What are you (or a character) recovering from right now?

Spinning. Every thing is spinning. Even when I close my eyes. How is that possible? I'm laying down, flat on my back, on my non spinning bed, and yet it feels as though I'm stuck on a merry go round.
My stomach becomes a jumble of knots. I take a deep breath, trying to calm it, but the pressure just makes it worse. On my exhale, the whole world dissolves into my stomach and the need to empty it.
I fall off the bed and army crawl to the door, barely making it to the bedroom trash can.
Being in semi-upright position makes the spinning increase. I moan and flop onto the floor next to the garbage, trying to ignore the smell and how it's increasing my chances of another visit.
My fingers spread through the thick carpet. I wish I could ground myself. Find my balance where everything stays where it's supposed to be.
What is going on with me? This is the second episode this week. Should I call a doctor? Everything I read online is inconclusive, could be a million different reasons for my vertigo.
With my stomach more settled, I slither back to the bed. Pulling myself up must look like I've lost all control of my body, which I have. How humbling this experience is. When I don't have my health, I don't have anything. I'm a slave to my body. I hate this feeling of powerlessness.
"Mommy, you 'kay?" My little guy climbs up next to me. I hope he hasn't spilled the contents of the trash can all over the floor.
"Mommy sick." I get out.
"Sick?" His voice holds a note of concern. "Cuddle?"
I nod. "Cuddle."
His warm little body snuggles up to mine. He burrows his head into my shoulder and rubs my cheek. The motion makes the spinning worse, but I can't bear to ask him to stop. He's showing his reassurance the only way he knows how. "Love you."
"Love you, buddy."
I lie still. All I can do is pray. Pray that a miracle will happen. Pray my world will go back to normal. It's all okay. Breath in. Breath out. Repeat.

I wish an alarm would notify me whenever... (Finish this sentence)

No more alarms. That's it. I've had it with alarms, beepers, anything that disrupts my day.

I don't have a doorbell. I don't have an alarm clock. I turn off the beepers on the washing machine and dryer so I don't have to listen to them whenever a load of clothes are done. I don't have a watch that beeps every hour. If I could disable the alarm on the dishwasher, I would do that too. And don't even get me started on the microwave...

The only alarm I actually appreciate is the timer on the range oven. If it weren't for that, I would burn tons of food.

Yes, we have an alarm system in our house, but it doesn't beep every day. Only when we accidentally set it off.

Our lives are so full of noise and distractions. It keeps our minds so busy, we miss a lot of small, quiet promptings. It's not that I mind noise, but since I am an audio learner/observer, it really affects me.

So, that's my response to today's prompt. No More Noise! No More Alarms! I'm going on an alarm strike.

Write about a souvenir you have bought or received

The gray and white Alaskan Husky looks just like the stuffed animal in my hands. She even has the same blue eyes, and curled tail. I hug my stuffed animal. Holding the memory of my trip to Alaska, it's become priceless in the few short minutes since I bought it.

The owner straps the dog into a harness, then attaches it to a snow sled. The dog is a lead dog, one of the best pullers, and most obedient. It's makes me proud of my souvenir. This pup shows me that it pays to be a leader, confident and self assured.

The owner mounts the snow sled and takes off over the snow covered ground. The dogs bark and leap forward in great strides, their muscles rippling beneath their thick coats.

The skid of the skis across the snow make a smooth gliding noise. The dogs' paws are broken into unsynchronized symphonies of pounding. A clear whistle directs the dogs. I listen, trying to decipher the different signals.

I imagine what it'd be like to travel this way. What if this was the only mode of transportation? Would I be able to train dogs to pull a sled for me? What happens in the summer when the snow is gone? Would they pull a wagon?

I take a deep breath. My nose prickles against the chill in the air.

Tightening my arms across my chest, I tug my coat tighter. It's getting dark, even though it's just past midday. I wonder how cold it will get tonight.

My stomach rumbles. I've forgotten to eat lunch, too distracted by the spectacle of the dog sledder.

As I walk toward the town center, I scan the little shops. Their weathered wood exteriors provide a cozy contrast to the snow covered ground.

My feet are beginning to get cold inside my Ugg boots. I wiggle my toes and enter the first cafe I spot. As I take a seat, I think of the reasons I came on this trip. Not only to visit a friend, but to enjoy the beauty and freedom Alaska holds. It's a majestic place. Inspiring. I feel more independence and confidence since coming here. I've proven I can do something on my own.

I place the gray and white stuffed animal in front of me. It looks like a kid's toy on the wooden table, young and vulnerable in a grown up atmosphere. It makes me wonder if I look the same. Am I a kid, trying to live in a grown up's world? Is 21 too young to travel the world by myself?

I smother the thought and take a deep breath. I have two more days here. Two more days of endless possibilities and discoveries. Who knows, maybe I'll spend them exploring the untamed territory. Without anyone telling me how to be and what to do, I might just find out who I really am.

I stroke the fluffy coat of the husky and smile. I think I'll do just that.

Write about a time everything changed in a blink of an eye

I've been waiting for this moment for the last two years. But now since it's here, it feels different than I anticipated. Instead of excitement, I feel fear. Fear of the unknown. How will I survive on my own? Without someone there to tell me what to do, or how to do it. I never realized the freedom that came with growing up could be so daunting. My dependence made me brave. Will my independence make me braver?

I glance at the bare, twin bed in the corner. The rest of the room is just as empty. The small desk with drawers under it are cracked open, with barren shelves. The closet is white, with nothing distinguishing about it. I feel just as bare as the room, like a book full of blank pages, and no story to fill it.

I fear I will make mistakes. Mess up. Without my family to help and guide me, how will I know what is right? Or wrong?

My belongings I brought with me from home fit into a couple suitcases and a clothes hamper. The expensive comforter and sheet set I bought for my new bed looks a lot less appealing than it did when I bought it. I'd hoped it would ease the transition, having a super comfy bed to fall into at night. Now all I want to do is go home and never look at it again.

I have a couple hundred dollars to my name, and a job hunt to fulfill before classes begin in two days. It feels like a huge mountain stands in front of me, and I have to climb it. By myself. Without a map. How will I ever accomplish what I set out to do?

My parents carry a couple boxes into my room.

"We wanted to get you something special for graduation, but wanted to wait to give it to you until you moved to college. That time has come. So, here you go." My mom sets down a computer screen box onto the empty desk.

My dad follows suit with what appears to be an actual computer, and a printer.

I'm shocked. I cover my mouth with my hands, but can't contain my excitement and jump up and down. Throwing my arms around them, I begin to cry. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

My dad pats me on the back. "We wanted you to have access to your own computer and the internet so that you wouldn't have to spend all your time at the busy library."

I cry harder. They are so thoughtful. I feel blessed to have them in my life.

It takes me a couple minutes to collect myself. When I do, my dad has tears in his eyes, and my mom is crying.

"Well, we better get going. We have to get home to do chores before dark, and you need to get all your things put away so that you'll be ready for school."

I nod, unable to speak. My throat constricts, and I know I'm about to start crying again.

My parents move toward the door. I follow them through the apartment. It felt so big when I looked at it before deciding on staying here. Now it feels like the walls are closing in.

As we get to their car, my mom turns around and gives me another hug. "We love you. We're only a phone call away. Call us if you need anything."

"Thank you." My words wobble.

I stand there until they have turned onto the road and driven past the building, obscuring them from view. Then I dash back into my apartment and watch out the window until they disappear down the road.

My chest feels empty. Hollowed out. I wonder how my brother did this two years ago. How did he keep himself at college instead of jumping in the car and following them home. It's a serious struggle I'm battling. How do all the other college students do it? Even though I am only an hour away from my home, it feels like an eternity.

"Let me guess, a freshman? First semester?" A girl with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail stands inside my door frame, with arms crossed. She looks amused, like she's seen this same situation a million times.

"Yes." My voice comes out as a croak.

"Well, if you're serious about this whole college thing, you'd best get unpacked. Otherwise, you'll be out the door before you know it. Trust me, the sooner you get your things in your room, and make it belong to you, the more it'll feel like a place you belong. It'll never be home, but it'll help make the transition easier."

I nod my agreement and back away from the window.

"I'm Mary, by the way. You're new roommate." She holds out a hand and I shake it. "Welcome to apartment 403."

If you were to teach as a career, what would you teach?

Riding Coach

"Keep your head up and watch where you are going." I demonstrate the proper position, hoping he will follow. "Good. Your horse will go where you are looking, because your body naturally leans where you want to go, and so your horse will adjust to follow."

I give my mare, Missy, a gentle nudge and she plods forward at a lazy walk. "Keep your hands in front of your saddle horn. You can steer from there, but most of your cues will come from your weight, legs, and voice. That's why we're riding bareback, so you can feel your horse shift as you do."

The young man I'm teaching, Evan, follows suit, but he leans too far forward, coaxing his horse to pick up pace and pass me.

"Now, with Pleasure, you need to keep your gate calm, collected. You're showing the judge that you are in complete control of your horse. Western Pleasure is supposed to be flowing, easy, gentle. You and your horse are one."

He nods and leans back, as I've taught him. But he leans too far and his horse stops. I love that his horse is picking up on the cues he's giving him immediately. It's a sign that he's teachable and willing to listen to the cues.

"Do you know what happened there?" I ask as I catch up to where Evan and his horse stands.

"No, not exactly. I leaned back and he stopped."

"Correct. Because that's the cue you gave him. You leaned back and rounded your back to keep balance, thus indicating you wanted him to stop." I motion toward his horse in the stopped position. "That was very good on both your parts. The key to slowing your horse, is to stay in upright, yet relaxed position. Your horse will feel if you're tense, because your body will naturally tighten, thus alerting the horse that it needs to be on guard. You see, being a prey animal, horses use every cue from you to sense danger in their surroundings. That's why you must always be calm and relaxed."

He rubs his head. I know I've told him all this before, but a little refresher doesn't hurt.

"Let's try again. This time I will just watch." I move Missy to the center of the arena and watch as Evan does a few circles. He's sitting up straight, relaxed, and his gelding has responded accordingly. He's at a slow walk, but still too fast for my liking. We'll work on that later, for now, posture.

"Keep your shoulders back. Your left one is moving forward. Heels down, toes in, which I know is hard without stirrups, but it will strengthen your legs."

He adjusts his body, looking much better.

"Excellent. Let's pick it up to a trot."

He does a wonderful job at transitioning into the next gate and I applaud him. His posture is still great, but he's bouncing in his seat more than I'd like.

"Go ahead and feel your horse under you. Instead of fighting against his movements, go with them, even if they feel uncomfortable at first. Your muscles will be sore tomorrow, because we're building new ones with these new movements, but they will help you keep your balance and enable you to flow with your horse."

He rounds his back a touch and allows his body to flow with his horse's stride. At first I can see the pain on his face. The trot is the hardest gate to have a smooth ride with, but if he masters this, he will be able to master any other.

After a few more circles around the arena, I ask him to reverse and lope. He does a wonderful job, and his bottom is staying in rhythm with the horse. It's a beautiful thing, seeing horse and rider in symmetry.

"Go ahead and slow him down some. His natural lope is much faster than a pleasure gallop."

Evan adjusts his reins and seat, leaning back, and his horse begins to break into a trot. But Evan urges him on, getting him back into a lope. It takes a few more rounds, but he eventually gets his horse to a slow, easy gallop. His horse's head is low and his gate reflects his ease.

"Let's stop and have you come to the center."

Evan brings his horse up next to mine. "How did I do?"

"Very well. I think with some more practice, you'll be running circles around me."

"I already am." He counters.

I laugh. "Almost. Let's work on your flying lead changes next. I believe it will be a good change without the saddle. Maybe he will feel your cues and transition from one lead to the next easier."

"Sounds good."

"Go ahead and walk him for a bit first, maybe practice some side-passing or tracking to let his breathing get back to even. I don't want him too tired and unable to concentrate on his lead changes."

Evan side passes away from me. He's showing off now.

I pretend to ignore him, but I'm quite impressed. He's been working hard. It shows.
His horse is amazing at the technical things like side passing, spinning, and even sliding stops. In fact, for being only a three year old, his flying lead changes are beautiful. I wouldn't be surprised if they are the ones teaching me someday. It's a wonderful thing, watching the student surpass the teacher, and I look forward to that day.

What color do you feel like today?

Do I answer this question with my rehearsed pageant answer, or do I answer it from my heart?

The question bounces around my head. I try to grab onto it, to form an answer, but it keeps evading me. Maybe there is no answer to that question.

What color do you feel like today? I let the question reform.

Pageant answer: Sunshine yellow. Because I'm glad the sun is shining. I love how the wind is creating waves on the lake, and mini tornadoes throughout my yard. I've had a wonderful morning so far, with a hearty breakfast of oatmeal and toast...blah blah blah...

Or should I really break this question down?

Well, I don't have a favorite color...if I did, it would be a toss up between pink and blue green. But I wonder if those are really my favorite colors, or just the colors my parents always chose for me to wear as a child, so I grew to like them. I wear a lot of white. Does that mean I have no personality? I also like black...does that mean I'm depressed? Right now I am wearing a comfy pink and purple sweatshirt that my mother in law bought for me last year from the Medora Musical. It is a favorite, and I wear it a couple times a week.

But these are all clothing choices. It doesn't really answer the question. I guess I feel that I would subconsciously wear whatever color I feel like.

I know this is strange, but I remember talking about colors and how they affect energy and attitude in my foot zoning class. I remember the teacher having us pick the color of our folders. It was funny, because I chose blue first, but asked to change to red. He gave me a funny look and mentioned that it was interesting. Of course Ted chose yellow. I could've guessed that. But, I felt like I needed the red. It called to me. When I chose the blue, it just didn't feel right. Is that strange? Have you ever experienced that before?

What color do you feel like today?

Hmmm...I am feeling pretty well so far. I feel at peace. So I think I would choose eggshell. It's a peaceful color. Not quite white, so it doesn't hurt the eyes, but not ivory either, so it doesn't look yellowed or dirty. Yes, eggshell is the color I would choose. A peaceful, calm color.

I'm sure my answer will change as the day goes by, depending on my mood and how I feel, but for now, I think I will stick with eggshell.

Write about something you purchased used

The anxiety is palpable. People are pressed together, but unable to hold still. Their energy charges the air with electricity. I rub my forehead and try not to stare at the growing crowd. If the whole day is like this, I'm going to get a migraine.

The cars are lined up outside the huge metal doors. Over five lanes of cars to be auctioned at the same time. I look through the list again, noting a few that I wouldn't mind taking home. I try to keep the lanes and numbers in order, but it's near impossible.

The first car brought in is a slightly used, black, Chevrolet Camero SS. It's gorgeous, and obviously a hit for the auction, as bidders crowd the first lane. The dealers jockey for a good viewing position. Some are close enough to get their toes ran over. The man behind the wheel does well under pressure, and brings it to a precise stop in front of the auction block.

Smiles are exchanged, hands are raised, and the auction begins.

Voices shout over the noise, and prices increase. It looks like a race. Everyone wants a chance at winning.

The Camero sales for over thirty thousand, a bid that's barely below retail. I wonder if that buyer is feeling the Winner's Curse yet.

The rest of the cars slowly pull up to the auction stop, but none draw the same attention.

Amy, the dealer I came to the auction with, doesn't get caught up in the fury. She scans her list and points out vehicles I wouldn't have noticed. She bids on a few, but never on one that she wouldn't own herself.

An unexpected surprise. An unlisted car pulls into the third auction bay. She jumps up and says she'll be right back.

I glance out the floor to ceiling glass windows, the only thing holding potential buyers from overrunning the auction, and catch sight of a bright blue, convertible, Ford Mustang. My breath catches. It's a dream car. Much flashier than the Camero. But where are all the bidders?

Amy comes back inside, tells me the car is in excellent condition, has low miles, and since other dealers are distracted with their previous purchases, it will probably go for a good price.

I didn't intend on buying a sports car today, but know my husband would love this one. We've actually discussed this exact car multiple times in the last couple months. What a surprise it would be if I brought it home to him.

I tell her to go ahead and bid, as long as it doesn't go too high.

The bidding begins. My heart rate picks up. I wring my hands, trying to rid myself of the nervous tension. Then I realize she's the only bidder. The owner approaches her. They appear to be discussing the car. My tension rises another notch.

Amy comes back with a big smile on her face. "Congratulations! You're the proud new owner of that amazing car. And, better yet, the owner had a minimum bid, and it looks like the price will be the same."

The rest of the day drags by, as we wait for the auction to finish so we can go get our purchase.

I'm a touch apprehensive as the auction finally ends. I've never purchased a car without touching, let alone driving it first. But I try to put on a good face, hiding my nervousness.

Buyers are welcomed into the lot. Hundreds of cars are parked in lines, but the bright blue Mustang stands out. It's like a blue M & M in the middle of chocolate. I can't take my eyes off it. With the new design, the car looks sleek, like it could roar into action at a moments notice.

My husband, scratch that, I really like this car. We're going to be arm wrestling over who gets to drive it.

"How do you like it?" The dealer asks, starting the engine. It growls to life, like a bear being woken from a winter's slumber.

"Better than anticipated."

"It's a V-6, but has a turbo, so it'll get up and go plenty fast."

I glance inside, noting the black leather seats and crome trim. This is a car that belongs in the city, getting admiration and applause.

"I don't know how it'll do on the back roads though..."

The dirt road we live on has bumps and holes. Maneuvering around them will be quite the feat, but I'm willing to take it on.

Amy smiles. "Want to take it for a drive?"

I can't hold back my answering smile as I hop in the drivers seat.

A car pulls up beside us. To my surprise, it's the black Camero. The driver rolls down his window and motions me to do the same.

"Nice ride." He nods toward my car.

"You too."

"It'll do." He shrugs and changes the subject. "Where you taking her?"

What is it with men and calling cars women? "Island Park, Idaho."

He smiles. "Wanna take her out for a spin before you hide her away in the mountains? The interstate's less than a mile away. I'm sure you need to fill up on gas too, and there's a station at the next exit."

His reasoning is sound. I do need to get gas, the gage reads less than a quarter tank.

I glance over at Amy, who sits in the passenger seat. She holds up her hands like she's innocent. "It's not up to me."

My chest bubbles with the same enthusiasm that's been infecting the auction all day. It makes me brave. "Sure, why not?"

What do you look forward to every week?

I wake up with a smile on my face, because today is one of the only days I wake up with my husband by my side. I reach over and entwine my fingers with his. His breath is still even, sleeping in being a luxury beyond price. I don't wake him up, just enjoy the undisturbed moment of peace. His face is relaxed, and a day's stubble makes his face scratchy. The red of his beard makes him look more European. If it wasn't for his curly, sandy blond hair, you'd guess he was of Irish, instead of German descent.

A small smile pulls at his lips as he begins to wake up. He rolls towards me and wraps a strong arm around my waist. I take a deep breath, the smell of his deodorant and shower gel, masculine. He is the epitome of man, with thick muscles and broad chest. But the part of him that I love most, is his heart of gold.

Our son throws our door open, shattering the calm. It crashes against the wall stopper.

"Daddy?" He gets just as excited as I do for our Sunday mornings.

"Come here," I whisper.

Hesston crawls between us, nestling into our chests. He closes his eyes, and smiles, finishing with a sigh.

The movement of Hesston has woken Ted, his blue eyes open.

I forget how blue they are, like a clear, noonday sky. They warm as he realizes who is encircled in his arms.

"Love." Ted murmurs into Hesston's hair.

Hesston murmurs back and cuddles deeper. When Hesston opens his eyes, I see Ted in them, the same blue, with a sweet innocence that can't be replicated.

By the time I get ready and enter the church's chapel, I'm physically prepared to be spiritually fed. It's the moment I look forward to every week. I know that if I just make it through the days, that pretty soon, Sunday will roll around, and I will get to spend some quality time with my family and friends, refilling my spiritual cup through the testimony of others, and the teachings of the prophets and apostles. It's a knowledge of surety in the midst of uncertainty. It's a place I can find refuge from the worldly storms. And the peace I find there, is as unreplicateable as the pattern in Hesston's eyes.

The day will be a flurry of activity, with meetings, and classes, and people to see. But amid all the busyness, there is a respite of spirit. A quiet assurance that I'm in the right place at the right time. And the peace that fills my heart, brings gladness into my life.

For three hours, I am surrounded by profound teachings, made simple enough that even a three year old can understand. The gospel is as simple or complicated as you make it. For me, it's just what I need. The teacher's present Christ's teachings, and I feel the spirit testify of it's truth. Knowledge like that is priceless. And it's something I yearn for. My cup will never be full enough. I will always thirst for more spiritual knowledge, because it is a never ending well, deep enough to quench the thirst of all souls.

I pray for spiritual guidance when I teach. To be able to reach the people in my class, and help them better understand the love Heavenly Father has for them. It's a task accomplished with the Savior by my side. I could never teach without Him, for He is the answer to all of life's questions.

By the time I return home, a new kind of peace has settled over the house. One that is different than the peace in the morning. It's a peace of the soul. And just as the gospel is a refuge from the storm, my house becomes a refuge from every day life. A place where I can rest from my labors and remember what is truly important.

I can tell by the look on my loved one's faces, that they too feel the peace in their hearts. It's something I cherish. And I look forward to seeing those precious faces each and every day for the rest of eternity. This is our loving Heavenly Father's plan.

What is the first thing you do when you wake up every morning? Why?

Sleep begins to pull away. Light behind my eyelids causes me to squint. I take a deep breath and stretch the remnants of my dream back into dreamland.

The house is quiet. Filtered sunlight casts the bedroom in a warm glow. A peaceful feeling fills my chest. All is well. I've made it through another night.

The sound of a door opening alerts me that Hesston has woken up too.

I lie still, closing my eyes, and listening.

Footsteps charge into my bedroom, then pause. Soft breath brushes my face. I count the seconds before my son roars at me.

Opening my eyes and kicking my limbs, I pretend to be frightened, like he's the scariest animal on the planet.

"I scare you?" He asks with a giggle.

"You scare me." I answer.

A big smile lights up the cutest face on the planet.

I ruffle his blond hair, and pull him onto the bed for cuddles. He curls up next to me and gives me the warmest morning welcome, a big hug.

"I love you."

"Love you, momma." He responds.

My day has officially begun.

Hesston and I love to play the scare game. I think he knows I'm awake, waiting for him to scare me. But, it's just so much fun seeing the satisfaction of a good scare on his face, first thing in the morning. His giggles and smiles carry me throughout the day.

Have you ever lived in another country besides your country of birth? Would you want to?

I clutch my weathered suitcase to my side. My immigration papers in my other hand look pristine compared to the beat up leather exterior. Probably because they haven't seen the light of day since England. My poor bags tell a different story.

I shudder as I think of the ship we've just left in the water behind us. I don't dare look back, in fears that they will shove me back on deck. The three months it took to cross the ocean passed with too much pain and life experience to recall. I must look forward. Not back. Here is my future, where I plan to be.

The family in front of me take a step closer to the station's door. We're lined up like cattle, waiting our turn to be branded into a new life. I wonder what the new world will see in me. Will I be enough to survive?

I put on my best dress this morning, one that I haven't worn since I left home. I figured it would be best to welcome this new country of mine. Maybe if I dress up for it, it will welcome me better. My shoes are a stark contrast. The leather has been blasted by salt water, and become stiff, making it hard to walk. But I'll manage. It's only me, after all, that chose this life, and I'm not about to back down to the harsh trails ahead of me. The sea has taught me something: I can do hard things.

The hardened faces of my shipmates show the same story as mine. We began this journey like infants, unknown to the hardships of life. But now we know what true sacrifice is, and how it changes the soul. We're not backing down. Not after everything we've lost.

I wonder how many had to cast a loved one to a watery grave. I should've kept count. But after the fifth child, my heart couldn't stand the ache.

A small tremble builds in my hand left hand as I remember the way a tiny child held onto me as her mother lay sick and dying next to her. The father had stayed behind, working to pay for the expensive travel fare. They could only afford two tickets, and he gave them to those he loved most. The baby girl is with another family now. One who has her wrapped in their arms. I pray she'll see her father again. A life without family is hard. I'm learning that myself.

As the line moves again, I wonder if the journey across land will be worse than water. After all, I will most likely be walking. My shoes stab my toes in a tight embrace. Better figure out a way to fix that, or else I'll lose my big toe by the time I reach my destination.

Before I know it, I'm inside the wooden doors, being ushered to a window with a sharp boned man behind the desk.

"Papers." He demands.

I hand them to him.

He glances at me. Stares into my eyes, like he's looking for someone else. I look away, unable to hold his eyes.

"It's just you? No family?" He pauses. I nod my confirmation. "Did they die on the voyage?"

"No sir. It's just me."

He glances at my papers. "But you're only...eighteen. Surely someone has accompanied you."

"Plenty of people have accompanied me, sir." I motion around the room, noticing the immigration process being much faster for my fellow travelers.

He waves away my refute. "Yes, but..." He sighs.

My legs begin to shake. I pray there is nothing wrong with my papers. I boarded the ship without a hitch. Why am I feeling like I've done something wrong.

I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I've just managed to place my feet on firm soil. I'm not willing to let that ground shake me off already.

He's scanning my papers. It takes him a while to get to the end. I've about lost my nerve when he looks up at me again. His puzzled expression lightens.

"Well, Adelina, welcome to America. A great nation where freedom and opportunities abound. All you have to do is, be in the right place at the right time, and you'll succeed. Seeing as you've made it this far, I can't imagine you not becoming a contributing member of society. Anyone who has enough gumption to travel over two thousand miles to a new country, all on their own, has got to be strong."

A small smile crosses my lips. "Thank you, sir."

"Where are you headed after this?"

I wonder if I should be forthcoming with this stranger, but quickly decide I can be, since he just welcomed me to his country, a fellow citizen. "I plan to head west."

"To the frontier?"

I nod. "The same."

A sparkle lights his eye a moment before a smile emerges. "Then you'll want to head south of here. There's a band of travelers headed west tomorrow morning. You can't miss them. They're going to Illinois, which is the edge of civilization out there. And, as fortune would have it, my wife, two young boys, and myself will also be traveling with them. So, it looks as though we will be getting to know each other a little better."

I'm surprised. I don't know whether to be excited or nervous by this revelation. I decide it doesn't hurt to trust someone. After all, if I am going to succeed in this life, I need to open my heart sometime. "Thank you, sir. I will be pleased to meet your family."

His smile turns mischievous. "You say that now, but wait until you spend a day with my boys. They ask so many questions, it makes my head spin."

"Then I shall rather like them."

He turns thoughtful. "I do believe you and my wife will be friends, which will be good. A woman needs strong friends, to help get through all you must bear together."

I don't know what he means, but figure his age and wisdom surpasses mine. "Until tomorrow then."

He stamps my papers, places them in a pile and begins to fill out a new form. "These are your citizenship papers. Keep them with you at all times." Once he's finished, he hands them over. "I just need your signature, and then you can be on your way."

I sign, which comes out looking much better than anticipated.

He organizes all my information, handing me the papers I need, and explaining what is what. My head spins. This is really happening. After all the waiting, and praying for survival, I am now a free citizen. A sense of pride fills my chest as tears collect in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I wipe at them with the back of my sleeve.

"Remember, head south. There's a supply shop not two blocks from here, and you'll find the people you're looking for."

I offer my thanks and head for the door, feeling like a newborn, taking my first breath. This country is now my home. A home I will never leave. I feel it in my bones.

It will be worth the sacrifice in the end. It has to be. I just pray my children and their children appreciate my sacrifice too.

What modern technological device takes up most of your time?

I scan through the book titles, admiring my collection. Can't believe it's only been a couple years since I started using my Kindle for all my book buying and reading. There are times when I miss the smell of new book pages, or the crinkling of the binding. But overall, my experience has improved.

I began buying books on the Kindle when Hesston was born. He would startle at the sound of pages being turned. That was easily fixed by doing all online books. Not only did the page turn with the click of the finger, but I was now able to read without the lights on. This became really handy when I wanted to read while Hesston nursed, or when he fell asleep in my arms. It also became much easier to hold my device rather than hold a book. If I had to read at a distance, I could increase the font. If the words were too bright, I could decrease the brightness.

I was able to access millions of titles, and have a book within seconds, delivered right to my device. I must admit, the convenience of Kindle outweighs the waiting for delivery, even if it is only 2 days. I was able to get new releases the second they came out. Digital format has a built in dictionary. If you don't understand a word, click on it, and a definition will appear. You can highlight text, and bookmark pages.

Being able to read at anytime was a huge benefit for me, because being a social person, and having to stay at home so much, books became my social outlet. I was able to explore different worlds, see different perspectives, and have my mind opened through the books. It increased my reading speed, and I can read through a book in less than a day.

Being able to switch from your book to your email, texts or phone calls is also super convenient. It's simply the touch of a button, and you can switch tasks like shifting gears.

Another big benefit is cost. I love that the kindle books are easily half price of regular print. It has helped my budget, and saved me hundreds of dollars. And if you're like me, affordability is key.

If you don't have your own Kindle, or Kindle App on your phone. Go check it out today. It is well worth the sacrifice. Still not convinced? The Kindle App is free, and you can download it to any device. You can share your library with all your devices. Or can share with friends and family. When you read from one device and switch to another, your app with mark your progress and sync it to the new device, after asking for approval. No need to go backtracking for page numbers. It also shows your progress, and you can share what you've read online. It's a great tool, one that every reader should take advantage of.

What do you need right now?

The laundry pile grows by the hour. Clothes from work. Hesston's accident pile. My pajama pile. Sadly, the last one tops them all. The smell of exhaust and body odor permeates the area, making me run away instead of dig in. The colors are mixed together, reds, blues, blacks, whites, off whites. I wish I didn't have to sort through this mess. My hands feel greasy just looking at the piles.

The kitchen floor is sticky. Probably from the chocolate milk we spilt a couple days ago. Maybe that's the sour smell in the kitchen. Or maybe it's from the left over food crumbs. I haven't gotten around to sweeping them up. I can't stand by the sink or garbage can, the smell makes me gag.

Shoes are kicked off by the front door, in random order. Trying to find a pair that matches is like finding matching socks in the laundry.

The living room has toys spilling over the side of the bin, onto the floor and sofas. It's like a land mine in there, best to stay out. A blanket is crumpled on the floor by the sofa, and a few stuffed animals are close by. Hesston must've cuddled with them this morning while he enjoyed his vitamin gummies. My guess was right, one of his bowls is sticking out from under the blanket.

The beds are unmade. Pillows sit at awkward angles. And clothes are draped over the foot board of the bed. There are hats stacked on the bed posts, and dirty clothes on the floor. Magazines and books are strewn across the bedside table, along with snacks and water. I'm afraid to look in the closet.

The bathroom smells like mildew. No doubt from the fact that it hasn't been cleaned since I came back from Idaho two months ago. I keep trying to get Ted to clean it, but he's so busy doing the things I can't do when he gets home, that bigger projects like that get pushed back to tomorrow, over and over. The towels have a moist feel to them, and I wonder if they ever dry.

Upstairs is off limits for me. I don't even want to venture and see what kind of damage Hesston has conjured while he's up there playing in his toy room. The last time I did go and check upstairs, the toilet had been clogged with poop for who knows how many days, and I had to take a plunger to it. Talk about gag reflex.

I wander out to the kitchen throughout the day, trying not to gag from all the different musty smells in the house. I have to keep myself fed or else my all day morning sickness gets worse. Every time I make that trip, it's all I can do to not vomit. I haven't cooked in over a month. I feel like I'm surviving on cereal, eggs, and fast food. I think Hesston's surviving on sandwiches and treats. Ted's doing the best out of all of us, keeping up with his fruits and veggies.

I need a house keeper. I need a cook. What I wouldn't pay to get my house clean, and a good home cooked meal. It's become a novelty these last 6 weeks. I pray this cursed nausea goes away before I go crazy with this mess.
Maybe I should post a Help Wanted Ad in the paper just to see what response I get...

What area of your life do you tend to enjoy in excess instead of moderation?

Filtered sunlight comes through the window shades. It's morning. Another day's beginning.

I listen to the silence, reveling in the thought that soon, the house will be filled with noises from my children, and all sense of calm will be shattered.

I roll over and cuddle deeper into the warm blankets. The smooth sheets caress my bare legs. I wish I could stay here all day, wrapped in my cocoon.

My mind slowly rolls into gear, a list of things to do start popping up. I shove it back into a mental filing case.

Closing my eyes, I bury my head in my feather soft pillow.

The day will begin when my kids decide it begins. I'm too comfy to get out of bed.  

Have you or a character ever experienced something that just could not be logically explained?

Clasping Hands

The scans have come back with little hope for survival. The time has come for the hard decision of life or death.

The respiratory therapist turns off the heart monitor's sound. He says he will just watch it. No need for the noise.

The life support machine is turned off. No more breathing help.

We stand around is a circle. Holding hands. Waiting. Hoping. But ultimately knowing that there's no turning back after this moment.

His chest does not rise. His coloring does not improve. If anything, his face is becoming more pale.

I squeeze the hand holding mine.

This can't be happening. I'm only twenty two. I've only been married a year. He barely knows the love of my life. He hasn't even met the children I will bear. He leaves so much behind.

I glance over at my mom, the tears making her blurry. Her cheeks are flushed, the pain evident on her face.

His hand starts to pull away from mine. His arms flexing, bringing his hands together in front of him. Clasping.

Hope blossoms in my chest. If he's moving, that's a sign he's still alive. His spirit is still inside his body. Maybe he can make it through this.

Minutes pass. The waiting is agony.

The therapist turns off the machine and places a stethoscope to his chest. He moves it around. Listening.

The look he gives us is one he's probably given countless times. One of compassion and sympathy.

There are no words needed. Just like that. The rock that our family has been built on is gone, ripped from this life.

My father's dead.

List a few phobias you have. When and how did you discover you had these fears?

Disclosure: This one reads like a journal entry. No story telling today...but maybe this weekend, because I could come up with some pretty funny stories related to my fears.

Deep water

Progressive water fear. When I was younger, we took swimming lessons at the local pool, and I loved to swim. My parents would tease me that I was like a fish. And I was. I loved the water and swimming. I still love swimming and the water. But in controlled environments.

I don't know how to explain this. But I feel like water is such a complex thing. It is needed for life, yet it takes away life. So, I have conflicted feelings about it. I am okay with water in controlled circumstances. But when it comes to open, deep water, it becomes a threat to me.

I think the first time I realized my water fear, or maybe what created my water fear, was watching a movie in elementary school about water safety.

A young boy decides to get in a river without a floatation device or parental supervision, and is caught in a whirlpool and drowns. It shows his friends and family mourning him, wondering where he went, why he hasn't come home, imagining what his life could be like, all sorts of traumatic things. I'm sure the video was meant to instill the importance of water safety, but it downright frightened me. Ever since then, I have been extremely afraid of rivers, lakes, and especially the ocean.

When we lived in Hawaii, I got taken out by a wave and dashed into some black lava rock. If you're not familiar with those rocks, they hurt and really cut up the skin. It was crazy because, the waves we small and coming in so peacefully until I stepped onto the beach. Then a couple huge waves came tumbling in, taking me out in the process. I don't know if it was the law of attraction or what, but it sure shook me up. That was the one and only time I went into the ocean the whole time I lived there.

I don't think I'm afraid of drowning, but I think I'm afraid what is lurking below the surface. Like a whirlpool. Or a shark. Or a man eating fish. If I can't see the bottom of the water, it becomes unknown, and that unknown is scary. As you can imagine, living on the lake and overcoming this fear is quite the complex situation, especially with a husband and son who love water and have no fear. It's definitely going to challenge me. I guess we will see if I can overcome this fear in the future. But as for now, I still feel like running away from the water.

Wild animal attacks

This is something that I have struggled with since I was a child. Was it just me, or did anyone else's dad watch the nature shows on TV? The ones where they show predator attacks?

I am very tender hearted, especially when it comes to animals. Well, animals that are not predators. As for wolves, bears, mountain lions, and all those, I would kill them without a moment's hesitation, because it's either me or them. But with tame animals, or animals that are prey, I couldn't hurt them if it meant life or death.

When we lived in Island Park, Idaho for the summer, we lived in a cabin in the woods where bears and moose were prevalent. I never took walks alone. And when Ted and I did venture out, I was always on guard, constantly checking our surroundings. When it was after dark and I needed something from the store, I let it go until the next day. And, if I did get home after dark, walking from the car to the house felt like the longest journey of my life. It was all I could do to get inside without freaking out.

Now, I'm completely okay with driving through Yellowstone National Park, and other areas that have wildlife. But I feel safe because I'm in a car. I'm also okay with camping in a trailer, because I feel like I have a wall of protection. But, being in a tent is like torture for me. I can't sleep at all because of the fear.

Ted and I went on a hike in Yellowstone last year. I was a busy conservation area, with nice, well groomed trails and amazing views. It rounded at the base of the tetons with a lake, which provided quite the backdrop. As incredible as the hike was, I remember feeling on edge the whole time. I don't think it helped that there were bear warning signs posted all along the trail, and we hadn't planned on hiking, so we didn't prepare ourselves with proper protection. Because of that, I had a hard time enjoying myself, and probably won't do a hike like that again until I am more prepared.

We really enjoy going to the badlands and hiking. I always felt extremely safe, because I didn't think there were any predators, aside from the occasional badger or coyote. But, when I was driving through with my parents, we saw a mountain lion, which is a very rare thing, because they usually avoid people. But it was in a high traffic area at the beginning of the park, which makes me rather nervous, aside from the fact that my mom and step dad had just hiked a trail not 100 meters from the spot. It made me imagine up all sorts of scenarios. None of them good. So, this whole last summer, we haven't went out to the park and hiked once. Whereas last year, we were out there almost every weekend. It's sad how my fear has overtaken our lives. That and we were super busy moving and doing other summer activities. But still...

Spiders

This one is not completely irrational. It used to be. But not anymore. When I was in third grade, I remember looking at a book full of spiders and their anatomy. I was intrigued and fascinated by them. But after learning that they had eyes that could see all around their bodies, it kinda freaked me out. Strange that eyes would do that to me, but it did. So, I started to avoid spiders. At this age, I remember my parents also teaching me about black widows, because we used to get them in our barns, so that also increased my wariness of them.

As time went on, I gradually got over this fear. But, a couple years ago, Ted and I were in a desperate situation, and we had to move into the farmhouse, since it was cheap rent. The cheap rent came with the bonus of the spiders. Hobo spiders. And my fear became renewed, rightfully so. Hobo spiders are fast, big, and aggressive. They are also poisonous.

I brought Hesston home from the hospital to this house, and I spent countless nights not being able to sleep, sitting up in bed, listening for Hesston's breathing, hoping he was okay, because I was afraid a hobo spider was going to climb into his crib and bite him. I can't even tell you how terrifying night feedings were. I didn't want to turn all the lights on to wake up Hesston more, so I snuck around in the dark, only turning on a single lamp, which was dull light. It chased away the shadows, and I prayed the spiders too. I think the worst was when I found a couple hobo spiders, thankfully dead, along the baseboards of Hesston's room. They were big, and I could never convince myself to remove them. So, they stayed until Ted or my mom could come pick them up.

Luckily, we had an awesome pest control service that knew how to spray for hobos. They did an excellent job, and the sightings decreased to only one a month by the time we moved out. I remember packing all our things, and praying we weren't packing any spiders. I just couldn't stand the thought of bringing them to North Dakota with us. And as we were doing a last sweep of the house, a big hobo spider had gotten stuck in one of the sticky traps, making my relief for moving that much more. I don't think I ever felt one hundred percent safe in that house. There was always a threat, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

Scorpions

This is one that came unexpectedly and then got resolved quickly. I was never afraid of scorpions until they were inside our house. When we moved to Arizona, we bought a home that hadn't been lived in, and had sat vacant for a year. It was also out in the country, on a large lot, where scorpions made their home. Well, they must've liked our home, because we started to find them everywhere. The most frightening thing was, they were small scorpions, baby ones, so they weren't older and bigger, so they could hide better. They also didn't know how to control their venom, so their sting was much more risky. When I found on in our bedroom, I was ready to move out. I would check under our sheets every night, afraid of what I was going to find. During the summer, I would come home to a dead scorpion in the house, every day. Thankfully, we had a good pest control guy there, and he sprayed every month. So, they were usually dead. But sometimes we would find one alive, like the one in our bedroom, and my fear would spike. We also had spiders, but spiders took a back seat to the scorpions. As I mentioned earlier, the fear came and went quickly. We sold our home and moved to Island Park, and the threat of scorpions vanished. So, as long as I stay away from places where scorpions are, I am just fine.

Anything that could injure the people I love

This is such a broad one, but I am constantly scanning my surroundings and looking for a threat, especially when I am with the people I love. I feel like I am responsible for protecting those I love, and so I want to be prepared to protect them. When Hesston and I go on walks, I am constantly listening to our surroundings and scouting every inch, looking for a threat. I worry a lot about dogs, because I know dog attacks escalate with children.

I think this fear started when I had Hesston. Before that, I didn't have a lot of fears when it came to me and Ted. Ted is an excellent shot, so if someone was to break into our house, their chances of survival are really low. And, Ted is super buff, so that's an added bonus. I have also taken self defense classes that have helped boost my confidence and prepared me to better protect my family.

Well, I think I have written enough about my fears. We will close this chapter for today.

When was the last time you (or a character) got lost?

I'm so lost I don't even know where to begin to get unlost. Is that a thing? Unlost?

The equation in front of me looks like hieroglyphics from another era. How can I put a number into this and make it come out the other end looking like it belongs?

I close my eyes. Maybe if I clear my head for a few minutes it will help.

Setting down my pencil, I run my hands along the desktop. The wooden surface has dents, probably from other frustrated students getting stuck on the same equation. The edges are smooth, rounded in a half moon shape. The metal legs are cool to the touch, but warm under my hands quickly. I bring my hands back to my lap.

The smell of paper and old books relaxes me. Thanks to my limited budget, my Chemistry book must be 10 years old. But the smell of the worn pages bring back memories of relaxing at home with a good fiction novel to ease my mind.

The gum in my mouth has about lost it's taste. I wonder if I have another piece in my backpack. Oh well, doesn't matter now. If I look for it, the teacher will get suspicious of me cheating and instead of hoping to get a passing grade, I will surely fail. I chew slowly, trying to make the flavor last.

Pencils scratch papers around the room. One taps in front of me, no doubt by the smart boy who is waiting for everyone else to finish so he can get on with his life. I wonder how that would be. To never be challenged by school. I'd guess, boring. The tapping increases, pulling me from my thoughts.

I open my eyes and study the equation again. I know I copied it correctly. I have been studying for this test for weeks. Sacrificing time with friends and family felt like such a big deal at the time, but now it feels worthless since I can't seem to come up with the correct sum.

There, an error. I'd added an extra division that didn't belong.

I rework the numbers, the sum coming out looking much more appropriate for the question. Yes, this must be it.

I sigh of relief.

"Okay class. Time is up. Please pass you tests to the end of the row and I will collect them. Results will be posted by the end of the day." My teacher begins to walk up the row, collecting the tests.

I stare at the rest of the students. Most look dejected, like someone just robbed them. But some look confident. I don't know how to feel, but I hope I look confident. The genius in front of me has his shoulders thrown back and a cocky smile on his lips as he scans the answers of someone else's test from down the row. I wonder if that's permissible.

The overall somber mood is capped like a soda bottle, waiting to be opened. The only sounds are the shuffle of papers and the scuffing of our teacher's shoes on the worn carpet. I wonder how old it is as she walks back to the front of the classroom.

"Class is dismissed. Enjoy the rest of your day."

And just like that, the balloon is popped and everyone rushes out of the classroom, ready to be free.

"Thank you, Mrs. Stephens." I wave goodbye as I leave.

She gives me her best smile, which makes her look just like Nicole Kidman, but with curly hair. I'm curious how many of the boys in my class signed up just to admire her. Bet they didn't anticipate the class being such a challenge.

Outside, my friend Teresa is waiting for me. We give each other a tentative smile. I think she's thinking the same thing as me, did we do the right thing in signing up for such a hard class?

Talent Shared Short

Lights switch from off to on.
Darkened faces stare. I smile and scan, look for the one that will anchor me there.

My smile wobbles. My name, announced. Introduction made.

I continue to search.

My hands feel slick. My stomach sick. The scratchy organza under my fingertips.

My qualifications make me stand a little taller. My smile will not falter.

Introduction closed.

I find him. My strength, my love, my everything. I pause and let the moment carry me.

He's in the crowd. He looks proud. All the things I wish I could be.

He's the one that should be sharing his dream. After all, how many dreams has he sacrificed for me?

Applause. It's time to begin.

I turn away. Legs shake. Please dress, hide my insecurities.

Lights reflect on the shiny piano surface. It beckons for me.

Hands on the black and white keys, I close my eyes. A deep breath, filled with polished wood and warmed fabric.

And begin again.

Were you born to shine in one special way? What makes you really stand out?

I have pondered these questions for years. I think it's something we all ponder. I mean, we're all different, and so we have qualities that make us stand out from one another, but what is the main one?

For some people, this question is simple to answer. Their talents may be easy to display. They could have a talent for singing, dancing, or playing a musical instrument. Others could be less obvious. A good listener, compassionate, peacemaker, or a talent for giving service. All of these talents are special and individually bless the lives of others. And multiple talents are given to multiple people. I imagine a great pianist would have to feel emotions at a deeper level so they could pour their heart into their music, thus making them a very sensitive individual. This can make the question of 'what makes you really stand out?' have multiple answers.

Being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has shaped my life for the better in countless ways. With the knowledge of the gospel, I have discovered that each one of us are choice and cherished children of a loving Heavenly Father, who wants us to succeed in life. As such, we all have a divine destiny, purpose, and reason we are born on the earth. It isn't an accident that we have been born now, during this dispensation, in the fullness of times, and as such, we have a sacred duty and responsibility to bring others to know Christ and Heavenly Father. This is a blanket purpose, but we each have individual strengths and talents, that if we develop, we will be blessed and given more talents. And with getting to know our Heavenly Father, our talents become more obvious, not only to us, but to those around us. It's like they're brought to the surface, with the help of the Lord. Maybe it's because we see each other through Christ-like eyes, seeing strengths instead of weaknesses. No matter the reason, we are all important and have a purpose.

If I were asked what makes me shine, the first thing that pops into my mind is my happy disposition. I feel like I have been born with a naturally happy and optimistic outlook on life. I see others as children of Heavenly Father, with divine worth. It is something that has helped me to reach out to those that have been shunned or forgotten, and bring them into a loving circle. I feel like we all need wholesome associations with friends and neighbors to strengthen ties and relationships.

I think my parents realized I had a special talent for making everyone feel loved from a young age, and they always encouraged me to be friends with people who were left out, and to be nice to everyone, no matter their circumstance. Those small life lessons, have taught me that we are all important, and even if it feels like the world has forgotten us, there will always be someone who remembers us, and loves us, even our Heavenly Father. I know this can be challenging at times, because living in the world feels like such a long way from heaven. But as we come closer to Christ and live worthy, we will feel a closeness to our Savior that fills every void in our hearts.

I use Christ and Heavenly Father alternately, because they are one in purpose. They both love us so much, and want us to return to them after this life is over.

In conclusion, to answer the questions today, I would have to say, I am the least intimidating person you'll ever meet, because I love to wear a smile, and that smile is genuine. Because I am happy. It's not just a facade. It's something that is real and tangible, and if I can make a person's life a little better each day, then my purpose in life is fulfilled.

May we all discover our own unique and special talents. Share them with the world. If we all did this, the world would be a better place to be.

　

I wish I had paid more attention when...

Days fly into weeks and weeks into months. Before I know it, I'm switching out another calendar for a new year. The holidays have passed. Celebrations now memories. I'm left with a nostalgic heart, wishing times like these never ended.

How is it that all the planning and preparation took months, but the day of celebration felt like a few small moments. The anticipation built, but the climax didn't last.

The kids are back in school. Doing their routine. I'm at home. Doing my routine. And all the memories will fade, just like yesterday.

It's moments like these when I wish I'd paid more attention to the small details. Like the smile that crossed my son's face. The laugh of my husband. The way a hug warmed my soul.

When my dad passed away eight years ago, only weeks before the holidays, I remember feeling such a deep sense of loss, that I didn't think the holidays would ever be the same again. As a family, we remembered and cried over past family gatherings, and told stories of our favorite memories. My mom suggested many times that we need to write down our memories of dad, and the stories that he shared, before we forget them. With his loss so fresh, I didn't think I'd ever forget him or the things he did. But time has had a way of filling those memories with new ones. And the layers make the memories more faint.

So, I wish I had paid more attention to the details. The stories. The memories shared. I wish I had written them down. Because now, all I have are vague recollections of the man who is my father. And how am I to teach my children about the amazing man he was, if I can't even remember myself?

What did you (or a character) get in trouble for most when you were a kid?

When I was in third grade, I started a "Club" with some of my friends. I had a little day planner, and I wrote down my friends' names, phone numbers, and their interests. Since I was the leader of the club, I was the first one in charge of the activity the club would do when we got together.
Well, I planned a day with my friends at our Dairy Farm for a tour. I don't know how they convinced their parents to drop them off at the dairy, but they did, and soon, all the members were gathered together in the store front booths.

We began at the calf pens, which is where I had the most experience. My grandma allowed my brother and I to help bottle feed the calves up until they were too old to bucket feed. It was one of our first jobs, aside from washing buckets, and it taught us how to work hard.

Even at the age of eight, I had been helping on the farm long enough to know the process of calf, to heifer, to cow, to milker. My parents had also offered tours of the farm for years to local schools, and since I was a baby, I'd been included on these tours, hence, I knew where to start and what to explain.

As we moved from the calf pens, to the corrals, and on to where the cows got milked, it was the perfect time: Milking time. All my friends got to see the cows being loaded into the stalls and how the milking parlor was ran. I remember the workers casting us funny looks, and my grandparents asking if my parents knew we were over there alone. I assured them that everything was fine, and continued on the tour.

We made it to the ice cream making machine, which was a favorite, since all kids love ice cream. My parents were in charge of making all the ice cream for the dairy, and I had helped since a very young age, and knew the process well. My friends loved looking inside the large drum that churned the cream and flavoring.

The milk processing was harder to explain, with words like homogenize and pasteurize. The mechanisms where huge, and it took our breath away as we went inside the enormous cooler that held thousands of bottles of milk, ready to be moved to the sales front. I loved explaining the difference between the plastic bottles and glass bottles, since glass was much more fragile and needed to be handled with the utmost care.

The end of the tour was quite a delight, as we moved back up to the sales front, and got ourselves some yummy homemade ice cream. I remember feeling extremely accomplished as all my friends asked questions and were amazed at my knowledge of the farm and how their milk got from the cow onto their table at home.

I had done it! Started my own club and shared something of my own with them. I remember us sitting there and arranging who would be in charge of the next month's activity, when my mom came into the store. She was the manager of the dairy, and I later found out one of her employees had called to let her know I was there with a bunch of my friends, eating ice cream unsupervised.

The tour had lasted about an hour and a half, and us kids had planned for that amount of time, so parents started to pick up their kids one at a time. I'm not sure what was said between my friends' parents and my mom, but all I know is, that was the one and only "Club" get together we had. I guess eight years old was too young to have club activities.

This little story is one of many things I did as a kid. I was always getting people together, creating friendships, and starting little organizations where people could feel included. I was very independent, and I think that's what drove my parents most crazy. Because I knew I could do something on my own, I did it. But that didn't always make it right, or responsible. Just because I could do it, didn't mean I should. I had a hard time understanding this, as I felt I was old enough and big enough to handle myself. My parents had to keep teaching me the lesson of asking before I did things, so they would know where I was, and what I was doing, just in case anything went wrong. Luckily, nothing ever did go wrong. In fact, the only times things did go wrong was when one of my parents was there. I must've had extra guardian angels watching over me when I was doing something much too independent for my age.

As I look at my little guy, even at the age of three, I see some very strong similarities between the two of us. I have a feeling I will be teaching him the same lessons my parents taught me. Wish me luck!