’t know how we would accomplish the goal, but we knew that we were willing to do anything to make it happen.

When we began our journey my husband had one semester of college and I was one semester away from graduating with a bachelor’s degree. Once I graduated we agreed that I would work so that he could finish his education goals, and then at a later time I would continue with mine.

Little did we know that this goal would take twenty years. My husband went on to complete a Bachelor of Elementary Education, a Master of Bilingual Education, and another Master of School Administration. He completed certification for Public School Principal, Superintendent of Public Schools, and finally a Doctorate in Education Leadership.

Along the way we were blessed with five beautiful children. We worked full-time, took out student loans, and did everything to accomplish our goal. At times it was very hard, and I often look back and wonder how we did it.

As I watched him walk across the stage and receive his diploma I could not stop the tears from coming – the emotions were overwhelming!

I reflected on all the hard work and sacrifice it took to get to this point. I thought about perseverance, determination, and dedication. I felt gratitude for blessings received and the weight of responsibility that comes with such blessings. And then I became very excited! For in that moment my husband had accomplished his part of the dream, and now I could begin with mine.

Turning Away

2010-05-20T11:04:00.000-07:00

** It has been some time since I last wrote. Somehow five kids and a full-time job leave little time for such things as writing…

"FACT IS, we can't fully be at home and fully at work at the same time -- not even if work is in the next room. Work and life don't overlap so much as they collide or intersect -- leaving us to sit in our ergonomically correct swivel chairs and pivot between the two. And each time we turn toward one, we are, in that moment, turning away from the other."

From Life's Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin

5:00 a.m. -- I have been up several hours in the night with a sick child. As I lay awake I wonder, “Is he too sick for daycare?”

I make the phone call and send the e-mails – I won’t be in today. Classes are cancelled. Teachers are notified.

I climb back in bed. My three-year-old feels comfortingly warm and he relaxes as I pull him close. His coughing stops and soon he is fast asleep. On my list of favorites is snuggling with this child under warm covers. This is as much for me as it is for him.

6:30 a.m. -- I wake the other children and make breakfast -- scrambled eggs, whole wheat cereal, and Mexican Chocolate. This is something I haven’t done in quite awhile as mornings are usually rushed, but today I am home.

I find the lost shoe, listen to an account of yesterday’s activities, read a scripture story, kiss each child as they go out the door, and cherish a moment of unhurried conversation with my husband. And then I climb back in bed to snuggle a little while longer.

It is not that I am lazy or am a slacker. I quite enjoy my job, and I find it extremely fulfilling. For me there is an undeniable thrill in the challenge of teaching. The moment that a connection is made and the student finally understands certainly brings a rush. I feed off of those moments.

I love the planning and the preparation. I love the adult interactions and the educated conversations. I love the trainings, the title, the instant feedback, and the paycheck -- and oh how I have missed them over the years… but I also love to snuggle in the early morning hours, and make breakfast, and take time to listen before the day begins.

There are some who say you can do it all, but my life experience warns me otherwise. It is true you can do many things, but you will soon find that you cannot do any one thing well. In turning toward one you will always turn away from another.

I know there are many women who do it, and oftentimes circumstances require it. In this moment, however, I have a choice.

And so I must contemplate which way I will turn. And I must remember that most times the choice is not between good and bad, but between two equally noble causes.

And in this moment I will be grateful for a supportive husband, for the option to turn away, and for the option to turn back when the time comes.

Pablo The Pet Chicken

2010-03-08T14:58:00.000-08:00

You know you live in the sticks when your child has a pet chicken.

I heard the door open, shut, and then the sound of footsteps move quietly across the floor. He was whispering, "It's OK sweetie..."

Puzzled, I wondered, "Who could he possibly be talking to?" (certainly not one of his siblings).

To my surprise I found the three-year-old standing in the livingroom holding a chicken. He must have sensed my confusion because he quickly blurted out --

"This is Pablo... He's a Mexican chicken.... No, he can't go outside because it's too cold... No, he doesn't want to see his mommy... I don't want to take him outside... I just wanna watch TV..."

And so, the three-year-old and Pablo the Chicken watched Sponge Bob for a time until I finally convinced him to take his feathered friend back to the coop.

Soon after I looked out the window to see the child on the swings (with Pablo in hand) singing at the top of his lungs, "Twinkle twinkle little.... underwear!"

Farm Etiquette 101

2010-03-05T16:00:00.000-08:00

“Were you born in a barnyard?... No, but
I have one in my front yard!”
Villarreal

WARNING: If you are one to become queasy at the mere suggestion of bodily fluids… or you are a stickler for rules… or are simply afraid to look outside or even beyond the box… then immediately STOP READING! Go back to the previous post or skip on to the next.

Rule #5: When you live on a farm it’s OK to pee outside… even in below freezing weather, but be careful NOT to pee on the electric fence.

Things were quiet – much too quiet – a sure sign that someone was certainly up to no good. The silence was broken by the sound of muffled amusement which quickly escalated to waves of uncontrollable laughter.

I looked out the window to see the two little boys (three and five years old) standing on the edge of the trampoline trying to pee on the dog.

Aghast, (remnant of my suburban upbringing) I yelled to Mr. V. “Dear, the little boys are trying to pee on Bella’s head!”

Without missing a beat or even cracking a smile he replied, “Did they get her?”

“What!?” I yelled (remembering my grandma once asking us kids if we were born in a barnyard -- reference to the mess we were making).

“Come on Babe,” he replied. “When you live on a farm it’s OK to pee outside.”

I remembered back to when I was first introduced to Farm Etiquette Rule #5. You see, my then three-year-old (our first boy) was having difficulty adjusting to the fact that his mother needed him potty trained.

We had tried the cute Spiderman undies, bribed him with a variety of tempting toys, and even played the “Aim For The Cheerio Game”, all to no avail. I was at a loss for what to try next when Mr. V came running into the house.

“Dear,” he excitedly exclaimed, “our boy is potty trained!”

“When did that happen?” I asked with certain disbelief.

“Today,” he said with a glowing smile. “I taught him how to pee outside!”

“Oh shoot me,” I thought, but then reneged as I recalled Farm Etiquette Rules #3 and #4:

Rule #3: It is required that your child get his first BB Gun before entering Kindergarten.

Rule #4: Target shooting is a perfectly appropriate family bonding activity.

So, at that point I realized it was useless to argue and since then each one of my boys have moved on to the world of underwear with the same training technique.

I am proud to say that to the best of my knowledge I have never yet had a one of them pee on the Kindergarten Playground…

However, there was that one incident last summer when we were visiting a well known religious landmark (a.k.a. The Seattle Temple).

As I was admiring the beautiful landscape with its array of magnificent fountains and well tended gardens, my moment of serenity was rudely interrupted by the screams of, “Mom! He is peeing in the fountain!”

I quickly turned away pretending not to know the child (and thinking I should teach my girls this same technique) when the desperate cry was heard again (this time even louder and with specific use of my name.)

I looked just in time to see Mr. V whip out his camera and forever capture the moment in time. This photo, by the way, was included in a publication of some of Mr. V's award winning photography.

And so the other day I heard myself asking the ten-year-old, “Were you born in a barnyard?” to which he quickly replied, “No, but I have one in my front yard.”

He is definitely his father’s child.

Remembering Montevideo

2010-03-03T11:55:00.000-08:00

“I like him because he smiles at me and means it.”
Anonymous

It was an unlikely meeting in an unlikely place and yet, in that moment things were forever changed.

Now, I don’t consider myself a hopeless romantic, and I am certainly not an expert on commitment, but I can tell you this. There are times when the most unlikely becomes the very thing that fills the empty spaces of life.

And, so in this moment I am feeling a bit sentimental. It has started to rain and somehow, the smell of rain reminds me of tortas fritas, dulce de leche, cobblestone, and mist.

It brings to memory that “Adios” means hello, that vos is tu, and that the “ll” in “calle” rolls gently off your tongue. And in my thoughts I see the Southern Cross, La Ciudad Vieja, and the sparkle of lights along La Rambla.

In this moment I reflect upon those things that have come to fill my spaces – the smell of baking bread; the sound of children’s laughter; the warmth of being close; and the feeling of belonging. All around me are reminders that even in tears and trials come some of the most unlikely joys.

And so, from this unlikely meeting in this unlikely place has come a lifetime full of the most treasured moments.

Baby Sister

2010-02-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

“People have been asking me if I was going to have kids,
and I had puppies instead.”

Kate Jackson

Lately, the kids have been asking for a little sister. It first started as comments slyly thrown into everyday conversation – “Hey mom… did you know that Jacinto has a new baby sister?” or “Mom, last night I had the weirdest dream… I dreamed we had a baby sister!” and (my favorite) “This is a picture of the family – there’s dad, you, my sisters, my brothers, the goats, the cats, the chickens… and this is our new baby sister!”

I was not overly concerned (thinking this was just a passing whim) until the five-year-old proudly announced at church that his “mommy is having a baby” and the congratulations starting coming my way. At that point I realized that something had to be done.

“Mr. V.” I said, “Do you realize that the whole church congregation thinks we’re adding another child to the Rancho?”

Without looking away from the TV he sarcastically replied, “If that happened we would have to name her Milagro (Miracle).”

And so we did the next best thing – We bought the kids a puppy.

Bella (named in honor of THE Bella from THAT famous novel) is a white, supposedly Cockapoo, who has a striking resemblance to the dog from the movie Bolt.

Like "new parents" Mr. V and I decided we needed to educate ourselves on how to best care for and raise this new family member. And so, we became devoted fans of Cesar Millan, faithfully watching The Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic Channel.

We studied Cesar’s complete literary collection with titles such as How to Raise the Perfect Dog, Be the Pack Leader, and The Everyday Guide to Understanding and Correcting Common Dog Problems. We even secretly subscribed to Cesar’s Way – “the premier lifestyle magazine for people with dogs”.

Needless to say we have become quite knowledgeable on the topics of crate training, proper dog nutrition, and puppy apparel. We can tell you what the experts say about feeding schedules, house breaking, and grooming "in five easy steps".

In addition to our impressive collection of baseball mitts, Tonka trucks, and Twilight paraphernalia we now have doggy bones and chew toys.

Last night, after all the kids (and the puppy) were asleep Mr. V. turned to me and said, “Dear, having a puppy is a lot of work! I’m exhausted… Do you realize I have to get up with Bella every night to let her out?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to hide my smile and feeling a bit hard hearted for not showing more sympathy.

After all, he was talking to the woman who has changed 27,375 diapers (yes, I actually did the math), cleaned up at least 100,000 sticky messes, watched over 20,000 episodes of Dora, listened to countless hours of teenage drama, survived on minimal sleep... and through it all has managed to remain somewhat sane and coherent.

Yes, I think getting a puppy has been a good thing for the Rancho.

I'm Back

2010-02-06T07:27:00.000-08:00

It's been a LONG while since I last posted. I have been busy with life, and much of my writing has been forwarded to my column in the local newspaper.

Well, the newspaper has "gone ag" and is no longer interested in columns like A Day At The Rancho as they will now be focusing on farm things. Go figure... life in a small town. I guess we'll now be reading about tractors, irrigation, roping, and such.

It is not a bad thing, however. There is something to be said about writing "for the joy of it" and not having to worry about deadlines or topics.

The purpose of my blog has always been to have a venue for my writing with no hidden agendas. So, now what you read will be just that -- writing for fun about the everyday, ordinary things of life.

Tell Me Why

2009-10-19T00:16:00.000-07:00

“A year, ten years from now, I’ll remember this;

not why, only that we were

here like this together.”

Adrienne Rich

I love being a mom. It was something I always hoped for, and something I truly enjoy. It is, however, something for which I was not fully prepared. Despite the countless hours of child development classes, babysitting seven younger siblings, and reading Parenting Magazine I still had many questions.

Even now, fifteen years later, I find that one question continues to resonate within my brain – Why?

Why did you tell our church clergy that “Mommy has a boyfriend named Jack”? Why did you fill the living room with water? Why did you stick a rock in your ear? Why did you eat the dog’s thyroid medication? And, why did you pluck ALL your eyebrows?

Even at this very moment I am mulling over one question – Why can my child be deathly ill for several days, and the moment I walk into the doctor’s office he is miraculously healed?

This month we at the Rancho fell victim to the infamous influenza virus. Amid the mountains of Kleenex, Tylenol, and disinfectant I wondered if it would ever end. Finally, after several days of quarantine we seemed to all recover except the three-year-old who appeared to be on the verge of certain demise.

The poor child, who is usually a firecracker of energy, lay motionless on the couch. His eyes were glazed. His head was hot. His nose was red and he had a persistent cough that just wouldn’t go away. When he couldn’t be enticed to watch another episode of Dora I began to worry.

As an experienced mother I am not one to seek medical assistance too quickly, but as the day went on his condition worsened. And as luck would have it, it was 10:00 p.m. on a weekend.

At that moment I had a choice to make (remember I am big on choices). Tough it out or seek medical attention? As scenes of “worse scenarios” rushed through my mind I chose to take him to the hospital emergency room.

What happened next surely would have won me the $100,000 prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

The moment we walked through the hospital doors the poor child, who just minutes before was not coherent enough to tell me his name, jumped out of Mr. V’s arms and started running around the lobby without a single cough or sniffle.

He refused to wear the flu mask, jumped on the waiting room chairs, and had a full fledged conversation with the receptionist. (Mr. V and I tried to sneak out the back without being noticed, but it was too late.) He then went on to shake the doctor’s hand, recite a whole episode of Sponge Bob, and ask questions about every piece of medical equipment in view.

As the doctor looked at us with that “Why did you bring your kid to the ER?” look, I managed to stammer, “But he was sick!”

So, that brings me to another “Why”. Why should I ever pay another medical bill when all I have to do is walk through the door?

Nurture vs. Nature Revisited

2009-10-04T19:16:00.000-07:00

“Our birth is
but a sleep
and a forgetting:
The Soul that
rises with us,
our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere
its setting,
And cometh
from afar.”
William Wordsworth

Lately, at the Rancho we have had this very conversation. Our concerns stem from an incident with Child Number Four (the Kindergartner).

The other day he sat eating a plate of nachos with chili con carne when he enthusiastically exclaimed, "Dad, this is delicious! These PEANUTS are fabulous!"

Mr. V had to stop and process this for a moment and then asked, "What did you say?"

"I said," responded Number Four, "These PEANUTS are actually fabulous!"

When Mr. V came to me I could see the deep concern on his face. "Dear," he said, "I have failed as a father."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He replied, "I have failed to properly teach my son how to be a Mexican. He doesn't know the difference between PEANUTS and BEANS!"

So, that brought us to the current debate. Personally, I think we come to this life with many characteristics that are just us and have always been.

Has my husband failed in his responsibilities? I don't think so. Parenthood is so much more.

Often times amid the noise, commotion, and business of everyday life I have caught glimpses of true greatness in my little ones. It is something unspoken, but surely felt in those unexpected moments that seem to just happen.

And so, as I consider the crayon artwork on my walls and the piles of clutter that surround me, I remind myself that it really isn’t about peanuts or beans, or clean rooms, or personal space. It is about helping them understand who they are and who they can become.

Small Town

2009-09-14T15:39:00.001-07:00

“The nice part about living in a small town

is that when you don't know what

you're doing, someone else does.”
Unknown

I grew up in the city. It was nothing in comparison to the millions of Mexico City, but it was a city. It was a place where we knew only some of our neighbors, locked the doors each time we left the house, and relied on public transportation to get anywhere my mom wouldn’t drive us.

The day Mr. V announced that he had been offered his first teaching job in Warden, Washington was the day my dreams of urban bliss wistfully floated away into the ozone above. As you can imagine, I did not come willingly to the Basin.

I will never forget my introduction to rural life. Early one morning Mr. V informed me that we would be “changing water”. As a newlywed I still believed in my spouse’s perfection, so I willingly followed.

With the crowing of the rooster I donned on my irrigation boots and hopped into the old pickup truck. As the morning sky began to appear we drove down the gravel road, past the big haystack, to the bean field. With all the passion of a politician giving his first speech, Mr. V began to explain the intricate art of changing water.

“First, you pick up the siphon tube like this”, he said as he carefully demonstrated the procedure. “Now, put one end into the water just so… and with your mouth on the other end, suck in like you would a straw… really fast to get the water going…”

I never stopped to question his motives until I experienced the taste of ditch water which, in my mind, slightly resembled the flavor of stinky gym socks. As he fell to the ground shaking with laughter, I threw my boot at his head and swore I would NEVER live in a small town. That was almost twenty years ago.

Since then my ideas have changed. Over the years I have found that there are many benefits to country living. Where else could I write a check without showing ID, leave an IOU at the local gas station when I forget my wallet, and be informed of all news events without ever having to turn on the TV?

My kids have experienced the benefits of 4-H; play sports in an amazing city league with their uncle as coach; and will be able to name everyone in their graduating class. I am related to my church clergy and my doctor is our next door neighbor. Everyone waves as they drive by and I have never lacked fresh produce. It is safe to play outside, the air is clean, and you can see the stars at night. And in the evening I can sit on my front porch, and if I listen carefully I can hear the sound of workers singing in the field as they change water.

Yes, this is a nice place to live and we at the Rancho have no plans of leaving our small town anytime soon. After all, if I should wake up one morning to find that I can’t remember my name or anything going on in my life, all I have to do is ask the ladies down the road. They’ll fill me in on all the details.

Time

2009-09-04T09:02:00.000-07:00

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow,

and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace

from day to day."
William Shakespeare

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting life is. When I was younger it seemed that time couldn't move fast enough. I was always in a hurry "to get there" -- to grow up, to finish school, to get married, to buy that first house... Now, I find that time moves so quickly that I cannot seem to hold on to any one moment, like sand sifting through my fingers. I have often told myself, "I must remember this moment," only to find that the moment becomes buried and lost in time.

Not long ago I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad. Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me.

And then this last week I sent my fourth Kindergartener off to school. I have never been one to shed a tear during this rite of passage. Although I love being a mom, the first day of Kindergarten has always been a joyous occasion as I wave goodbye to the bus and happily anticipate more time for myself.

This time, however, as I watched the bus drive away I felt a bit of emptiness. I looked at my three-year-old (the last one left at home) with his sticky hands and insistent cries of, “Play with me, mommy!” and thought about the moments that were slipping by way too fast.

All of a sudden the plans I had made for myself this year -- my time to finish that masters degree, my time to work on the career put on hold for so many years, my time to "rediscover myself" and "begin where I left off" -- all those plans suddenly seemed so unimportant.

I found myself frantically searching for more time. More time to read just one more story… More time to cuddle with kids in bed… More time to listen to the detailed step-by-step account of my teenager’s day… More time to laugh with Mr. V… More time for all those things that for so long I wished would just "hurry up and happen".

And, although I know that I can never turn back the hours (and I'm not sure I would even try), I have come to realize that I must always remember to savor the moments before they disappear in time.

Early Morning Run

2009-08-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

“It is not the mountain we conquer
but ourselves.”
Sir Edmund Hillary

Some months ago Mr. V excitedly announced that he had registered us to run a race. “It will be fun!” he said. “We will run every morning and …”

Upon hearing the words “run” and “morning” in the same sentence I started to feel faint and began to teeter on the brink of hyperventilation. You see, I have never considered myself a runner.

My mind immediately took me back to Dixon Jr. High and Miss Roland’s gym class. It is one of those moments forever engraved upon the walls of my mind. I can remember every detail -- the feel of my blue polyester gym shorts; the boy staring at me because he wanted to “be more than friends”; and the sweet sounds of the Doobie Brothers’ What A Fool Believes playing somewhere in the background. It was the day of the mile run and I knew for certain I would surely die before ever reaching the end. And so, I hid behind the big pine tree and watched the other kids run, joining them on the very last lap. I am convinced that Miss Roland’s mind must have been elsewhere that day as she didn’t even notice, and happily called out, “Seven minutes and three seconds!” as I crossed the finish line. That day I joined the prestigious ranks of Presidential Physical Fitness Award hopefuls.

Mr. V’s continued speech pulled me back to the present. “Come on,” he said, “you can do it!” At that moment I had a choice, and as I am a great believer that there are always choices in life, I chose to follow. After all, I have been following this man for almost twenty years and he has never led me astray.

There is much to be said about an early morning run. There is something awe inspiring in how the morning sky suddenly appears, like watercolors blending against the horizon. The air is crisp with a certain stillness that magnifies even the smallest sounds. And in each run there is a sense of accomplishment. What starts as a few steps turns into yards, which eventually become miles. Little by little the daunting task becomes a possibility. It is in moments like this that you realize just how much it means to have someone believe in you.

On July 4th we ran our race – Mr. V. and I, and two of our children. And although I must confess (as I promised him I would) that my nine-year-old crossed the finish line ahead of me, I did finish the race.

I am certain you will never find me among the Tarahumara Indians -- legendary phantom runners of Mexico’s Copper Canyon. After all, my DNA hails from the islands of the South Pacific, and just how many times can you run around one small island? If you look, however, you may see me some mornings running along a ditch bank with Mr. V by my side. And if you ask, you may even find that I am considering my next race, especially since I still have a score to settle with my nine-year-old.

Confessions Of A Perfectionist

2009-08-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have had a hard time sitting down to write. Part of it has to do with summer and the laziness of this time of year, and part has to do with writing for a deadline. And so, since I have not posted for quite some time, and have been using old posts for my column, I decided I needed new material. Despite my most creative efforts, nothing came to mind. I do have a few projects in the works, but true to the spirit of this post I decided against perfection. For now I'm giving you my revision -- the one for this week's column. I promise to soon get back into the routine, but not until after a few more dips in the pool.

"Homes are for free expression,
not for good impression."

Helen North from the movie Yours, Mine and Ours (2005).

I have come to realize (OK, so I realized this a LONG time ago) that I am a perfectionist. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that as a young bride I prided myself in the fact that my house was immaculate to the point that even the patterns from the vacuum cleaner lined up perfectly in the carpet.

Oh, how things have changed over the years! It might have something to do with giving birth to five kids, Mr. V's pasture full of farm animals, or the lack of sleep. Somehow, along the way I realized that perfection is just plain HARD WORK! And so, I now view life a bit differently.

I now find great satisfaction in the fact that (according to my five-year-old) I am the "best storyteller ever!" I have discovered that I am impressive at comforting a crying toddler as my kisses magically cure any ailment. I can make Mac-N-Cheese with the best of them, and my blueberry pancakes are scrumptiously delicious. I am able to iron any shirt in the dryer, am an expert at ignoring crumbs on the kitchen floor, and can make something out of nothing. I am the best at singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider", and have endured watching Dora The Explorer over 20,000 times in a row. I have discovered that a bit of humor goes a long way, and that it's best to just shut my teenagers' bedroom doors. And most of all, I have found that all of us at the Rancho are most happy when mistakes are allowed.

I must admit, however, that there are times of relapse when I get the urge to break out of my not so perfect ways. In those moments of temptation I take a few deep breaths and remind myself to enjoy the journey. After all, hair does eventually grow back; it's great that the kids want to cook; a throw pillow will easily cover where the hamster chewed through the couch; and a baby goat in the house it not the end of the world!

Final Farewell

2009-07-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

It was a great honor to be asked to present the eulogy at my grandfather’s funeral. For quite some time I contemplated what to write – looking for just the right thing to say. I have often sat at funerals where every minute indiscretion of the deceased’s life is hung out like dirty laundry for all to see. At other times I have listened as the speaker describes a life of perfection without any hint of mortal transgression.

I did not want this for my grandfather as he was neither. His life was more like a favorite novel, read and reread until the pages are frayed and faded at the favorite parts. It was a story full of conflict, resolution, intrigue, anticipation, romance, deception, love, forgiveness, and redemption. And like a good novel, when it was over, we all closed the last page and thought, “Ah, yes -- that was a good story!”

Early in the morning, in that space between slumber and wakefulness, the words came to me. They came so clearly that I could see them written on the page, but even more, I could feel them. And when I read them, I knew that this was how I must begin his final tribute.

The Refiner’s Touch
By N. Villarreal

I watched from afar the struggling man
Walk a pathway at times unclear.
Through uphill fight
And valleys deep
I saw the Master near.

With sometimes fire and sometimes ice
I thought the man’s soul might break,
But the Refiner’s touch
Though harsh at times,
He never did forsake.

And the man never stopped
Although he did stray
At times along the path.
His forward steps kept a steady pace
To the end he came at last.

And as he looked up
I saw in his eye
A weariness with words untold,
But where once was hard and unrefined
I saw the smoothest gold.

“... I know at times he wondered if his life had made a difference, and he worried about some of the choices made along the way. But his life did make a difference, and the legacy he leaves behind is one of the greatest gifts he could ever give. I will surely miss him, but I find great comfort in the knowledge that life is eternal, and the bonds of family stretch far beyond the confines of this mortal existence.”

**If any family or close friends would like a copy of the eulogy in its entirety, please e-mail me or leave a comment on the blog.

Again

2009-07-10T20:11:00.000-07:00

Once again we packed the whole Rancho into our SUV to make that twelve hour trip back to the place of mountains – the second time in one week.

The trip was unplanned as this time we were returning for a funeral. And once again I wondered if the wild two-year-old should have some Benadryl; why one of my offspring peed in a water bottle instead of telling us he needed to go; if the teenager could please be a little nicer; and what passing cars thought upon seeing the five-year-old licking the windows.

I thought about funeral potatoes, a military salute, a handwritten personal history, laughter while remembering, and tears while missing. And I thought about family, and about how in times such as these it is good to be surrounded by loved ones.

And along the way I learned some important truths: NEVER stay in a hotel whose name contains any type of number, and if the billboard says, “Pet Friendly” it should be avoided at all costs.

Before leaving it was decided we would stay the night at the half-way point. In search of a good deal, I looked for a hotel online through one of the many travel sites available on the world wide web. So when this numbered hotel came up with a room that “sleeps five” for half the cost, I immediately made the non-transferable, non-refundable reservation. I soon learned, however, that in cyberspace four stars really means two, and two stars is more like ¼ a star.

The first clue should have been the bare-chested biker dude who told me to turn off the SUV so he could talk on his cell phone while we waited for Mr. V to check in.

The second clue came when the girl at the front desk told Mr. V with a wink, “All we ask is that you don’t party like a rock star.”

And then there was the man carrying a bag of microwave popcorn who muttered to himself as he took his two little Cockapoos to the “pets only” area behind the parking lot.

And finally, there was the swimming pool smaller than the water trough in our front pasture. These were all signs, but we were just too tired to notice.

But we did notice after the first child used the bathroom and we realized there was no bathroom fan. The five-year-old then looked around and loudly announced, “This hotel smells like c**p!” We chose to overlook his creative use of language as he was exactly right.

Upon closer inspection it was determined that the beds looked “clean enough”, and were free of any bug infestation, so we decided to stay (mostly because Mr. V and I were too tired to fathom hauling the whole crew to another location).

And so we slept, all seven of us, in two supposedly queen sized beds. The air conditioner rattled, the windows shook, and the room was in dire need of potpourri, but we were “making memories.”

When the 5:00 a.m. alarm sounded Mr. V turned on the heater before waking the kids. What happened next was definitely a memory made. The heater started spewing thick black smoke setting off the fire alarm.

Like Nacho Libre flying across the fighting ring with his Eagle Powers, Mr. V jumped to the ceiling and disconnected the alarm. In a record thirty seconds we had the whole Rancho clan packed and out the door.

As we rushed to the SUV the teenager exclaimed, “I didn’t want to swim there anyway. The last time my friend and her family swam at the Super 8 they all got sick!”

Goodbye

2009-07-01T01:50:00.000-07:00

“Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss

Each summer we pack ourselves, five kids, and piles of “too much junk” into the SUV to make our annual pilgrimage to the place of my childhood. Over the Blues, through the valley, past endless fields of sagebrush, until we reach the mountains of the Wasatch Front.

As we drive I am thinking, “Who gave the five-year-old a harmonica? How many granola bars have been stuffed under the back seat? Will the neighbor boy remember to water my flowers? Should I give the wild two-year-old some more Benadryl? Will my teenager go deaf after listening to twelve hours of ipod?...”

In my heart I know that although this trip will be as wonderful as it is each year, it will also be a last goodbye to a grandfather dearly loved. After 92 years and a lifetime of experiences, he is slowly fading away. His frail body has become a shadow of the man he once was, and although I will not mourn his passing (as his was a life well-lived), I will surely miss him.

And so we drive, and I think about what the next few days will hold -- trips to the museum and amusement park, BBQ with family and friends, conversations late into the night, cousins for my kids, afternoon drives past our first apartment and the place where our oldest was born, hikes up the mountain, a 5K race, and time with those most loved.

And I also think about what I will say to him. How do you adequately thank someone for a lifetime of sacrifice and service? How do you express a love that is far beyond words? What questions do you ask when there may not be time for others? How do you say goodbye when you know that this will be your last?

And as we drive, I am not sad that he will soon be leaving – I find great comfort in a lifetime of memories and the belief that life is eternal. I am, however, reminded once again that life is fragile and each moment must be savored.

** Arthur J. Allen passed away on Tuesday, July 7, 2009. We do not mourn his passing as we know he is surrounded by loved ones and is once again with his beloved Mary. But, oh how we miss him! We thank him for the legacy he leaves behind, and look forward to the time when we will be reunited. For we know that life is eternal and that the bonds of family stretch far beyond this mortal existence.

Complacency

2009-06-22T22:41:00.000-07:00

“There once was a beautiful house on a hill that worked so hard to stand until one day it just crumbled, disappearing into dust. Its foundation had been neglected for so long that it could no longer carry the weight of its walls.”

-- L. Leavitt

Somewhere in the middle lies a place called Complacency. It starts where the newness leaves off and the good is “good enough”. It is a place of passing words and passing actions, where we hold on because that’s what we’ve always done, and life is lived side by side rather than ever intersecting. It is where predictability and habit preside, and routines become lifetimes. It is a place often “stumbled upon” and unrecognized; and is not to be confused with Love, Trust, or Loyalty, as it is a very dangerous place to venture. And in the end the carelessness that leads us there will slowly eat away at the foundation of all we hold dear, until we are left holding only the pieces.

Some time ago I realized that my life consisted of passing conversations as I hurried to and from meetings, baseball games, piano lessons, parent-teacher conferences, grocery shopping, doctor appointments, church responsibilities … It was something that just happened, and before I even noticed it seemed that Mr. V and I were living our lives side by side -- a far cry from the hopes and dreams we once shared.

It was at this time we discovered Stehekin, a quaint little town nestled within the North Cascade Mountains of Washington State, on the far edge of Lake Chelan. Accessible only by boat, foot, or float plane, it is a step back in time to a life uncluttered and untouched by the rest of the world. It is a place where Carl the gardener says that pulling weeds is not hard work, but a chosen lifestyle. It is a place where the smell of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls floats from bakery windows, filling the morning air. It is a one room school house, a cabin retreat, and a quiet stroll through the woods. It is a challenging bike trek 13.6 miles up the mountain, and a thrilling ride back down. It is the power of a rushing river, the beauty of the hike, the still of silence, and the majesty of the mountains. It is quiet conversations, shared thoughts, and remembered moments. And to us… it was salvation.

And so each year we return to renew and recommit to those things we hold most dear. And each time we come away with a stronger resolve to not merely endure, but together enjoy the journey along the way. For we have learned that Complacency is not joy, and that true joy can be found in caring for the intricate relationships of life.

Life On His Planet

2009-06-09T02:15:00.000-07:00

1. If you swallow a battery you get to go to the hospital where they take cool pictures of your stomach and try to decide if they have to perform surgery. You also get to see your mother practice relaxation breathing.

2. When you live on a farm it's OK to pee outside, even in below freezing weather.

3. Nacho Libre is the coolest movie ever made EVER!

4. "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" is TOO an appropriate church song.

5. According to Poison Control eating a whole bottle of Tums will not hurt you... Also, the dog's thyroid medication is not poisonous; neither is White-Out, permanent marker, or the solution dad has to drink before his colonoscopy.

6. Mountain biking is an indoor sport...so is cliff diving, high jumping, and MMA fighting.

Why?

2009-06-01T10:08:00.000-07:00

After the first few years of marital bliss I so wanted to have a baby! I dreamed of having a cute little one to cuddle and hold. I thought, "How hard can it be?... After all, my degree is in Human Development and I do know everything about early childhood..."

Well, the moment I first held my screaming red-faced baby girl I realized that parenthood was going to be more like a roller coaster ride than a sweet stroll through the park.

Wouldn't it be nice if every baby came with an owner's manual?

Troubleshooting, p. 5

1. If your baby cries too much simply press the off button located under the left ankle. If this doesn't work, just remove batteries and replace when you are ready.

2. If you have difficulty feeding your two-year-old foods other than cold cereal, push the reset button located under the right ankle, and hold for sixty seconds. Your child can be reprogrammed to eat green peas, brussel sprouts, grilled salmon, and hummus, as well as a variety of other nutritious and filling foods.

3. Your child comes equipped with a volume adjuster and mute button (found behind the left ear). Volume settings include Screaming At The Top of Lungs, Sweet and Giggly, Sleepy Sweet, and Barely Breathing. If all else fails, push the mute button to experience Sweet Silence.

4. After the first ten years of use your child may experience bouts of rolling eyes and stomping feet. This is part of the normal wear and tear of your product; however, replacement parts my be purchased through our extended warranty program.

5. Sometimes your child may move too fast. A remote control pause button can be purchased for an additional cost of $19.99 (plus shipping and handling). The pause feature may be used for various purposes: slow down a child running through the clothes racks at Walmart long enough to catch him; stop a rambling teenager mid-sentence giving you time to think of a reply; freeze a three-year-old before he smashes the next egg into the carpet or turns on the garden hose to fill the living room with water; or to create more personal time for talking on the phone and blog writing. This feature may also be used to stop time, giving you a chance to savor the moment before it "hurries up and happens".

On many occasions I have found myself wondering WHY. "Why did my child just do that? ... Why on school days do I have to drag my kids out of bed, but on vacation days they're up at 6:00 a.m. ?.. Why do my kids complain about having to eat healthy, but when I'm not looking they drink all my Acai Berry Blend juice?... Why can't I find that darn owner's manual?

Gone

2009-05-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

"Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday.

Gone like a soldier in the Civil War -- bang, bang.

Gone like a '59 Cadillac,

Like all the good things that ain't never coming back.

She's gone, gone, gone, gone... she's gone!"

From Gone by Montgomery Gentry

I have a problem. It seems that I have misplaced my waist. I’m not sure how long she has been missing, but today it was quite evident that she is gone. I searched everywhere -- behind the dryer; underneath the pair of college jeans still hanging in my closet; between the pretty PJ’s so neatly tucked in my most bottom drawer; and even in that vintage cheerleader outfit hidden away in the old cedar chest. Still, I could not find her.

So, how does one go about filing a missing persons report when the subject is one of such sensitive matter?

Hello, Officer... I’d like to file a missing persons report. Yes... her name is Waist. Last name? Oh... hmm... Away. Yes, that’s it – Waist Away. When did I last see her? Well, I’m not quite sure. I know she was a permanent fixture around here back in 1994. Yes, we were great friends. Since then, however, the relationship has been somewhat stressed. She used to come and go quite a bit until; finally, she just stopped coming. Yes, I know – 1994 was a LONG time ago! Why am I calling now? Well, it’s because I just realized that she may be permanently gone and I am a bit worried. What!? -- Look for her where?.. At Jennie Craig?.. Behind the Chunky Monkey Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer?.. In the three mile run?..”

Perhaps I should just accept the fact that Waist has moved on to bigger and better things and is never coming back. Maybe it was the passing years, or the five babies, or the super size servings of double chocolate chunk pudding cake that finally pushed her away. I don’t know, but I do miss her.

Mr. V (bless his heart) tries to comfort me by saying that Waist is much overrated and I am better off without her. Maybe I can convince him to help me look for her one last time.

Do you think she might be hiding in a plate of Olive Garden Five Cheese Ziti al Forno and a big scoop of Chocolate Gelato? I might just check there tonight.

The Art Of Impression

2009-05-20T10:30:00.000-07:00

"The ultimate in hot. This sauce is way past insanity. WARNING: Keep out of reach of children. Consume one drop at a time with extreme caution. Pure Habanero pepper enhanced with Habanero infused flavor create a sauce measured at 119,700 Scoville units. Wicked beyond belief! NUCLEAR."

Even after all these years of marriage, Mr. V never ceases to amaze me. Although we have a house full of kids and there is no chance of me ever leaving (I am quite comfortable, and why in the world would I ever want to train another husband?), he still feels the need to impress me.

At first it was little things -- tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue, flipping a toothpick between his teeth, and holding his breath for amazing lengths of time. As our relationship progressed he moved on to greater and more impressive feats -- driving twelve hours in a car without a radio just to see me, spear fishing with my dad despite his fear of sharks, and playing rugby with the Tongan cousins.

One of my ultimate favorites was the night he cooked me a full-course meal complete with Spanish Rice and homemade enchiladas. I think his moves were quite calculated as that was the same night he asked me to marry him. Without hesitation I accepted the proposal. After all, how could I resist a man who knew how to cook?

So this brings us to his most recent feat. The sign read: "Grow up and be a man! DARE to try the HOTTEST hot sauce in the world!"

It might have been a mid-life crisis, or perhaps it was the skinny brace-faced boy behind the counter taunting him. Either way, it was a thrilling challenge Mr. V could not resist.

And so, turning to the boy he said, "Bring it on... I'm going to impress my wife!" "Are you sure?..." I asked. "Come on," he said, "I am a Mexi-CAN! I can handle a little bit of hot sauce."

He should have listened when the boy asked, "Do you like to cry?" He should have thought twice when the boy put on thick rubber gloves before even touching the bottle, but at this point my dear husband was far beyond any rational thinking.

And so the boy put a drop of hot sauce the size of a grain of rice onto a cracker. With a grin Mr. V popped it into his mouth and gulped it down in less than ten seconds. What happened next is a moment to remember (and I certainly did savor it).

My poor husband started to sweat from every pore. His eyes watered, his nose ran, his tongue swelled, and he turned the brightest red ever possible for a Mexican. As he started to sway he managed to whisper, "Milk, I need milk!" It was one of those moments when time stands still and all seems to move in slow motion. My first thought was, "What do I do if he passes out? I cannot possibly touch his lips to give him mouth to mouth!"

A quart of ice cream and four cups of milk later my husband was recovered enough to say, "There, I did it! I am one of the few who dared to try the hottest hot sauce in the world!"

And although I was secretly somewhat impressed, I couldn't resist saying, "If you REALLY wanted to impress me all you had to do was vacuum the livingroom!"

Time

2009-05-19T07:56:00.000-07:00

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day."

William Shakespeare

The other day I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad. Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me. All the plans I had made for myself this year -- my time to finish that masters degree, my time to work on the career put on hold for so many years, my time to "rediscover myself" and "begin where I left off" -- all those plans suddenly seemed so insignificant. I found myself frantically searching for more time... More time for all those things that for so long I wished would just "hurry up and happen". And, although I realize that I can never turn back (and I'm not sure I would even try), from this point on I will take time to savor each moment as it comes.

Confession

2009-04-15T07:58:00.000-07:00

"It is the confession,

not the priest,

that gives us

absolution."

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish poet and dramatist.

They say confession is good for the soul. It cleans the inner vessel and prepares us to meet our maker. If this is the case, then all of us at the Rancho are well on our way to sainthood.

It all began when one of the kids blurted out that they had been paid $10 to do a friend's homework. The poor child just couldn't handle the guilt any longer. This tearful confession left such an impression on the rest of the Rancho that suddenly confessions where coming out of nowhere: It was me who broke the front doorknob... I didn't forget to feed the cats; I just didn't want to... I spit in my brother's milk before giving it to him... I told the boys to fill the livingroom with water."

And so, in light of the situation I feel that there are some things that I, too, must confess. (Now, this is the only time you will ever see these things in writing, and if you ask me I will vehemently deny every word.)

One time I completely forgot to feed my kids.

I went the whole day and just

forgot to feed them.

Then there was the time I accidentally grabbed the tube of Icy Hot muscle rub instead of Desitan diaper rash medicine.

I did learn, however, that Burn Free burn

cream is definitely all they claim it to be.

Sometimes my kids sleep in their clothes

because this makes it easier to get them ready

for daycare the next morning.

When my husband is away on business trips

the kids and I eat only cold cereal.

And the reason that the new phone doesn’t

work is because it fell in the toilet.

There -- having said this, I can now get back to playing on my Facebook.

Do The Math

2009-04-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

As we get older we start to contemplate some of life's more serious questions:

What is the purpose of life?

What brings true happiness?

Do I really have a houseful of kids and a

mortgage payment?

Would it be possible to make Bill and Melinda Gates the legal guardians of my children should I

meet an early demise?

Last night, as I lay pondering these things, I realized that one unanswered question still weighed heavily on my mind.

How many diapers have I changed in my lifetime?

And so, after developing a scientifically precise formula, I set out to find the answer.

Average number of diapers used per day x

Number of days per year x

Average number of years in diapers x

Number of children

My findings were absolutely astounding! According to my calculations I have changed at least 27,375 diapers in my lifetime! This does not include any diapers changed before I became a mother or the diapers of other people's children.

So... Wonder Woman and Sarah Palin, STEP ASIDE-- I am officially nominating myself as one of America's most amazing women!

Choices

2009-04-07T08:06:00.000-07:00

A Step Past The Crossroad

A step past the crossroad I stop and turn
To reflect upon paths not taken.
A slight yearning within
Stirs the clouds of regret
And darkens my road up ahead.

Yet, just past the crossroad I cannot turn back
And I question if indeed I would.
If given this path again to trod
Would my steps follow course?
Would I have change of heart?

Of such things I cannot say
But reflection grants me this,
In dwelling upon paths not taken
My eyes might easily miss
The light on the road up ahead.

In life there are always choices.

Work + Family

2009-03-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

Some years ago Mr. V and I sat in an interview with a respected church leader. In the course of the conversation we expressed our concerns about balancing work and family. I have never forgotten the response he gave us--

"The idea of balance between work and family is a myth -- It doesn't exist. We can only set priorities and stick to them."

I have had the following quote on my fridge for several years now. It is a constant reminder of the priorities in my life:

WORK + FAMILY

From Life's Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin

Mrs. V

2009-03-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

If you would have asked me twenty years ago, I would have told you that I'd rather have all my teeth pulled without anesthesia than ever teach elementary school. At the time the only Elementary Education majors I knew were people who absolutely LOVED children and wore matching everything (according to the current holiday). They were the "sweet spirits" who dedicated their all to their chosen course of study as there wasn't much else happening in their lives.

That just wasn't me. I was the only girl in my neighborhood that hated babysitting. It may have had something to do with Mrs. LeBaron paying me only .75 after watching her six terrible kids for eight hours. Or it might have been the fact that I absolutely detested sticky hands, boogery noses, and endless questions.

I just couldn't fathom the idea of willingly spending my days with a room full of little kids. My career dreams played more like an Indiana Jones movie. I would be the first to discover the Lost Temple of Altahualupe deep in the jungles of Guatemala. Or maybe I would travel the world to faraway exotic places and spend my time writing wonderfully romantic adventure novels. At the least, my life would be full of travel and adventure, and would certainly have meaning.

Well, all I can say is be careful what you wish for... My dreams happened, but for reasons other than the ones I had imagined.

I did get to travel the world and experience exotic places and adventure. My travels took me to over twenty countries, three continents, and various islands of the sea. I experienced the taste of caviar; felt the oppressive weight of communism as I looked across the Brandenburg Gate from East Berlin to West; swam in the Adriatic Sea; visited the home of Bob Marley, Reggae Legend; danced to the smooth sounds of Merengue on a beach in Puerto Rico; experienced the awe of the Andes Mountains; felt the warmth of Polynesian sand; and cried when the wall came down around Berlin. I lived abroad and fell in love with the Spanish language and the people of Uruguay. But most of all, these experiences brought me closer to home as I realized the great blessings I had been given in my own little piece of the world.

And then there is adventure... The apprehension of being detained at the Yugoslavian border is nothing in comparison to the butterflies felt when making that commitment to be married... FOREVER. The majestic Swiss Alps cannot compare to feeling your baby move within you for the first time. It is quite one thing to be wined and dined by dignitaries, and quite another to have applesauce spit on your face by a laughing toddler. No crazy cab ride through the crowded streets of Lima even comes close to the wild ride of marriage, relationships, children, and home.

And finally, meaning... What could possibly have more meaning than being totally responsible for the life of another?

And so my dreams have brought me full circle. Yesterday, little Rafael wrapped his arms around me and said, "Teacher, I love you" (and I was only the sub). It's amazing that a sticky-hand Kindergartner with a million questions could melt my heart in such a way. And when I got home there was the undeniable joy on my baby's face as he ran to me and covered my cheek with a big boogery kiss.

I have now become one of those people... I will be starting a Masters In Teaching program at a nearby university. I have been subbing regularly at the schools and find that I absolutely enjoy elementary school, especially Kinder through 3rd grade.

I have since discovered that not all elementary school teachers are "sweet spirits". In fact, one of the hottest Latino men I ever met was once a third grade teacher. I liked him so much that I said yes to his marriage proposal after he cooked me some delicious enchiladas.

And although you will NEVER catch me wearing the cutsie Halloween dress with matching pumpkin earrings and orange socks that light up and play the song "Three Little Witches"... You may on occasion find me singing under my breath, "A says a, ant on an apple, a, a, a..."

I Should Have Played The Lottery

2009-03-21T08:09:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back and I am thinking, "So... I should have played the lottery." I think my odds of winning these past few months would have been really good considering our "luck" lately.

Late in November Mr. V found himself in the hospital ER with complications related to a condition that had been corrected years ago. The statistics stated that there was less than a 2% chance of this ever happening. He underwent major emergency surgery and was required to follow a strict liquid diet for several weeks after. Needless to say, he'd rather die than drink another ounce of chicken broth ever again.

And I am wondering, "How many people in the world have this operation a second time? It's like saying, "By the way -- I had my appendix taken out twice!" That would be a good "Guess if I'm Lying" statement. Have you ever played that game? You make three statements -- two are true and one is a lie. The other players have to guess which one is the lie. This first incident should have had me running out to purchase that lotto ticket...

A few weeks later he found himself back in the hospital with dangerously low blood volume. This required blood transfusions and then a myriad of tests to determine the cause of his blood loss. During all this he managed to survive and pass three rigorous days of preliminary exams for his PhD. In the end the doctors never could determine the cause and miraculously the bleeding stopped. This should have been my second clue to get that ticket!

A few weeks later, once again, he was back in the ER with severe abdominal pains. It turns out that he had numerous gall stones and needed to have his gall bladder removed. Again he was back in surgery and by now the hospital had a room especially reserved in his name. Just surviving that ordeal should have clued me in to the possibility of our winning odds.

Now, if this were the end of the story then I would say we just had a run of bad luck, but the story continues... Within a few weeks I began to have abdominal pains. It turns out that I, too, needed to have my gall bladder removed (for different reasons, nevertheless, but the same organ).

So, now I'm wondering (considering our record), "What are the odds of getting my two-year-old completely potty trained within the next month?" and "What are my chances at getting my teenagers to make it through one day without rolling their eyes?" and "Is it even possible for my husband to know what I want without me having to tell him word for word?"

And while we're at it... "Do you think I could actually win the lotto and pay off all my debt and buy a beach house on the North Shore of Oahu and hire a full-time nanny and housekeeper and spend my days writing poetry and eating dried cuttlefish?..."

Or perhaps I would be better off just wondering, "What are the odds of me getting the house clean before the kids get home from school?" Hmm... that's an easy one -- I'd say probably one in one hundred thousand million....

Where are my keys? I think I'll drive down to Bob's Korner and buy me that lotto ticket! -- It's good to be back!

One Of Life's First Lessons

2008-12-31T08:10:00.000-08:00

As parents we are always excited about the progress of our children. We celebrate their first tooth, their first step, their first word, and their first day of school. We faithfully take pictures and record times and dates to remember -- hoping to catch all those memories before they disappear. Well, a few days ago my baby had a great 'first', and as an ethusiastic new convert to blogging I rushed to record the news.

You see, my youngest learned something that his older brothers learned long ago -- If you don't sit still for Larry the Barber (no matter scary it seems), then dad will have to cut your hair himself.

My poor baby now looks like one of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt's adopted Cambodian sons. I have already been asked if he is "enfermito". That is the Spanish way of politely asking, "What in the world happened to your kid?!"

The day it happened I was sick in bed and vaguely remember Mr. V saying something about haircut appointments for the boys. A few hours later I awoke to the sound of hair clippers and a voice saying, "I told you NOT to move!"

I promptly buried my head in the pillow hoping this was all just hallucinations from my cold meds. I remembered back to the day when Mr. V cut my oldest son's hair and I threatened him with all kinds of terrible consequences should he ever venture that way again.

I think my threats worked until last Friday when it was all too much for my poor husband to handle. You see, my youngest is a feisty kid. He could not be convinced to sit in the barber chair, not even on dad's lap, and not even for a bribe of candy. He screamed and kicked and spit at Larry the Barber. Larry, who is usually a pretty patient guy, could not cut the child's hair and Mr. V was forced to take him home. It was at that precise moment when my husband determined to cut our son's hair no matter the consequences...

Soon after that I was pulled out of my blissful dreams (something about a band of super beautiful vampires...) and smacked face first into reality at the Rancho. This time, however, I took a few deep breaths (remember I am an expert at relaxation techniques) and reminded myself that hair does eventually grow back. I then rolled over and pulled the covers over my head -- "Hey, Edward, Jacob wait up for me...!"

Reflections On A Funeral

2008-12-30T08:11:00.000-08:00

Today Mr. V and I attended a funeral for a man we didn't know. I was there to play the piano, and he was there as a support for the children.

When Grandma died my daughter, who was ten at the time, asked me why we cry at funerals. I explained to her that we cry because we just miss the person so much. We feel empty without them, but we have hope that someday we'll see them again.

What I didn't tell her, however, is that there are two types of tears at funerals. The second type is tears of regret -- regret for opportunities lost, time not spent, and words not said.

After seeing too many tears of regret today I came away with a stronger resolve to make more time, laugh a little more, stop and listen more often, and make sure my relationships are more important than my things. I don't want to ever cry tears of regret for a life not lived to the fullest.

Nurture Or Nature?

2008-12-26T08:13:00.000-08:00

Scientists have long debated whether it is nurture or nature that makes us who we are. Do we come to this earth as a clean slate to be shaped into the person we are by our environment? Or are there parts of us that have always been and cannot be changed no matter what we face?

Lately, at the Rancho, we have had this very conversation. Our debate has focused around the question of: Are you born Mexican or do you have to learn to be Mexican?

Our concerns stem from an incident with Child Number Four (of course). The other day he was eating a big plate of nachos with chili con carne when he enthisiastically exclaimed, "Dad, this is delicious! These PEANUTS are fabulous!" Mr. V had to stop and process this for a moment and then asked, "What did you say?" "I said," responded Number Four, "These PEANUTS are fabulous!"

When Mr. V came to me I could see the deep concern on his face. "Dear," he said, "I have failed as a father." "What do you mean?" I asked. He replied, "I have failed to properly teach my son how to be a Mexican. He doesn't know the difference between PEANUTS and BEANS!"

So, that brought us to the current debate. Personally, I think we come to this earth with many characteristics that are just us and can't be changed because we are eternal beings. So, has my husband failed in his responsibilities? I don't think so. After all, this child is part Tongan too, and I just happen to know that the Tongans have a great affinity for peanuts.

And then there was the day M&M came home from Kindergarten and asked, "Mom, are I a Mexican?" ... but that's a whole different story.

Looking In The Mirror

2008-12-22T08:16:00.000-08:00

It is amazing that as we get older we begin to see how much of our mother is in us... and how much of us is in our daughters.

What I Did All Day

2008-12-19T08:25:00.000-08:00

The house was quiet ... definitely too quiet. I walked into the kitchen to find the fridge door wide open and three dozen eggs smashed all over the floor. Not surprisingly the two little boys were nowhere in sight. I soon found them hiding behind the recliner in the familyroom along with another dozen eggs. A year ago I might of had a nervous breakdown in a situation like this, but now I have become quite an expert at relaxation breathing and disassociation. I simply picked up the wooden spoon and threatened (being careful not to leave any marks), and the boys went down for an early nap. So, what were they doing?! They were making cookies.

An Introduction Of Sorts

2008-12-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

For some time I have contemplated starting a blog, but somehow in my mind the idea of "Blogger Mom" seemed to be right up there with "Minivan Mom", "Soccer Mom" , and "Home Room Mom"... not that there is anything wrong with these titles, but I just wasn't ready to go there yet.

Well, after the events of today (which, by the way, was like most days here at the Rancho), I discovered a secret long held by Blogger Moms. Blogging is great therapy! If you are tempted to inflict bodily harm upon any of your offspring -- just blog! If you need to remember how wonderful your husband is and why you fell in love with him in the first place-- just blog! If you need to be in denial that your house is a disaster and there is no possible hope short of a miracle of ever catching up on laundry -- just blog!

So, in these times of economic hardship I have decided that blogging is much less expensive than paying a therapist. And, while my little boys are running around in their underwear at 10:30 p.m. and the livingroom has already been filled with water once today -- I will just blissfully blog.