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.


.

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."