Waiting For Love

After 27 years and 10 kids, it has been determined that KJ needs some female type surgery. They say it’s not dangerous, a fairly common procedure, but as I sit here in the waiting room, it feels like anything but common to me. I met all her nurses and doctors before she went in, and they seem quite competent. But there is a sterile, mechanized feel to the whole thing. They have a video screen on the wall which tracks the “progress” of the surgery, complete with color coded lines indicating “operating room in….operating room out….recovery room in”….the same type of screen used to track luggage at the airport or itemize my purchase at McDonalds. They page you every so often with a call from one if the nurses in the operating room. I just got a call from her nurse named Molly…”things are progressing well..it will be another two hours or so”. I’m grateful for their attentive care, and their impressive talents and training, the results of which will bless KJ’s health. But there is no way they can know how important this woman on the operating table is to me. They can’t know that she is the center of my life, that it’s hard for me to leave her when I go to work in the morning and I cant wait to come home every night to talk to her. They don’t realize that she is my best friend, my closest and really only confidant, my sweetheart and lover for over 27 years, the mother of my children (and the center of their worlds as well). They can’t tell that she is everyone’s best friend, a literal “Mother Teresa” to countless souls. But I know…and God knows…so I sit here and wait, praying for the doctors and nurses to have God’s guidence as they care for my
darling KJ. I long to be with her again.

The Fighting O’Sullivans

There is an old WWII movie called the Fighting O’Sullivans, where I think seven brothers all go away to fight in the war, and the family is so proud of them, as they should be.

Well, my boys like to fight too, but not for a good cause. They are usually fighting amongst themselves over selfish reasons. It does not make me proud. In fact, I hate it. It drives me crazy, because I can’t stand contention. I’ve found that at certain ages (13 to 17 or so), my boys have very little personal discipline and even less patience with one another. They’re swept up in the modern day habit of becoming almost instantly irritated at anything that gets in their way, and the thing that irritates them the most is each another. It can be discouraging at times. My natural inclination is beat them into submission, but even I realize the irony in that tactic. So I usually just try to separate them, or shush them up. It’s not easy, though, because I’m outnumbered, and while I’m chasing one to try and separate them, the other one is running away yelling insults at his brother. I can understand why wild animals sometimes eat their young. If I was a silver back gorilla, I would beat my chest, bare my teeth, and slap them around a bit. They would then run away whimpering, and peace would soon descend upon the forest. But I am not a gorilla (even thought I am the oldest male in our band and I do have tips of silver in my hair), so I will stick to my separation strategy until the boys grow out of this phase of move out of the home… whichever comes first.

Just Shy of Perfection

Today is a red-letter day in our family.

My six year old daughter, #10, is shy. Painfully shy….but only with adults. At home with the family, she is animated as can be, singing, dancing, dressing up the dog, sorting things into piles while playing school, playing with her siblings or friends, etc. But when an adult comes over, she clams up, and sometimes makes herself scarce. For whatever reason, it takes her a long time to warm up to big people. Luckily, she’s had great teachers at school and Church who let her be herself, and have given her time to flower at her own pace. But there is one thing #10 has never done….participate in the annual children’s primary program at Church, because it requires the kids to all go sit up on the stand in front of the entire congregation, collectively sing songs, or individually reciting short scriptures or give brief talks. She has every intent of doing so, practicing with her peers for weeks, learning the songs and her parts, but at the last moment her shyness gets the best of her and she decides she just can’t go up with the other kids. But today, the date of our annual children’s primary program, was different. Sort of….she was planning on being involved right up until the car ride to Church, when she announced that she would not be participating. I played it cool, telling her it was up to her. But when it was time for the kids to go up, she marched right up with her friends! She sang the songs with gusto. She recited her memorized part “If we read them they will help us in our lives” (referring to the scriptures) with a big smile. And we smiled back, pleased that she had made a courageous decision, had overcome her fear, and that she could, in her own way, testify of the value of the scriptures in our lives. “For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a strong mind”. 2 Timothy 1:7 Way to go, #10.

We Were First

KJ and I recently returned from a much needed 10 day getaway in Hawaii. Now normally, it is really hard for KJ to relax when we are away because she worries about the kids, but something magical happened on this trip….she didn’t worry! Our younger kids were under the able care of our new daughter-in-law, and KJ was able to really relax the entire trip. We swam, snorkled, played tennis, spent and entire day at Pearl Harbor, shopped, slept in, took walks on the beach, dined together, and talked the whole time without one interruption. I’ve always been madly in love with KJ, but this trip reminded us that before there were kids, we were first.

We were first, before: diapers, sleepless nights, catching vomit in your hands before someone throws up in the car, piano lessons, homework, baseball practice, soccer practice, football practice, play practice, ballet practice, fixing bikes, sharing our bed with sick kids, scary dreams, late nights, overnights, arguing, fighting, late night trips to the store because “I’ve got to have this in the morning”, fundraisers, dog pee in the carpet, job charts, cub scouts, boys scouts, teaching 15 year old’s how to drive, teenage auto insurance rates, that stupid recorded message from the school that says your child (which one) missed school, calls from the police (just two), prom dresses and tuxedos, ACT tests, college applications, mission papers, wedding preparations, and so much more. WE WERE FIRST!

But the most exciting part of the this wonderful vacation, was the excitement and anticipation we both felt as we headed to the airport knowing we would soon be home with our amazing, wonderful family.

The Tattoo

Sometimes kids ask hypothetical questions of parents, just to test the waters. Questions like “What would happen if I came home with an earring?” (To which I would warmly smile, and say… “Nothing much, I’d just rip it out of your ear, leaving you with a jagged, bleeding ear”.) I’ve been asked questions like this for years, and they usually mean nothing. But when #2 recently asked, “What would you do if I got a tattoo, Dad?” somehow, I knew he was serious. Now, before I go on, you need to know a few things. #2 is 23 years old, a returned missionary who goes to Church every Sunday, pays his tithing, and holds a temple recommend. He’s a loyal son who loves his family, holds down a responsible job, and has a bright future ahead of him. “Why would you want a tattoo?”, I calmly asked. “I just want one, I think they are cool” he says. He goes on for several minutes explaining to me why he wants a tattoo. I counter with several reasons why he should not get a tattoo (Church leaders counsel against them, they are permanent and you’ll regret it, they look really stupid when you are old and wrinkly, people will judge you, etc.). “But I want one”, he says, explaining that he has always had a bit of a rebellious streak (true), has always been an individual (true….like the time when he was 11 years old, and dyed his hair white the day before he and I were to speak (Bishop and son) at the stake priesthood preview), and he couldn’t care less if people judge him (true again). I told him to really think it through, and to resist the urge. The next week he calls me on the phone. “I did it” he confesses, with a nervous tinge in his voice. “You did what?”, I ask. “I got a tattoo…of a heart…on my arm”. I could tell, he was wondering if I would lose my temper, if I would blow up and get mad, if I would disown him. What to say? What to do? I could tell he had really done it, that he was not teasing me. I said a silent prayer, then asked “Why did you get a heart instead of a dragon, or an eagle…or at least a lizard?” I asked, mostly to let him know that I was not going to kill him, that he was still my son, that I would not judge him, even though he knew I disapproved. “I’ll be right over to show you!” he says. It was all red and swelled up. He said it hurt so bad he passed out when he got it…literally (he said they didn’t know what to do with him…that they had never had a guy pass out before). “Do you like it?”, I asked. “Yea, I do”, he said. “But don’t worry, now that this is out of my system…I’ll never get another one”. “I’m glad to hear that”, I say. And I’m glad to know, too, that even though he now has a tattoo of a heart on his arm, he still is a good boy, with a bright future….and a good heart.

Ballet Dad

KJ called me on the way home and asked me to pick my six year old up at ballet. “I’m on it” I told her. “Do you know where the studio is?” KJ asked. “I thought you wanted me to pick her up at ballet?” I said. “Her ballet lessons are at the studio” KJ patiently replied. “I knew that” I assured her, so off I went.

Now, I’m an engaged Dad, but I’ve not been too involved in the ballet thing. I guess what I’m trying to say is my only interaction with it was at the one recital #10 had last spring. That evening the theater was hot, dark, and filled with 863 little girls. Luckily, all of them were blond except for #10, who has beautiful dark hair, so it was easy to find her on the stage. She had cute little bunny ears on her head, and a bunny tail on her tutu, or whatever the heck you call what they wear. None of the other bunny dancers had a clue what to do, but #10 was right on cue, clearly the natural leader in the bunch. I was proud of her.

So anyway, I arrived at the ballet “studio” and opened the door, where I stopped dead in my tracks. There was a hard bench on the side of the small room, and several moms were sitting along the bench, each with a toddler or two laying on the floor in front of them or half way on their lap. Some of the kids were coloring pictures on the floor. I quickly surveyed the room….all the little girls in the room were blond, so I started to panic. “Where was #10? Did I go to the wrong studio?” I heard some music coming from the back room, so I stepped over two or three little kids, and walked through the hall. The door was shut. “Should I go in?”, I asked myself. “What was on the other side of that door?” I imagined opening the door and immediately being engulfed in the middle of some elaborate dance routine. I decided to wait out in the front room with the moms and the little kids. I tried to act nonchalant. I was the only man in the room. I think they were staring at my protruding belly hanging over my belt. Ok, it’s not that bad, but I’m sometimes self conscious about it. I sucked in my gut, and prayed #10 would come out soon. And she did! She jumped into my arms, and I walked out as quickly as I could, stuffing her (gently) in the back seat of the car. I don’t think I recognized anyone in the parking lot, but I can’t really be sure.

Just Go With It

The newest (and final) Harry Potter movie comes out this weekend, and my kids are excited. And why shouldn’t they be, they’ve grown up with this movie franchise and the young actors that star in the movies. Last Christmas my 18 year old (#5) got a bunch of HP action figures as his main present! So I should not have been surprised last Friday night when I came home and heard KJ announce that #5 and #8 were going to have a Harry Potter movie marathon that night. Sure enough, a few minutes later they walked in the door with a couple of pizzas and a 12 pack of Cherry Coke. To be honest, it didn’t sound like too much fun to me, but then I got to thinking….how many times will I get to bond over decent entertainment with my 18 year old, 12 year old, and 6 year old, all on the same evening (yes, as soon as the boys walked in with the pizzas, #10 announced that she wanted in on the HP marathon)? In five weeks #5 will be on his mission to Denmark. #8 is already starting to hang out with friends more often than hang out at home with us. And even though #10 will be with us for a while, there aren’t a lot of activities that bond these three specific siblings together for an activity. So….I popped open a soda, grabbed a piece of pizza, and sat on the floor next to the kids. After all, “it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live”. Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

We’re All Children

This is a first for me, but today’s post is in the form of a short video, which reminds us we are all children of a loving heavenly father.  Click on this link to view (2 minutes 55 seconds) http://www.youtube.com/embed/JOrcqqpHCt8

The Art of Shopping

Last night KJ went to dinner with friends, and because school is now out, everyone but #10 had flown the coop to hang with friends.  #10 and I ate the lovely dinner that KJ had prepared before leaving, then we looked at each other and thought “now what?”.  I suggested we go on a ride, and off we went.  It was windy and kind of cold, so I did what any self respecting bored dad with one kid would do…..we went to Walmart.

Now when KJ goes to a store, any store, its all about efficiency, which usually requires that we “split up” so we can cover ground faster.  However, #10 and I have a shopping agreement.  When we go to a store, we saunter.  We take our time… and generally savor the fact that we are not buying anything.  She likes to look at all the pretty colors, the animals, the frilly dresses.  I like to look at the books, the man things you might find in a rich man’s garage, the electronics, etc.

Well on this particular night, we ended up in the bicycle section.  #10 wanted to try all the bikes, starting with the pink ones.  She rode each around the store, having the time of her life.  All the other parents stared at us, but we didn’t care.  Watching her tool around in these little bikes with training wheels I realized that she didn’t have a bike at home, only a tricycle.  On her next loop around the bike display I suggested, “Hey, why don’t we buy this bike for you”.  Her eyes lit up, “Really, we can buy it!”   I guess she hadn’t really experienced me buying her anything besides a berry smoothie at Costco or a crunch wrap supreme at Taco Bell.  “Sure” I said, “Today is special”.  And with that, she rode the bike right out the door….and into my heart.

God Was Our Matchmaker

I never was much of a lady’s man.  Skinny and bucked tooth in high school, I was
the kid who girls liked “as a friend”, but not as a hunk.  I was voted best personality in my senior class, but rarely dated.  Girls talked to me about their problems with their real boyfriends.  I think you get the picture.

When the gospel came into my life at age 19, it gave me new
perspective, purpose, and unspeakable joy.  Almost immediately I began sharing the gospel with family, friends, and co-workers.  Consequently, I spent lots of time with the full time missionaries.  Since most of my old friends became former friends, the missionaries became my new friends.  I was soon called as a stake missionary, formalizing my bi-weekly splits with the missionaries.  The gospel gave me
confidence as well as peace, and all I wanted to do was share it with
others.  Sixteen months after my baptism I entered the MTC in Provo, bound for the Netherlands Amsterdam Mission.  The “Best Two Years” was more than just a
movie to me, but an  amazing experience that has blessed my life ever since.

Like most returned missionaries, after arriving home I
quickly found employment, enrolled in school, and started looking for a
wife.  I lived in Oklahoma, and we had a fledgling young single adults group, but I dove in head first.  There were five (count them, five) young single adult girls in my stake.  I wanted to fall in love and get married, and I was told by my mission president that
you fall in love with girls you date, so I decided to start dating.  I began with a shy red head, and after realizing that wasn’t going to work, went methodically through the remaining four girls.  This process took about eighteen months, and after cycling through the bunch, and having no additional prospects, I was about to start on a second round of dating with the same pool of five girls, when something miraculous happened.  God sent me a woman.  It wasn’t exactly like what happened in the Garden of Eden, but almost.  She just arrived on the scene, beautiful, pure, and prepared.  Her arrival was heralded in the form of a phone call, which came out of the blue one night.

“Hello, is this Elder Patrick FMK?” she asked.  “Yes”, I answered, not recognizing the voice
on the other end of the line.  “This is Sister KJ, from the mission…..do you remember me?”  Remember her!  Sister KJ was the most beautiful, impressive sister in my mission,
WAY, WAY, WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE.  Of course I remember her.  But why was she
calling me?  She told me that she had been at mission friends that evening, and they were showing slides from the mission, and up popped my picture.  “Whatever
happened to Elder Patrick FMK” they all asked.  No one seemed to know, speculating that I likely still lived in Oklahoma.  But Sister KJ got a distinct impression that night.  “Contact him”, which she did that night by phone.  So here we were on the phone.  She asked about my life, and I asked about hers.  She wondered if I would transfer to BYU, and if so, “perhaps we could go on a date”.  “Why would she want to date me” I wondered.  Perhaps….perhaps….perhaps she was interested in me, not as a friend, but as a possible suitor!   A few days later I got a letter from her, which helped illuminate what I would soon discover was her marvelous personality and joy for life.  I wrote back.  She called.  I called back.  One day she said, “I’m saving up to come visit you”.  I realized then that she
really was interested in me, and I immediately bought her a plane ticket to
come visit me.  This was October of 1984.  She came for a three day visit, where we talked, laughed, met my family, and fell madly in love.  She went home telling her family that she was engaged.  I actually proposed to her three days later (she’s always been a forward thinker).  Ninety days later we were married in the Salt Lake Temple.  Crazy, huh.  So crazy that it just might work.

Now, twenty-six years and ten kids later, we’re still madly in love.  In a world filled with online dating and love coaches, I still think God is the best matchmaker of all.