Don't Quit author unkown

A buddy of one of my teenagers once said, "Stoker's are good at the weird sports."  The main reason for this is that we're not very competitive in the normal sports, but we like sports so we find something else to play.

One of the "weird" sports that son #2 chose to join was Cross Country.  I knew nothing about it although I had seen a bunch of skinny kids running in the street before.  Now one of those kids was mine.  This child started saying things like, "I don't eat sausage."  "I don't drink soda."  "I need more vegetables."  Cross Country really got interesting when I went to my first meet.  All the parents, supporters, and runners were out in a field.  The race started and soon the runners were out of sight.  Then the spectators ran to a pre-appointed spot where we got another glimpse of the race.  We cheered when the runners went by. One man encouraged the runners in a loud clear voice, "You got this!  Stay strong!  You're doing great!"  It helped me, so I"ll bet it helped them.   Some spectators found the next spot, I missed it and headed to the finish.  We were excited for the winner, but we were just as excited, maybe more, for the runner coming in last.  Their run was harder so the finishing seemed more glorious.  All the runners came in spent.  They were so exhausted, some threw up.  Brandon explained that there was no shame in this.  The object of the game was to "Leave it all out there."

There was one race that I'll never forget.  I was standing with the other spectators at the finish of a girls race.  The runners had started to come in.  One girl came running towards the finish line, faltered and then fell.  Adults (parents, coaches?) rushed to her aid.  She tried to stand and shake off the help.  She wasn't quitting.  She took a few trembling steps and fell again.  I watched this courageous little high school athlete crawl across the finish line.  Tears streamed down my face as I comprehended determination and heart and discipline like never before.

Life gets hard and sometimes it hurts to grow, but confidence comes from doing hard things and so does strength.  Daughter #1 decided she wanted to learn to ride a bicycle.  I helped her sometimes, but more often than not she was out with her bike and helmet starting by the curb, riding a ways, falling, starting again, repeating until she was a rider for realsies.  When my youngest began to walk he would start by the couch, head to the loveseat, stumble a few feet in, crawl to the starting point and head to the loveseat again.  At the time we laughed because he wouldn't quit.  I don't laugh now.  These children had the perfect formula for success.  Set your goal, head in that direction,  and start again after every stumble until you finish.

Daughter #2's teacher introduced her class to a poem, "Don't Quit"  author unknown. I loved it so much that when my youngest was assigned to memorize a poem I encouraged him to choose it.  The process mirrored the message.  It was a big undertaking.  He memorized a stanza at a time.  Sometimes he'd forget a line, and then start at the beginning.  We worked on it in the car, waiting for the bus, before going to bed.  Sometimes he said "I'm sick of "Don't Quit,"  but it was a proud day when he recited it in class.  And I hope we always remember:


                              DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than,
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up,
When he might have captured the victor's cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.
- Author unknown

SCHOOL'S OUT!!! WAHOO!!!...now what?

There's a whole lot of happiness around the Stoker house.  Friday was the last day of school.  And really, is there any place with more possibilities than the beginning of summer?  Gabe had his last day of elementary school.  They send the 5th graders out with a "Walk of fame".  All the parents line the hallways while the students take their final walk through school.  The walls are lined with posters the families made with congratulatory messages.  They sent the students home early with 2 DVD's one of field day and one of all the students and their favorite quotes.  Pretty nice tradition.

Rebecca finished her last day of Middle School.  She was also "Walked out of school"  Poor thing had to go to school for the whole day.   There were 3 teachers retiring and her school feeds into 5 High Schools so it was pretty emotional, but she came home with a  big smile.  At dinner Paul asked, "What are you going to do to continue your academic development over the summer?" Rebecca replied "PARTAY!!!!"  She confided, "I really don't want to do anything with pencil and paper anymore."  Bless her heart.



It seems like Andrew's been out of school for a week.  He had some finals, and yet nary a book was cracked.  He said something about only needing 16 % to maintain a B in Physics.  (Just breathe, Mom)  He went out, worked out, and hung out.  The Seniors "Walked out." and left him and his fellow Juniors ruling the school.  They wore their senior t-shirts and took all the best parking places.  If it weren't for me nagging him about ACT prep, college applications, and finding a job he wouldn't have a care in the world.

I love being with my kids, but summer can be a lot of work for moms.  We can't have them "Eating the bread of idleness" now can we?  There's always that transition from grueling morning regimens, being with friends, working mostly on their own stuff, to relaxed mornings, being with siblings, and working on family stuff.  It's usually an ugly first couple of weeks, but then it gets great.

We've had various summer programs with the different ages of the children, but the main elements are basically the same.  Kids are happier playing after they've worked.  The day starts with a list.  The  daily, every-child items are things like brush teeth, say prayers, make bed, (which somehow never happens) do outside job, practice instrument, read, choose from job list.  The first child up gets to choose first.  This  works well in theory, but as I recall, the same child always ended up cleaning the bathrooms.  Everyone has to be reading a book.  If they read a Newberry award or classic I'll take them to Dairy Queen. The older children have what we call "Gabe jobs."  They work with him in Math, writing, typing, etc.

Summer is a good time to learn life skills.  Each child has to take a turn doing laundry for a week.  Since Gabe's the only one who doesn't do his own laundry I guess he'll have to take turns with me.  I also have the children take a week of cooking.  This program is not for the faint of heart.  I do help according to their age, but I have them choose recipes and shop with me.  There is so much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, not to mention food that is, shall we say, questionable in quality and flavor, that it almost does me in.

Now if you're old enough to have a job, we have a "Manly program."  We mostly have men anyway, but it comes from "Being a Man", "Manning up,"  etc.  Anyone in this program (it starts at 14) needs to be working at least 4 hours a day 5 days a week.  They can procure outside employment and be paid for their efforts, volunteer their services in the community or for other families, or work for me.    I pay a reduced amount for certain jobs like lawn mowing.  Last year I allowed Andrew to choose his hours as long as he did the  work.  This year I'm changing that because I want him to gain the being-on-time-to-work skill. I really just want him to get employment so on the top of his list is always apply for jobs.

Thursdays are our day off.   I like to go somewhere fun as a family. Sometimes we just enjoy having no lists, which is only fun if we had lists the days before.  TV days are still Friday and Saturday.  When the kids were little they had Tuesday too. We swim, eat snow cones, mango salsa, and watermelon, and when everyone's finally in the working groove it's time for a ROAD TRIP!  That's the real best part of summer.

How My Great-Great-Grandpa became a Mormon

One of my favorite places  to be is in the middle of family history.     I learned that my ancestors hailed from Denmark and England.  It delights me to think that some of my ancestors spoke with a British accent and others were completely fluent in Danish, well because they lived in Denmark.  Obvious, but fun.  Stories are my favorite.  I wish all of my predecessors would have written their histories and filled them with details about what they loved, how they met their spouse, what made them sad, what was funny, what their talents were, how they felt about God...every little thing.  Lately I've been reading the "Record of the Life of Hans Peter Hansen Miller, Sr."  It's only 4 legal pages long, but  I feel I know him well.  He was born in 1833 in Bornholm, Denmark.  Hans included information about his father Hans Pedersen who was enlisted in the army as an artillerest at the time of the fall of Napoleon.  He shared that his father had quick and decisive judgement and an amiable personality.  His mother, Maria Kiertine Hjort was thrifty and careful and respectful.  She was below middle height, and had black hair and blue eyes  She had obtained letters and learned to write and read.  Isn't that the sweetest thing?

Hans goes on to relate his struggle with religion through his boyhood.    I'm so impressed that it was such a priority for him from the age of 10-20.  He went to the Bible and God with his questions which were well thought out and sincere.  President Joseph F. Smith said, "We are closely related to our kindred, to our ancestors...who have preceded us into the spirit world.  We can not forget them; we do not cease to love them;...If this is the case with us in our finite condition, how much more certain it is to believe that those who have been faithful, who have gone beyond can see us better than we can see them; that they know us better than we know them.  ...They are solicitous for our welfare.  They love us now more than ever."  I like to remember this as I learn more about my family that has gone before.

When Hans was 9 or 10 he had a favorite teacher who was given to infidelity. He was influenced by this man and lost his faith in Jesus Christ, but maintained a belief in a supreme God, creator of the soul and the universe.  He continued to study the Bible for its historical value.  Gradually he became more dissatisfied with his own skepticism.  He remembered that Christ said, "I am the way," and began to feel that "My infidelity placed my soul in jeopardy."  Since God had revealed his will to the servants of old Hans would ask him to reveal the truth to his heart. As he was reading Zechariah 11:12 and 13 he realized that a prophet living 500 years before Christ could foretell the details even down to his betrayal.  "Jesus," thought I, "Is Christ, the Son of God, the Savior of the world."  A feeling of peace came over him and he never doubted the divinity of Christ from that moment. He was between 17-18 yrs. old.

Hans worked for a man that made shoes for sailors.  The winter of 1852-1853 was so cold that the Baltic was frozen over and no ships could approach.  He was temporarily discharged and had to return home.   While he was  there some Mormon missionaries came with his second cousin P.M. Peel who had joined the church. "Their main point was that the Lord had revealed himself unto Joseph Smith.  I knew that he had revealed himself to me and to the Saints of old and I could not deny this assertion."  He felt confident that he could read the Book of Mormon and ask God if it was really true.  He began to read and came to a passage that said, ""I shall not write any more of this, but another shall arise who shall write more and his name shall be John."  Hans did not believe that an ordinary man would be mentioned 6 centuries before his birth so doubted it could be true.  He returned to reading the Bible and his eyes fell to Isaiah 45 "Thus saith the Lord to his anointed, to Cyrus,"  He remembered that Isaiah had lived 150-175 yrs. before Cyrus and the prophets would be as likely to mention John as Cyrus.  He again began to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. He told the Lord "If Joseph's vision was divine and the Book of Mormon a revelation, I would become a Mormon and strive to serve Him if He would give me the desired knowledge."  He received his answer and was baptized May 12, 1853, and that has made all the difference.

Thank you Great-Great Grandpa.  Thanks for telling this great story, I'm strengthened by your knowledge and faith.  I'm trying to live our religion.   I'm firm in my faith in the Savior Jesus Christ.  I'm glad families are forever.  I'll tell my children about you.   I'm thinking about you, and I hope you think about me from time to time.

The Moral of the Story is Wear Your Favorite Shirt

When I was in fifth grade my family moved from Corvallis, OR to Dos Palos, CA.  I was thrilled to be moving next to Disneyland, Hollywood, the beach, and all things cool.  I was a bit surprised when I found myself in a small agricultural town hours from anything I had seen on TV.  Nevertheless, I did begin my journey into a new awareness if not coolness.  In California we could wear pants on Friday unlike my previous school where we wore dresses or skirts everyday.  My mom took me to the local jeans store to buy my Friday outfit, and I mean  my every Friday outfit.  I still remember the green striped jeans and green turtleneck.  I began to realize some people had more than one Friday outfit.

  It was in middle school that I learned a new rule, girls weren't supposed to wear the same clothes twice in a row, even if they weren't very dirty, even  pants.  So I began to alternate my 3 pair of pants even if I didn't wash them in between.  As time went on I got so good at alternating, I had my outfits in order and would put the one I wore most recently in the back of the line.  Fashion pressure began to build.  In college I tripled my options with roommates.  Such a travesty come summer though. We took our respective outfit elements with us to our hometowns. Pretty clothes had become important to me.

Then a change occurred.  I married and began having children.  First the crash, since I didn't fit into anything and wasn't going anywhere anyway, I just wore my husband's clothes.  Then the epiphany, I still had my self respect and didn't I want my babies to think their mom was attractive?  Then the balance, get myself ready to meet the world, be comfortable but presentable, don't forget mascara and then don't give it another thought.

The next phase was dressing these new little bodies. Paul's mom supplied us with all manner of cuteness and kept us in Sunday outfits.  It was so great when I could dress them in whatever I chose.  Then they got opinions.  For most of my boys the ruling criteria was comfort and coolness.   Coolness usually meant some hero on the front.  I adjusted to that and was very relaxed about what they wore.  One son wore a blue and orange striped shirt whenever it was clean.  A classmate commented, "You always wear that shirt."  My son happily replied, "I know.  It's my favorite shirt."  Another son liked to wear Old Navy flag shirts so much that's all he wore.  He had five of the same shirt and wore a different one every day.  Sadly, I'm not sure if his teacher knew it a different shirt every day.  I was okay with all this, and then I had my first daughter.


Few people could resist the finally-a-girl-after-5-boys scenario.  I received some of the most adorable clothes I had ever seen as gifts.  I put her dresses in order and dressed her in something cute every day.  There was no such thing as too much pink.  To this day I have to work hard to resist dressing her.

I decided this might not be the healthiest way, so I allowed my second daughter to wear what she wanted.  That usually meant her brother's t-shirt tucked into sweats or shorts.  I just learned this week that she tucked her shirt in because her brothers were always picking her up and flipping her around, and she wanted her shirt to stay down.

Tucked in brother's Old Navy flag shirt.
Gabe said he doesn't like this picture for 2 reasons.
 He's not wearing pants and he doesn't like bananas.


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With this background information in place, I'd like to discuss the phenomenon of school pictures.  At first I thought this was a day to dress the children in their nice casual outfits .  I guess I wanted a record of what I had chosen for them? Then I realized what I really wanted was a record of what shirt they would choose for themselves.  The teachers probably thought I had forgotten it was picture day, but usually that wasn't the case.  The first child to choose his picture outfit chose his cubscout uniform.  How adorable is that?  He wore it loud and proud.  Then came the cool/hero shirts.  Of course daughter #1 had to wear a plaid jumper.  I chose it, but she was happy to wear cute dresses. Daughter # 2 went with Halloween spiders all the way.

Y'all know it's a light sabre, right?

Okay, we might have forgotten pic day.

 Then one day I forgot to ask my youngest son what his favorite shirt was.  In the interest of time and ease, I dressed him in a traditional picture-day-polo and sent him off to school.  He didn't really argue, but when the picture came back the message was clear.  I asked, "Why aren't you smiling?"  He said, "I couldn't smile.  I didn't like my shirt."  And I never forgot again.  The end.

Bad shirt

Good shirt

How to Prepare for a Beauty Contest

When I was in high school I entered our local small town beauty contest.  (No I did not win.)  The day of the event Dad gathered all of us into the yard to pick up almonds from under the tree.  When almonds grow on the tree they are covered by a fruit.  They look like small green apricots.  This is messy business and leaves fingers an unappealing shade of brown.  This was not my picture at all.  "Dad, this is no place for a beauty contestant.  I should be getting my hair and nails done."  He replied, "I can think of nothing more beautiful than a young woman hard at work with her family."  I didn't get my my manicure and styled my own hair, and I wasn't happy with his answer, but as I suspected, he was right.

Neil A Anderson said, "Work builds and refines character, creates beauty, and is the instrument of our service to one another and to God.  A consecrated life is filled with work, sometimes repetitive, sometimes menial, sometimes unappreciated but always work that improves, orders, sustains, lifts, ministers, aspires."

I wasn't very old when my parents started trying to teach me how to work.  One of the first jobs I remember was ironing washcloths.  This was exhausting and challenging and I'm not sure why Mom never ironed wash cloths...I guess no one could iron as well as me?

Sometimes the work I did actually contributed to the family. Sometimes I was learning a skill, and other times I think I was just learning that I could do hard things.  We all had daily chores and baby duty.  Once I really wanted to go to the football game with my friends.  I was all dressed and ready to go, but I couldn't leave until my baby brother was asleep.  That was the seemingly longest baby rocking episode of my life.  He kept looking up at me with his beautiful and very alert brown eyes.  Finally, finally, he was asleep. Not too many teenagers were at the game saying, "Sorry I'm late, I was rocking the baby."

Brown-eyed baby brother 2 yrs. later

My Dad liked to prepare us for the "Hard times."  He was concerned that we didn't know where meat came from.  One memorable day we killed, cleaned, scalded and plucked chickens.  I could not bring myself to eat that meat.  I know, I'm a pampered city girl.  When the hard times come I'll eat my neighbor's chickens and they can eat mine.  I hope they put it on a Styrofoam tray and wrap it in Saran wrap so it looks nothing like the fluffy feathered animals that I fed kitchen scraps to everyday.

One summer after we had a fire in my house, my job was to move the fire-damaged wood pile to the burn-pile beyond the fence.  Fresno county summers are hot.  I needed to be careful of the nails so I couldn't take big loads at a time.  My Dad let me choose my schedule so I had to will myself to get started.  I think that job took me the better part of the summer, but I learned that if you keep at it, eventually the pile will disappear.  But only if you keep working...and it may never be fun.

Of course I want my children to have all the opportunities for beauty and character refinement that I  had so I give them jobs.   It's hard work keeping them working, and we've had some scary dish nights, but  I can honestly say after all these years, we have some mean kitchen cleaners.  Unfortunately, they all think meat comes from the store wrapped in Saran wrap.

Gabe learning from the expert

Helper Aaron

The applesauce assembly line

Manly sod layers

I asked little Rebecca to clear the table and she did.

Besides, I would not have wanted to missed this moment.

There are just some things that happen with children that warm my heart and make my day.  Things I  really don't want to miss.

When Daniel was about 4 we had been reading Book of Mormon stories.  He said, "If that wicked King Noah tried to get me to do the wrong thing, I would tell him to repent!"  Another time I had been short with him.  He said, "Momma, you take a nap and you will be happy."

I have been known to call bedtime "The witching hour."  I had enough strength to get the kids in bed with their various rituals, but that's all.  Pity the child that tried to come out for any but the most emergent reasons.  One time 2 yr. old Brandon took the chance.  That's a lie.  Many times Brandon took the chance, but one time he was successful.  Paul and I were relaxing on the couch and we heard these little padded feet.  Brandon entered the room with confidence and a smile, "Look, it's Brandon!"

One summer day Nathan was wearing his pajamas and superman cape.  He went outside to the kiddie pool, laid down in the water, got up, came inside, changed his clothes, went out  to the pool in his dry clothes, laid down in the water, got up, came inside, changed his clothes and headed out again.  I asked him what in the world he was doing.  "Why are you getting your clothes wet?"  He replied, "I'm superman, Mom.  I'm trapped in the water with kryptonite around my neck."

When Aaron was 3 he taught me about life.  "Sometimes kids draw faces without noses, but that's okay.  We still shouldn't laugh." and "When God made the world he said, 'No monsters.'  Now there aren't any monsters."

Jacob was making his own Peanut Butter sandwich.  He layered bread, peanut butter, bread, peanut butter, bread peanut butter until he had a 5 decker PB and J.  I was impressed with his creativity but ever vigilant when it come to waste. I said, "You have to eat all of that."  He tried, but apparently it was just too much for him.  I found that sandwich the next day expertly hidden in a hole under the concrete walkway by the garden.

Little Miss Eliza was calling me from her crib one night.  She was two years old.  I finally went in to see what she needed.  She looked at me with her big blue eyes and said, "My prayer too."  Awwww.

When Andrew was 3 he didn't like getting a haircut.  He sadly related that his brothers teased him about his long hair and called him a girl.  I asked, "Well why don't you let me cut your hair?"  He responded, "No.  I'll just beat them up."

Once I noticed that Rebecca had put on 2 shirts when getting ready for her day in kindergarten.  When I asked her why she was wearing two shirts she explained, "Well I'm wearing an extra just in case I throw up."

One of my favorite days in life was the day Nathan left for his mission in Brazil.  Gabe carefully watched the packing process then made a decision.   He promptly dressed in his white shirt and Sunday pants. He wanted to be a missionary too.

Love them.

Saved by motherhood

There have been times, not a few, when I thought I was really doing God a favor by raising 9 children. But I have discovered something he has always known.  He was doing me the favor by sending them to me.  Motherhood changed me, and in many ways saved me.

I was reading in my journals that I had written through the years, and it was a little painful.  I don't really like the person I was in my twenties as much as the person I am in my fifties.  I know there are lots of ways to change and it usually involves recognizing the need, making the effort, and trusting in God.  I just feel like for me, motherhood was a veryeffective tutorial.

In my early years I seemed to spend more time thinking about how others needed to change.  As time went on my focus became more on how I needed to change.  When I was in college and knew everything about parenting, I had all these judgmental little thoughts, "My child will never suck their thumb."  "You actually let your child eat outside of the kitchen?"   "You know, hot dogs aren't a food."  "Well, if you weren't so permissive, your child would be more obedient." " My child will never talk to me like that."  And my favorite, "Your teenager did what?  Just tell them not to."  Well, as everyone has already guessed, I ate every word.  I ate every  parenting word.  And that is the beauty of it.  Now I'm not saying it's not good to have a plan, it's important to be as prepared as possible.  Just know that being flexible is an important quality and be open to adjusting the plan as the new situations arise, like every hour.

For one thing, motherhood is hard, and did you know that when a child is born to you they're yours forever?  Baby's cry, and two-year olds have tantrums, and 5 yr. olds don't really stop talking.  7 yr. olds run away when they get mad at you, and 12 yr. olds tell lots of jokes that aren't funny.  Fifteen yr. olds do what they want and 18 year olds leave you. On top of this they need to be fed, every day. This means when I became a mother I could no longer just do a little good for society and then reward myself the rest of the day.  I was on duty all the time.  I had to help these people feel love and learn about God and come to understand the importance of obedience, education, sharing, etiquette, sacrifice, work, self-control, selflessness...  Then a weird thing happened, while I was teaching I was learning.

Motherhood brought a lot of surprises.  I was the oldest of 10 and had loved a lot of babies, but I was still surprised at the feeling I had when I first held my newborn.  That love that people write about, the "I'll give you everything, can't get enough of you, die for you" feeling was here to stay.  Another surprise came when my first born left home.  He was definitely ready to leave and may or may not have been ornery in the weeks preceding his departure.  I remember thinking, "Yeah, it's time."  The surprise came the moment he got on the plane.  That day and  practically every day after for about a year I cried when I thought about him.  I wondered, "Do you mean all the moms of college freshman around the world are ready to burst into tears all the time?  Who knew?"

In the April 2011 General Conference Lynn G. Robbins said, "A sweet and obedient child will enroll a father or mother only in Parenting 101.  If you are blessed with a child who tests your patience to the nth degree, you will be enrolled in Parenting 505.  Rather than wonder what you might have done wrong in the premortal life to be so deserving, you might consider the more challenging child a blessing and opportunity to become more Christlike yourself.  With which child will your patience, long-suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed and refined?  Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?"

Now I'd say that each child has their 101 moments and their 505 moments, but frankly I've had my moments too.  Some days my kids are enrolled in the "I love my nice mom-101"   and others days the  "Forgive your Crazy Mother- 505." Lets just say home is a great place to learn and grow and change. So maybe a day that looks like a disaster is really creating something beautiful and new.  Let's just hang a sign on our front door: "Please excuse our mess while we remodel to serve you better."

Happy Mother's Day 2012

 "You know you're a Miller if your mom is so adorable that she hardly ever gets speeding tickets." It's not that she never got pulled over by an officer of the law,  there's just something about that warm smile that  makes people love my mom.  Her laugh is a reward in itself.  We would work really hard to make her giggle.  Sometimes we would cross the obnoxious line, but it was worth the risk.

 When I was born my mom was a teacher.  For most of my life she was a stay-at-home-mom, but the fact that she had been a teacher was a turning point of sorts for me.  I was in my second semester of my freshman year at BYU.  School was hard. Life was hard.  I thought, "I don't think I can make it to graduation."  Then I thought of my mom.  She was a teacher.  Teachers have degrees.  Okay, if my mom can do it so can I, and I did.


I don't know if she knew what she was in for when she married my Dad.  They decided to open their home and their hearts to all the children God would send them.  He sent them 10. Not 10 perfect children.  10 regular children with opinions.

I didn't know how blessed I was when I was a teenager.  Sometimes I felt annoyed because my mom would tell me my dress was too short, or I couldn't go with my friends until I'd done my chores.  Then I saw my first "Childbirth" video in college.  That's when I started to worship her.  The more I parent, the longer I live, the more gratitude I have for her example, strength, love and faith.


My mom liked things clean but with 10 children, well you know.  She would joke,"Leave the vacuum cleaner out and then if company comes at least they'll know we're trying."  She organized the children into work forces and carried through.  Once when it was my dish night the job was just too ominous.  I stalled and stalled.  It was very late.  I thought, "I'll just lie down on the kitchen rug and Mom will feel sorry for me and put me in bed."  She did feel sorry for me.  She shook me gently and said, "Laurie, wake up and get your kitchen cleaned so you can go to bed."  This gave me courage to follow through with my parenting.


In explaining priorities my parents used home building as a metaphor.  If you're building a house and you spend too much time worrying about the small details before you get your roofs and walls in place, when the storms come they will destroy your foundation.  One day I brought a friend home early from school, unannounced.  We walked into the house and were met by a kitchen table and benches covered with little dixie cups and dribbling liquid covering the floors.  My twin siblings, clad only in underwear, were pouring into the cups.  They may have been playing "store" or "lemonade stand" or practicing their pouring, but a perfect kitchen was not my mom's "roofs and walls," happy children were.

My mother introduced me to the awesomeness of musicals.  My first movie was the "Sound of Music."  After that is was "Mary Poppins," "The Happiest Millionaire,"and "The Family Band."  VCR's were probably invented for my mom.  How else could she watch the library scene in "The Music Man" and "It's a Hard Knock Life" from "Annie" every day?  She played Barry Manilow records on the stereo in the living room in the afternoon while the twins took their naps.  She (meaning we) also listened to Englebert Humberdink, Tom Jones and the New Christy Minstrels.


She worked hard to teach us manners.  That was no easy task and I wish I'd paid more attention after I went into the world and found my etiquette wanting.  She used one of her own mother's techniques.  My apologies to Johnny Roner, who apparently is a real person, for revealing his table indescretion.  If anyone reached across their plates or companions instead of asking politely for the food and waiting for it to be passed,  Mom reminded us, "Don't be a Johnny Roner."

My mom cared more about how people felt but less about what they thought.  If someone acted aloof or altered she would approach them and ask if she had offended them.  She would gently talk to us about treating our siblings with kindness and lifting their spirits and self-esteem.  On the other hand,  when she needed more cross-breeze in her room she cut a hole in the wall and covered it by day with a picture.  One night my date was walking me from the car.  He asked in a wary tone, "What's that?"  It was my parents sleeping on the roll away bed under the willow tree.

She was steadfast in living a Christlike life.  We had daily scripture study and prayers, weekly family home evening, and we never missed church unless we were sick.  If we were travelling, we went to church wherever we were.  The most amazing feat my mom accomplished was getting us to church on time.  Dad usually went early because he had responsibilities.  She would load us all into the station wagon, which was amazing in itself, then we would do the pick-up.  It might be a single woman, someone who hadn't been to church in a long time, or someone who wanted to learn about church.  I think about that and I want to be a better person.

My mother isn't someone you would call a "tough" person, but she has seen some tough times and showed great strength.  One year she had a husband in bed as a kidney recipient, a son in bed as a kidney donor and a child suffering from a brain tumor.  How does one even survive trials like this?  But survive she did.  Her heart's been broken a few times, but it remains full of love and faith and hope.  When my life gets challenging I think of her and remind myself, "If she can do it, so can I."

I love this picture of Mom in her room full of pink roses, children, grandchildren. and  warm smile.

Daniel's adorable guest blog

My dear mother is the best of all moms, probably in the universe. She’s shared her wisdom and humor with us in a series of well-written blog posts. While she is not yet reached the masses, of which all will soon convert to become adoring fans, the time has come for her to have a guest blogger, who can exclaim just how awesome she is. So with that lengthy introduction, I am pleased to be blogging in a tribute to Laurie Stoker on mother’s day.

My mom is the best, straight up. But seriously, no one can deny that Laurie Stoker is an accomplished mother. She’s raised 9 kids, 7 boys and 2 girls, with such a wide range of personalities and traits. She has done so while living in 10 different states (people always just assume I come from military tradition with the frequency of her moves). Her mothering style is an art that is in constant improvement, but throughout her legacy, she maintains and defines some traits that are exemplary in motherhood: unconditional love, selflessness, family organization and efficiency, and fun-loving and generating personality.

My mom loves unconditionally; she’s actually a rock star at this. With 7 different male personalities (not all of us humble or considerate) transitioning from the adorable 2 year old stage to the probably annoying stage (insert an age from 6-18 here), she endured more than her fair share of challenging moments (I was probably responsible for an above average amount of these). But, I remember my mom being the most patient and loving person. As I look back, now a parent myself, I realize how patient and loving she truly was. Her expression of love was patience and acceptance, no matter what and in every situation. I know where ever I am or whatever I do, my mom will always love me.

Mom is selfness and sacrificial. It’s actually part of her ethos, and not just a buzzword. Most recently, she braved 4000 miles of Pacific Ocean and sleepless nights (and time changed days) to come and see her newest grandchild, Landon. She casually said, it was the “standard Grandma visit.” Although I don’t consider 17 hours of travel across 13 time-zones standard. While there, she was up whatever time of night or day if Landon would cry to try to give me and Erica a break. I know how wacky circadian rhythms can get when traveling, and I know that was a sacrifice. Laurie casually accomplishes the selflessness of motherhood, she makes it look easy because it is who she is, not what she makes herself do.

There is an art to parenting, and my mother is a master artist. When I get out of the military, I intend to make a $1,000,000 forcing my mom to write down her parenting techniques in a book. Just kidding. . . .but seriously. She organizes the home with clear objectives in mind, sets goals and policies to accomplish those objectives, and then executes day-to-day operations in accordance with her policies and goals. (that sounded very analytically and structured, but in truth many of her objectives are emotional and spiritual so it’s not military camp;)). Our family has a mission statement I still remember: To create a safe place where our family can grow relationally, physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually (paraphrase). If our actions were contrary to our mission statement, they were adjusted by a variety of means, some of which are legendary. That said, most reactions were proportional, character building, constructive to the home environment and easily repeatable. To the scientists or engineers out there. That means Laurie Stoker repeatedly produces quality kids time after time. The product continues to improve as the processes are refined, but the bottom line is that my mom is a professional and I am very greatful.

All that said, mom is super fun to be around and always up to party. As she’s transitioned from mother/teacher to mother/friend, I’ve enjoyed her personality and fun spirit more and more. I see it in her participation in activities that are fun for each age group (reference her blog about a fun with the Stoker kids still at home). She definitely made a memory with my son, Caleb playing Mario Kart Wii, and doubled the yearly amount of baked goods made at our house with Erica. But most of all, she is a joy just to be around: easygoing, intelligently fun, just the right amount of sarcastic, and lovingly endearing.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, we love you  

You Know You're a Miller If...

Just a normal day on the farm (getting dressed wasn't priority one)

A few years ago my sister Mary came up with the fun idea of compiling a book of memories copying the "You know you're a redneck"  idea.  I'm not saying we're rednecks... but I'm not saying we're not.  As I was reading through this book i was reminded  of some great times growing up.

Today I'm going to share a few   (I know you were all hoping.)  And, each comes with an explanation so the "Not Miller" readers can enjoy the fun.

"You know you're a Miller if you've had sardines for lunch on a road trip."  We took a lot of road trips.  We would visit our grandparents in UT and on special years, Disneyland.  Our family was sometimes poor but always frugal.  If we were going to stop at McDonald's, it wasn't going to be until the lunch we had packed was gone.  What better travelling lunch food than canned sardines?  They last forever, they're full of protein and taste...well they're full of protein.

All the Millers together after Carrie and Heidi Jo's missions

"You know you're a Miller if you shared 1 can of 7up with your 5 siblings and it was enough."  On these road trips, after we had our satisfying lunch, Dad would buy us a little treat from the gas station.  Now he knew that a can of pop for one little girl was too much and not that healthy, but a little sip of pop would be just the ticket, so he'd buy 1 can to share.  One or two sips is actually all I need to this day.

"You know you're a Miller if you have painted the family room floor with a checkerboard, hopscotch and your name."  We were adding a room onto the house.  The concrete was poured and dry.  For family night one night  my Dad decided to make a family "time capsule" of sorts.  We all got a brush and paint.  We decorated the whole floor with the delightful idea that someday, someone else would be living in our home, pull up the carpet and say, "What the?"

"You know you're a Miller if your field was a maternity ward for cows."  In California we lived on 10 acres, about 3 of which we used.  We rented the other part to the dairy across the street.  Our property was the pasture for the pregnant cows.  I remember watching out the window while a cow gave birth.  It was terrifying, but I couldn't look away.

"You know you're a Miller if you've snuck a bite of Dad's paddle-sized sugar daddy sucker."  My Dad had this huge sugar daddy sucker that he got in college.  I don't remember the story, but it was somehow connected to his  fraternity.  He kept the sucker in a special place, and for years he would take it out and show us.  It was magnificent.  I don't remember the day I went to the dark side, but at some point the temptation was too great. I untwisted a little of the paper covering and snuck a teeny piece. Time went on and  one night he called us all together. He showed us his prized sucker with a significant cavity in the side of its previously perfect rectangular shape.  "I want you to tell the truth.  Who's been sneaking my sucker?" .  I had to confess, "I have."  Do you know what?  So had my other siblings.  That doesn't make it right, but it did make me feel better about my criminal past.  There was still hope for us.

"You know you're a Miller if you have Pete's dragon in your yard."  It could also be ykyam if you love and sing the music to the Pete's Dragon movie.  My brother Sam was young when the movie came out and there was seriously nothing cuter than hearing him sing the song.  We made him perform it for us time after time.  My Dad loves to create.  There was a dead tree in the yard and Dad knew just what it needed to be turned into. He used his chain saw and turned the dead tree into Elliot.

Sam, Dad , Pete and Pete's dragon coming down.

Happy Birthday Brandon

If you want to get in good with your mom, come into the world on Mother's Day after 2 hours of labor.  That's the first lesson we learn from Brandon.   Another lesson we learn from him is that  family is great.  He snuggled a lot as a baby.  One night as a 3 yr. old he cuddled up and said, "We love der chothers (each other) don't we?"  When he was older he made up games to play with his brothers.  There were long episodes with stuffed animals and legos.  The last time he came to visit he made a point to spend time with each person.  Gabe was happy that Brandon still likes long episodes with legos.  One night before I was supposed to have elementary school lunch with Brandon, he excitedly asked, "Are you getting ready for our lunch?"  The next day while we were playing tetherball on the playground, some friends wanted him to play.  He said, "I can't .  I'm playing with my mom right now.

Brandon teaches me to speak gently.  When he was about 11 he was already making plans for when he was a dad.  Jacob brought one of his shirts in for Eliza.  I said, "Put that back, Jacob."  Brandon added, "But thanks for offering." Another time I asked  Aaron if he had done something.  He said, "Yes."  I started giving him a lecture.  Brandon said, "Thanks for telling the truth." On one occasion when Brandon had dropped all his school stuff in the living room, I opened the basement door and yelled, "Brandon!"  He came running up. I started in, "You left your stuff all over the place."  He calmly replied, "Oh. I'm sorry.  I'll pick it up."  I was completely diffused.  His brother looked at me like, "What just happened?  How did mom stop yelling?"

The fourth lesson we learn from Brandon is play to win because winning matters.  We have some favorite "Brandon is competitive" stories.  There's a game the boys play.  I can't remember the name, but they all know what it is.  It was the night before Nathan was leaving to serve a mission in Brazil for two years.  Brandon and Nathan played the game and Nathan won.   Brandon acted like he was fine with it.  But...in the middle of the night...Brandon had been considering the consequences of Nathan having the win for 2 years. He crept into Nathan's room and said, "Nathan.  Wake up.  Do you want to play_____?" Unfortunately for Brandon, there was not to be a rematch for a long time.

 Brandon prided himself (did I say pride?) on being a good Stratego player.  He said, "I want to marry someone who can beat me in Stratego."  We thought he'd grow out of that criteria, but he didn't need to.  One night Mallory called and said, "Guess what?  I beat Brandon at Stratego."  There were smiles throughout the land.

The last lesson we learn from Brandon is to love God.  When he was very young he said,  "I'll never go to Satan.  I want to be with Jesus."  I believe him, and when I spend time with him and his beautiful family I think that's exactly where they'll be.