Happy Old Year

2010 will always be remembered as
The year that…

• Nate’s first book (The Missionary Journals of Joseph F. Smith) was accepted for publication by the Smith-Pettit foundation.
• Eli earned his masters’ degree in psychology and moved his family to Cañon City to take a job at the prison.
• Jesse moved back home and began his graduate studies at Denver University, studying to become a school psychologist.
• Aaron graduated from BYU with a degree in Communication Disorders and moved back home until graduate school.
• Hannah got her wisdom teeth out, and made her debut on you-tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4LZtgkO6QU
• Isaac got his braces off, got his drivers’ license, and had nose surgery (to correct a life-long breathing problem).
• Dallin went from kindergarten to third grade.

As well as the year that…
• I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis and type II diabetes (which isn’t all bad, I’ve lost 12 pounds already on the diabetic diet).
• Nate and Eli didn’t get accepted into doctorate programs; they’ve both reapplied for 2011.
• Jesse got two traffic tickets, one for a missing front license plate and one for not completely stopping before turning right on a red light…
• Hannah was dumped by her first boyfriend.
• Hannah perfected the skill of putting tire chains on her car (due to a rather treacherous trip home for thanksgiving).
• Aaron had knee trouble from jogging and Hannah sprained her ankle.
• Missy the cat perfected the art of catching mice unharmed and freeing them in the house…
• Jesse perfected the art of re-catching mice unharmed and freeing them in a field down the street.
• The kids met their dad’s new wife.

This year has been marked with an abundance of God’s tender mercies, much love, joy and laughter. I am happier than I ever have been; blessed to have fulfilling work, my amazing children around me, the support of extended family and faithful friends, and a bright hope for the coming year.

Marco

I loved Marco the instant I met him, a month ago. He is one of my special ed students, a kindergartener in a fourth-grade body. What’s not to love: his angelic smile, his eagerness to please, his willingness to work hard. I look forward to my one-on-one time with him, the highlights of my day, really. I have an hour with him first thing in the morning for math, teaching him his numbers to 100 and one-digit addition and subtraction. Then later in the morning I have 45 minutes for reading, helping him learn sight words and write sentences. I can tell he loves me, too, for his face lights up when he sees me and he takes my hand as we walk together through the hall. Yesterday he looked at me and said, “Who are you?” I was surprised, had I never introduced myself? Perhaps he had forgotten. I told him my name and he smiled, glad to know. He took my hand and held it tight, then gazing right into my eyes, he smiled and said, “I love Miss Ricks.” “I love you, too, Marco!” He hugged me tight. And that makes it all worthwhile!

Veterans' Day

We celebrated Veterans' Day this week and I was impressed with the nice job the elementary school did in teaching the children about it; even the gym teacher gave a lesson about it and showed the children the dog tags he wears from his brother and father. At the daily morning assembly on Monday, the principal asked "What is a veteran?". One child raised his hand and said, "A morning person?"

And so, to all you veterans:

Thank you for getting up so early and working so hard to keep our country safe and free these many years.

Mr. Saturn

Special request for Jacob in Washington

goals

One of the students I work with is the most frustrating child I’ve ever had to deal with. He is in fifth grade and is EXTREMELY lazy. For 45 minutes a day I help him with his reading and writing, which is like pulling teeth, for he really couldn’t care less. For his latest writing assignment I tried to help him correct the spelling of a few words, “number”, “still”, “write”, but he insisted he didn’t have to spell correctly (nubr, sil, and rieat would be just fine). I tried my little “reading is important” speech that I use quite often, which begins with my asking the child what he wants to be when he grows up (from there I basically go into how you can’t be a such-and-such if you can’t read). But this boy responded, “My mom said I can’t get a job when I grow up because then the government won’t give us the money we get now.” Good Grief!

I mentioned the conversation to another aide and she had a story that topped mine. The second-grade teacher asked the children what they’d like to be when they grow up. One little boy said, “I want to be one of those bank guys.” The teacher said, “You mean a teller?” “No, one of those guys that has a gun.” “Oh, you mean the guard.” “No, not a guard, I wanna be the guy that wears a mask.” The teacher ventured to ask, “Do you mean a robber?” “Yea, yea, that’s it. I wanna be a bank robber.”

That night at supper I told my boys about it. Jesse said, “Well, at least he has goals.” Yea, and if you’re in prison, the government takes care of you…

you can call me Pat

When I first started my job as a substitute teacher’s aide, I became friends with Carol, a librarian at one of the elementary schools. She so appreciated my help shelving books whenever I had down time. Being a sub, I am usually at a different school every day, so ran into Carol only a few times a month after that and throughout the following year, when she had been transferred to a different elementary school, Monroe. We were delighted to see each other again this year, only I noticed that she thinks my name is Pat. At first I didn’t realize she was calling me Pat, but then when I knew for sure, I figured it was no big deal since I don’t see her very often anyway. But my initial week-long assignment at Monroe has been extended first to 4 weeks, then six, and now through the end of December. So the situation has become rather awkward, how do I correct her now? Is it beyond the point of no return? Then the plot thickened yesterday when someone else called me Pat. I am hoping that since enough people know my real name, somehow it will work itself out. In the meantime, I’ll answer to Pat. The truth is, I’ll answer to almost anything.

edumacation

I've not written in so long... I have been busy at school,doing a long-term assignment at an elementary school. This is a question from a reading worksheet I was helping second-grade students with last week.

1) Grandmother has trouble reading because she is ___________________.

farsighted
farfetched
insighted

One little boy ignored the choices and wrote the obviously right answer:

1) Grandmother has trouble reading because she is a gril.
(he meant girl)

tennis anyone?

Boys tennis season is in full swing (ouch!) and Isaac is playing 2 singles this year. He has had two matches already, losing both: 2-6, 0-6 and 4-6, 4-6. At this rate, he thinks he will win his next match! He loves the game, his fabulous coach, and the fun of being on the team. At supper after the last match he started chuckling, remembering the ride home in the activity bus. He told us this story: Stopped at a stop light, he noticed a businessman in an SUV next to the bus; his window was rolled down. So Isaac opened the bus window and said, “Hi, there, how are you?” Startled, the man answered, “Fine, how are you?” And so began a brief but delightful conversation about high school and tennis. The light changed and traffic began moving again, but a few blocks later, when the man turned to head home, he waved to Isaac. I think meeting Isaac was the highlight of his day. Hearing about it was the highlight of mine!

welcome back...

Jesse moved back from Utah last week; he’ll be starting graduate school in Denver soon. A family tradition is to paint our front picture window with greetings to expected guests, so Hannah painted WELCOME BACK, JESSE! on the window the morning of his arrival. More than one person has commented on it, wondering if we had a special news source, for at first glance they thought it read “WELCOME BACK, JESUS!”

boundaries

School started again this week. I work as a substitute teachers’ aide in a dozen or so elementary schools, most often one-on-one with special needs children, helping them manage in a regular classroom setting. The hardest thing about my job is learning the boundaries. Each school has their own rules about how to walk in the halls, what is and isn’t allowed on the playground, etc. Add to that the specific boundaries for each child based on their individual limits and capabilities, and it can get a bit confusing, especially when I’m thrust into a situation with no more heads-up than a label: autistic, Down Syndrome, non-verbal, runner, biter… It takes time to learn the boundaries for each child; what tasks I should help with, what tasks they need to do for themselves, how far I can challenge them before it becomes too frustrating. The children generally know what the boundaries are, and they also know that I don’t know what they are, so I need to stay on top of things so I don’t get hoodwinked. I am getting pretty good at reading and adapting to each situation.

I spent the afternoon yesterday with my nearly-three-year-old grand-daughter, Avey. We had a delightful time together but I realized that the hardest thing about Grand-parenting is also learning the boundaries. My efforts to respect her parent-established boundaries left me wondering about such details as: should she wear socks with her crocks, can she be barefoot in the sandbox, does she get a “treat” after lunch? Fortunately, she knows well her boundaries and I detected no effort on her part to hoodwink me. But I did get a lesson in a finer aspect of boundaries, it’s who you know. Twice during the afternoon, not quite sure how lenient I should be, I said, “I don’t think your Mama will like us to do that.” To which she quickly reassured me, “No, but Daddy will!”

booties

These tiny booties are for a premature baby girl who lost her twin brother at birth. Hopefully she'll grow into them soon!

trust

The story is told of a little blind girl, sitting on her father’s lap during a long train ride. After a few hours a fellow passenger offered to take the little girl on his lap, to give the father a rest. The father consented and lifted his daughter to her new spot. After a while, he asked her, “Do you know who is holding you?” She answered, “No, but you do.” She could rest easy because she trusted that her father would not let her sit with just anyone.

Sometimes in life we go through trials and experiences that we cannot understand. It is a great comfort to imagine our Father asking us, “Do you know why this is happening to you?” And realizing that we can answer with that same trust, “No, but you do.”

the gift

Today I am getting my birthday gift: a new tire, for which I will pay half. You see, Saturday evening we decided to drive across town to our favorite Dutch bakery for one of my favorite treats, Napoleons. Isaac drove. On the way home he was trying to merge into traffic and was watching the traffic instead of the road. He jumped the curb, blew a tire, and sent the hubcap flying down into a ravine. Hannah dashed after the hubcap while Isaac and I surveyed the damage. Wow! We would need to change the tire.

The kids set to work and it was amazing to watch them. They cooperated so well, taking turns with the wrench and jack. Although it was hot, and we all got pretty dirty, no one was cross. No one got frustrated or angry. There was even chatting and laughing! When a gentleman stopped to see if we needed help, Hannah thanked him and said, “We’re just changing the tire; we can handle it.” I was very impressed! The work was done in no time and we cleaned up as best we could with tissues and a bottle of water.

Isaac was very apologetic and offered to pay half of the new tire. He asked if I would drive the rest of the way home. We had a simple supper and quiet evening together enjoying our Napoleons. None of us was worse for the experience; we were all probably better off. Isaac learned a few great lessons, Hannah grew in confidence, and I, well, I think it was the best birthday gift of all, watching my amazing children in action!

happy birthday

Many years ago I read about a very industrious and productive girl, Rhoda Richards, who wove thirteen yards of cloth on the day she celebrated her thirteenth birthday (August 8th, 1797). She has been in the back of my mind all these years, making me wonder at each of my birthdays, what I could “do” to celebrate each passing year.

Today is my 57th birthday and all I can do is chuckle to myself at the large number I now have to work with. Weaving fabric is hardly a possibility, although I could probably manage a length with 57 threads… I suppose I could make 57 cookies or play 57 songs on the piano, although Rhoda is probably tsk-tsk-ing me, remembering the 57 loaves of bread she made the day she turned 57 (or whatever she did that day).

Birthdays give me the urge to quantify myself, evaluate what I’ve done that year, measure my life against what I’d hoped it would be, what I think I could/should have done. But not this year. For some reason I am looking at things differently. I am having trouble quantifying my life, I can’t even think of any major accomplishments this year. I am at a loss.

It occurs to me that perhaps that is the very thing that this year has given me, a new perspective about myself. There is a great peace in coming to the point where one doesn’t need to measure their own value, they accept who they are, appreciating the good and doing the best they can with the not-so-good. After 57 years, I am finally there. I am happy just to be alive. Each day is full of joy. I am content to love and be loved. I am grateful, hopeful. I will celebrate this day just enjoying myself, whatever takes place. I may even have a 57-minute nap!

de-clutter

I am using the summer months to de-clutter my home and simplify my life. Here are some rules of clutter control that have helped me keep order in my home over the years:

1. A place for everything and everything in its place. Label, if necessary.
2. Organize things for efficiency/ease of access.
3. Pick a number and stick with it: if 12 pairs of shoes works for you, then get rid of one before you buy another.
4. Handle something once; resist the urge to pile it up to take care of it “later”.
5. If you haven’t used it in a while, get rid of it; resist the urge to save it “in case” you need it someday, give it to someone who can use it now.
6. When in doubt, throw it out, give it away, or recycle.
7. Displayed items must pass a test: “contribute” in some way to the “spirit” of your home, have sentimental value, or a functional purpose.
8. Take good care of what you have.
9. Weigh the value of an item against the effort it requires: if something requires more time/effort/room than you are willing to give, pass it on to someone else.

I’ve made it a practice to clean/organize one shelf or drawer each day. Of course it doesn’t happen every day, but by trying to keep up with that habit, things never get too far out of control, and pretty much everything gets cleaned/organized at least once a year.

You may have noticed a few changes to my blog. I’m trying to de-clutter that, too, hoping to eliminate unwelcome comments and get back to posting more often.

gravity

We all attended Eli’s recent graduation at the World Arena, where he received his Master’s in Psychology. It was a long, but exciting day. The crowd was so big we were seated three rows from the top. We noticed this sign posted on one of the high beams:

DANGER!

-Gravity-

Not Just

A Good Idea

It’s the LAW

home to safety

This week in Primary, a little 4-yr old girl gave the closing prayer. A leader whispered to her what to say and from my vantage point at the piano I could hear the intended words of the adult as well as the mangled version of the child. Absolutely nothing the adult said came out of the child’s mouth in tact. Now, this is not unusual, I mention it because of the very last plea of the prayer which was meant to be “Bless us to go home safely.” Instead, the child said, “Bless us to go home to safety.” What a profound difference.

It gave me a start because I have only recently realized the value of safety at home. I’m not speaking of physical safety, although that certainly is important. I’m thinking of emotional safety. Our homes should be the place where our needs are respected and our desires at least validated. It should be a place where our opinions are heard, our ideas have merit, and our dreams are nurtured. Our homes should be the safe place to sort through our feelings, to make mistakes, where we have a chance to stretch and grow and learn what works and what doesn’t. When there is safety at home, we are safe to be our truly wonderful selves and gain the confidence to share that self with those outside.

In a home that is not safe, there is criticism, mocking, insults and put-downs. There is anger and punishment that is much too harsh. There is fear and insecurity. It is hard to thrive in an environment that is not emotionally safe. It is the relationships in the home that make it safe, or not. Safe relationships, those characterized by loving kindness, encouragement, support and compassion, create a safe environment. I think that creating and maintaining safe relationships should be the highest priority in every family.

And so, “Amen” to that profound prayer, “Bless us to go home to safety.” Bless us all…

for the love of a woman...

A few weeks ago I was with a special ed boy in another second-grade class at another school. It was “math day”, meaning the classes rotated between rooms for 30-minute sessions of fun math games using dice and dominoes. Fun stuff. The air was filled with math facts, but also an undercurrent of love-triangle intrigue. I caught wind of the facts a little at a time. Davage was planning to fight Tyler at recess for the attentions of Mia. Riddick, Davage’s best friend, was planning to protect him, although Tyler was intending not to protect himself, thinking it to be futile anyway. I did what I could to tone down the escalating animosity, pointing out that no girl was worth it, in these modern times Mia should choose herself and would probably be turned off by their fighting anyway, and they’d both be in trouble (no stranger to either one of them—I’d been around them both enough to be sure of that much). I suspected this was mostly all talk, and that nothing would really happen at recess, but I alerted the teacher as to what was coming down, since I would not be with the class then. When the class came back from recess, 15 minutes late, I wondered what had happened. The whole class was miffed. But all talk of fighting had ceased as everybody’s “miffness” was directed toward Jhalissa, the girl who ignored the bell and kept on playing, costing them all their afternoon recess. Perhaps that was the best outcome of all, uniting the feuding boys against a common enemy. I just hoped they didn’t plan to gang up on Jhalissa after school…

Star Wars Day, the sequel

Revenge of the Sixth!

Star Wars Day

Yet another obscure holiday to celebrate, Star Wars Day. "What is that?" you ask. Why, its the day to greet one and all with the classic words of courage, "May the fourth be with you!"

It was with me today, my second day with two little special ed kindergardeners, Joey and Dylan. Autistic Joey took a shine to me, sitting in my lap and hugging my neck. Of course I hug back and stroke his hands. One of his classmates asked, "Are you Joey's mother?" High praise indeed!

the measure of its creation...

Or: Another One Bites the Dust

Sunday morning I went out for the paper and noticed the neighborhood fox sitting in the neighbor’s yard stalking a squirrel in the tree. By the time I gathered the children and grabbed the camera, the fox had moved to the street for a better view and better shot. We watched for a few minutes then went back to our preparations for church, that is, everyone but Isaac, who wanted to see the drama unfold. His patience paid off, as did the patience of the fox, for within fifteen minutes the squirrel (no doubt having lost his patience) made a run for it, becoming a nice breakfast for a fox family.