Mountain Oma

Two nights of this—

Was totally worth three days of this:

Arizona Cousins greeting Colorado Cousins,

Little cousins meeting big cousins.

Boy buddies,

Girl buddies,

Best buddies.

Weaving,

Braiding,

Knitting thirty-one hearts together.

A couple of nights on the ground was totally worth it!

Fathers

"Kids need fewer critics and more models."

—Thomas S. Monson

"Nobody can do for little children what a loving father can do.

He sprinkles stardust over their lives."

—Alex Haley

"You don't have to worry about what a child will be tomorrow,

if you remember he is someone today."

—Stacia Tauscher

"The word no carries a lot more meaning

when spoken by a father who also knows how to say yes."

—Joyce Maynard

"Teaching his children is the mark of a civilized man."

—J. Ganz Cooney

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."

—Clarence Kelland

"Fathers create the sunshine of childhood."

—Chris Morgen

Definition of a successful father: a man willing to make substantial, long-term sacrifices of his time, money and personal fulfillment and dedicate his efforts to rearing the next generation.

These seven fathers are my heroes.

Sista Weekend

Anna, Heidi, Marta, Amy, four of the seven sistas

Want a spa vacay that costs less than a massage?
Split the cost of a local Hampton Inn Suite
and do it yourself!


Bring fancy party decor, tons of drinks and a bundle of Felicity DVDs,

treats and homemade citrus scrub (check w/Marta for the recipe.)


Provide a complimentary foot bather ...

... a rainbow of polish,

deep conditioning peppermint oil,


and facial masks for all.
We had a surprise shower afterwards—

Welcome to the sistahood, baby girl!
(It's a great idea to have daughters.)

Trust Your Instincts

"Hi, Opa." The little voice squeaked with worried tears.
"We have a big prob-wem!" His panic came through the phone.
"Songbear needs surgery, and there's nobody else who can help us."

Songbear is Benji's best friend, and he'd been hugged til his stuffing was coming out.
A holiday bath had made things worse, and Benji was feeling his buddy's pain.
"Can you help us?" he whimpered.

Opa perfected his sewing skills years ago with Cub Scout shirts and Boy Scout patches. There's nobody he'd rather pick up a needle for than a little boy. He arranged to meet his patient at the Christmas Eve party.

All during the festivities Opa snipped and stitched.

"I'm trying not to hurt him," he said as the needle poked a furry backside.

When Operation Songbear was complete, Benji tied the final knot.
The perfect Christmas present.
(Who needs Santa when you've got an Opa?)

Forty three years ago, when I was just nineteen, I met a 22-year-old boy. We were on a semester abroad without the accouterments we normally judge people by. I didn't know his family, what kind of car they drove, how they interacted. I'd never seen him in real life—his clothes, his friends, his house.

Ten days later we decided to get married. My parents freaked out when they got the letter. What was I thinking? They didn't know a thing about him! But I did. Our first Saturday together he shined my shoes.

Something told me he'd be an awesome Opa.

St. Nicholas Day

Some folks are just naturally merry.

Take St. Nicholas, for instance. Can you imagine him complaining about the cold? Or feeling sorry for himself because he works 24/7? He's a jolly old soul whose main goal in life is to make us smile.

Today is St. Nicholas Day. Children in Holland and Germany (and lots of other places) know that St. Nick is out and about, so they leave a carrot or apple in their shoe as a snack for the reindeer. When they wake up, the carrot has been replaced with a tiny thank-you surprise, and the season of giving is ushered in.

In honor of St. Nicholas Day, I'm thinking of people who always live life as if it were filled with twinkling lights, inspiring music, exciting adventure and endless promise. The ones that make my life better just by being part of it. Optimistic people, merry people.

A cute lady I know brightens a room whenever she enters, not because of her appearance but because of her attitude, her smile and her friendliness. She has lots of interests and is very interesting, but she still seems genuinely interested in me! Another friend always asks about everyone in my family, laughs about funny things I said years ago, and finds the best in any situation. Her enthusiasm is contagious; it's a gift I get whenever we're together.

A wise man said, "Like all human behavior, optimism is learned. No one is born with it or without it. You learn it. You practice it. You try it out until it becomes a habit. And then you can't imagine behaving any other way . . .

"Begin with a smile. Take a real interest in what others are thinking, saying, and doing. Get outside yourself. You can (and do) change everyone with whom you come in contact. The question is whether you add to or subtract from the day's experience." (Don Gale)

As my St. Nicholas Day gift to you, I asked the jolly old man his secret. "I wink a lot," he said. Mmmm . . . maybe that's why he sees only the best in us. (Haven't you always wondered why he leaves presents whether you're naughty or nice?) He looks at the bright side: maybe that's why he's so merry!

Merry Christmas!

Extended Family Christmas

Glancing at each other with sucked in grins, we tried not to giggle out loud. Our feet didn't touch the floor as we left the doctor's office that December 11, 1969, and burst out laughing, hugging each other before the door closed. It was true! Next year we would be known as Santa Claus to someone! We were going to have a baby.

We'd been married three months, and it was our first Christmas together. We were still kids ourselves, 20 and 23, and we were over the moon with excitement. Our own family. How could we celebrate such an eternal occasion? With an evergreen tree!

It fit in the corner of our 8' x 35' trailer (we're talking a pretty skinny tree) but it was green and crisply frozen; when it thawed out we swooned with the smell of fresh pine. We couldn't afford lights or ornaments, so we were creative. Strands of popcorn, and tissue paper snowflakes were hung, along with Christmas cards held on by fat red yarn bows. Even the cost of a package of cranberries stretched our budget too far, so Dee surprised me by stringing red pyracantha berries from the bushes near our mailbox. They shriveled within hours, so every morning he threaded new ones for fresh garlands.

Over our forty two Christmases we've had a forest of Christmas trees, but no tree stands out in my memory like our first one. It was like our marriage: it represented love, hope, effort, dreams and new traditions.

Christmas Eve we announced our good news by singing at the family party:

♬For unto us a child is born; unto us a son/daughter is given. ♬

(We each sang our own prediction.) It was snowing, so we left early and drove home for our own cozy celebration. After reading the Christmas story in Luke 2 we hung our brand-new, home-made stockings on the knobs of the stove and went to bed.

I'll admit, I wanted to stay at my mom's that first year, until I saw Dee's enthusiasm for our own Christmas. I couldn't imagine being away from my family on Christmas morning. Mom's Christmases were something from a fairytale, and Dad always had surprises on top of surprises. It took us a couple of hours to open our presents, and then our grandparents arrived with more. There were fires in both fireplaces, Mom made a lovely buffet in the dining room and Dad gave away cash prizes during football half-times.

I felt torn. I was the first kid to leave home and miss the big family event, and my parents were urging us to stay overnight. (Urge is a mild word—it was somewhere between insist and command.) They didn't support my new family when it upset their old family traditions. I felt traitorous choosing my little family over theirs, and I resented them for making it awkward to choose. I don't think that was their intention, but it was the result. Their lack of enthusiasm for our humble celebration encouraged me to resent Dee for hauling me away from their warm hearth to our chilly coal-oil hot plate.

I'm sure many newly-weds experience the same tug-of-war between childhood memories and adult responsibilities. It's easier to stay in mom and dad's Garden of Eden, than venture off into the cold and dreary world and work to plant a garden for ourselves. But it's a main part of the plan of happiness.

I love the quote that advises parents to "Hold your loved ones to you with wide open arms." It was our turn to start traditions, and Dee was anxious to have our first year together as just a couple—we'd never have it again. My folks were hurt and mad, as they often were when we began "tearing their family apart," (mom's words.) During those years we wondered: Why do we have to debate and defend our efforts to strengthen our marriage and home to our own parents, who ought to be thrilled we're trying to do that very thing!

I had wonderful parents, but they viewed me as theirs, even when I wasn't anymore. It caused a lot of stress, sapped my confidence, created conflict between me and Dee, and resulted in hard feelings that were difficult to overcome. From that first year we started setting goals for when we had adult children, hoping to avoid adding pressure and anxiety to our kid's lives.

1. We will be enthusiastic and support their choices, always, and congratulate them on making tough decisions, never second-guessing.
2. We won't throw cold water on their dreams with all our supposed wisdom.
3. When we tell them they're so awesome, they could do anything, we'll actually let them do the thing they choose to do.
4. We'll remember it's their life—their chance to make decisions (even wrong ones,) their chance to set priorities, their chance to learn it all line upon line, here a little and there a little, and our chance to stand back and enjoy it all from a distance.
5. We will plan for and develop interests that will keep us occupied so we don't have tons of free time to try to live their lives for them. We'll be available when they want us, and thick-skinned when they don't.

I started stressing over next-year's holiday the day after Christmas. How could I explain to mom how we felt, and not have it turn into a debate or a lecture? Or worse, hurt-feelings and comments like, "Grandma said she hopes she dies before you stop coming to the Christmas Eve party."

There was no understanding of the difficulty of dragging seven kids away from their Christmas whatever and keep them entertained (during the most hyper time of year) and well-behaved in a beautifully appointed house full of valuable keep-sake decorations, surrounded by a bunch of adults the kids don't know and who are annoyed by the chaos kids live in.

I've gotten carried away. It's 4:00 am and I'm leaving for Denver at 8:00 am! You're going to have to carry on this discussion! What do you think? We need opinions from all sides of the issue. Comment!!!

And, on a more festive topic: Where do you find Christmas magic? I'm ghostwriting a blog this season—my pen name is Kirby Puckernut and I'm one of Santa's elves. Click here for a sleigh full of fun Christmas ideas! Please visit—Kirby's more light-hearted than me today!

Taking the Grand Tour

"Write what should not be forgotten."

—Isabel Allende

One of my Oma goals was to take my grandchildren to Europe. Who better? I've been "over the pond" twenty-five times, and lived there twice. I wrote this goal in my journal twenty years ago, planning the trip for when they each turned ten. Of course this was before I had twenty grandkids and when I assumed I'd be rich in my old age.

Several grandkids have turned ten (and eleven, and twelve . . .) without me, but finally I have a local grand old enough for her Grand Tour. We just took it the other way around.

Chloë in the lobby of Grand America Hotel, Salt Lake City

We pretended Chloë was from Paris, meeting her long-lost Grandmama at a fancy schmancy hotel—the Grand America in Salt Lake City. A valet parked our car, and we walked past a long, white limo, so it was easy to imagine we were traveling first-class.

Catching her breath.

Chloë took almost a hundred photos as we explored the hotel. She loved the tapestries, the fountains, and the statues of deer in the gardens. One room caught her eye—the Grand Ballroom. Even with chairs strewn all over and tables only partially put away, it made her shriek with delight. I reminded her she was from Paris and had probably been to Versailles, but this was still the swankiest room she'd ever seen, and she pirouetted around like Cinderella.

There were little cubicles off a long hall, each with a built-in desk. "There's an old-fashioned telephone in there! Is this where people sit to take their calls?" she asked. (The old-fashioned telephone was just a regular phone that had a cord.) "That is so cool."

The bathroom blew her away. Real cloth towels, gilded mirrors and two posh sitting areas, plus "each toilet has its own miniature room!" A bit classier than the 4th grade lavatory.

Chloë is overcome at the Grand America.

Seeing a place through ten-year-old eyes, with a ten-year-old imagination was absolutely grand! I was reminded that to kids, everything is new. Even just a trip downtown can be an adventure—it's all in the presentation.

"Look up, Oma!"

Chloë pointed out every chandelier and every ceiling decoration; she appreciated all the little touches. "The salt and pepper shakers match our dishes!" (At home her salt and pepper shakers match her dishes, too, but I think she expects little paper packets at restaurants.) The waiter "brought bread automatically," crusty sourdough, with a "personal dish of butter," and she got to figure out which of her three knives was especially for spreading. Afterward we stopped in the little French bakery and drooled over gelato and chocolate truffles before we each chose a macaroon to eat at a tiny wrought-iron cafe table in the corner.

"We're making a memory," I told her over lunch. "Do you think you'll remember your first Grand Tour?" "Maybe," she said, her mind on the waiter bringing her lemonade.

Lunch at Grand America

Not to worry, Chloë. I don't remember all the things I did with my grandmas, either. But somehow I knew they loved me and recognized my individuality. Although I was one of 13 on one side, and one of 24 on the other, I felt appreciated for myself, even as I took pride in being part of a large group.

Those are the memories I cherish, and the ones I hope to recreate—a deep, down, inner conviction for each grandchild that we know they are unique and love them because of it. I'll share my vast wisdom if they are interested, and if I have something to teach (that they want to learn) I'll pass it on, but most of what I want to give my grandkids is confidence and faith that they're here at this time with inborn traits, abilities and spiritual gifts that are needed. I want them to have the courage to follow their promptings to go where they can make their contribution to the world.

My true goal for them is to take their own tour of life, find personal adventures and a repertoire of experience that will prepare them for each successive tour of duty: school, mission, college, army, marriage and stops along the way I don't know about yet. That's the Grand Tour I'm most interested in. But I'm glad to be part of the training tours along the way!

Sibling Relationships

Cowboy Brothers

I love writing about family relationships. In Son of a Gun some of my favorite scenes explored the relationship of two stepbrothers. This excerpt depicts how young teenage boys show affection. I based it on the interaction between my own sons as they were growing up.

Son of a Gun
by
Marty Halverson

“You lowdown mavericker! You thievin’ my cattle, agin, boy?” With a whoop, JJ leaped on the back of his brother’s horse, attacking MJ in a Texas wrestle. They had the common knowledge that they were tough, but who was toughest on a given day depended on who could pin who.

Sliding to the ground, MJ had trouble putting down his younger brother, and might never have made it if Trespass hadn’t leaped in and begun licking JJ’s face and nipping him in the side til he hit his ticklebone. That got JJ to giggling so hard he couldn’t fight, and MJ was glad to press the boy’s shoulders flat into the dirt of the trail and quit while he could.

They got up, knocking the dust and twigs off themselves to cover the awkward spell that was bound to set in when big boys had carried on too catnippy for their ages. As always, it was JJ who got to talking first. As they walked toward the barn with Trespass yapping at their feet and pawing for attention, he babbled a blue-tailed streak, as if they’d been separated for a month instead of just a few days.

“Ain’t you had nobody to talk to, Jage?" MJ asked. "That cowlicked filly a’ yours stopped listening to your chatter?” JJ faked a scowl but went right on jabbering, letting his brother lap up the family news.

It's fascinating to create characters—they actually come to life! As I got to know these brothers, I loved the relationship they had.

Do you have young sons, brothers or nephews?
I'd love to hear your observations about how boys show affection for each other.
How is it different from girls?

Leave a comment!