Eight years ago Kim held a cute and very squirmy boxer puppy on her lap as I drove north towards Seattle. We’d just picked up our new baby from a breeder in Chehalis, WA. I believe she was about eight or nine weeks old at the time and we’ve enjoyed her exuberant and attentive personality ever since.

She’s not as active as she used to be, but she still loves to play with the kids, chase squirrels, and watch over our home. I can’t imagine having a better dog for our family. I hope she’s with us for many years to come, although we understand that boxers, on average, don’t live as long as many other breeds.

Kim took this picture of Elka enjoying the sun in our backyard today.

I didn’t get to see my mom in person this Mother’s Day like I did last year. But I just got off the phone with her after nearly a two hour chat. I wish she lived closer. I was raised in a home where my dad worked long hours and my mom worked even longer hours at home. I don’t recall a time when I needed her and she wasn’t there. She was there at the door reminding me to wear a jacket as I left to school. The rule was the temperature had to be a firm 60 degrees or higher in order to go jacketless so I spent a lot of time calling the time and temperature number. I called that number so often I’m surprised they didn’t have a recording customized for me that went something like,  “Too bad. It’s only 55 degrees this morning. Try calling back when the sun’s out”.

Mom attended hundreds of my baseball, football and basketball games. We lived in Utah so many of the games were played in rainy, cold temperatures. No matter how I played she was proud of me. She was always there for me. Yet she knew when I needed to talk and when to give me space. It was uncanny how she practiced this delicate balance in reacting to the ups and downs of school, sports and girls.

 
Dad & Mom in Ogden, Utah

She’s a voracious reader and possesses an amazing range of knowledge. She also had this weird skill where she could guess the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune when only a few letters were showing. I swear she should have gone on that show because nobody would have been able to hang with her. We used to watch the early versions together when the winner went shopping for overpriced gifts like the his and hers baby blue jogging suits for $300. Those were sweet!

I’ve been thinking about the many areas where my mom has influenced me. Here are a few of them:

Organized Minimalist– My mom never kept a bunch of sentimental crap around our house. She hated clutter, and I learned early that my homework, wallet, and paychecks had better find a home other than the kitchen table or I’d be spending the next morning searching for them in the garbage can. I’m the same way now and it drives Kim crazy.

Outspoken – My mom always spoke her mind. Often in blunt terms. I’m the same way which means I end up offending some people. Although it wasn’t always easy to hear, I appreciated knowing where I stood with her.

Love of Music – My mom always had music playing in our home. I’ve teased her about her taste in music but, looking back, it wasn’t bad. She listened to Abba, the Bee Gees, Roberta Flack, Simon and Garfunkel and the Beach Boys. She’d let me stay up late listening to my music while I rocked back and forth in her rocking chair eventually leaving permanent marks in the shag carpet.

Classy Dress– Although my dad didn’t approve of some of the clothing I wore, my mom was normally very supportive in my choice of attire. She allowed me to experiment and find my own style. My mom always looked great when she left the house. Something she learned from her mother. She also taught me to iron my own clothing at an early age which came in handy when I served a Mormon mission and wore white dress shirts for two years.

Dedicated Writer – I wish my mom would start a blog but I’m not sure her health would allow it now. But she’s kept a journal for as long as I can remember and is a fantastic writer. Her writing style is very unique and her penmanship just cool looking. When she had something to write that she didn’t want us kids to read she’d write it in shorthand. As a kid, I’d find a piece of paper full of short hand except at the very top of the page where she’d written, “Christmas List”. Ingenious yet pure torture for us kids.

At church today, Luca, Lincoln and Anna Lynn ran up on stage with the rest of the primary children and sang my favorite children’s song (I Often Go Walking) as a tribute to mothers. They sang. They smiled. They even waved as us a few times. I wish their grandmothers could have been there to see those cute grinning faces.

I’m certain they will be influenced by many of those same traits and skills I learned from my mother.

[audio:walking.mp3]

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I thought about you all day and was thrilled tonight when you told me that you read my blog every day.

To earn money during the summer months as a young teen in Utah I’d mow lawns and do odd jobs for my father. But once or twice a summer my grandfather would invite me to his home to work on his small farm. We called it a farm but it was really just a large garden. The only animal I ever saw was a big fat squirrel that lived on the wood pile. My grandpa told me he once saw a snake on the wood pile and that was enough to keep me from going very close to it.

My grandma would make us breakfast and then send me off the farm with a big kiss to my cheek. My job was to carry the big thermos full of lemonade to and from the car. Once we arrived at the farm my grandpa would give me a few tasks to do. Sometimes I’d weed the carrots or pick fresh peas. If I was lucky he’d let me water the beans or pick peaches or cherries from the trees that dotted the property. That way I could work in the shade.

Although the temperature during the summer months could easily climb into the mid 90’s we had lots of lemonade to keep us cool. I enjoyed hanging out with my grandpa and they stories he’d tell. I recall him telling me how he’d pick crates full of fruit for pennies a day when he was my age. I learned more about the life of my grandpa during these days on the farm than I ever did otherwise. He was at home on the farm and his normally stern demeanor relaxed while he worked there.

I’d keep busy the first few days and the time would fly. But the minute grandpa would run out of real jobs for me to do, he’d have me walk around the perimeter of the farm and look for large rocks in the soil. My jobs was to find, dig and then toss them towards the outer fence. This was the most boring job in the world to a 14-year old boy. I could toss hundreds of rocks and never feel like I’d made any progress. When I’d pick fruit I could see the results of my labor, but tossing rocks at a fence felt like busy work to me. It felt like insignificant.

Tossing rocks was made worse by the fact that I was able to see my grandpa working the rototiller. The rototiller was the holy grail of machinery to a 14-year old. I so very wished my grandpa would let me work it by myself. It looked like so much fun and did such a good job turning dirt that I wondered why weeding by hand was ever necessary. I’d watch my grandpa go up and down the rows with the rototiller while I was digging up rocks that were growing faster than any vegetable on the garden.

One afternoon on the drive back home, I asked my grandpa if I could run the rototiller the next day. He didn’t answer immediately. But that night at the dinner he told me and grandma that I could work the rototiller the next morning. I was so excited I could barely sleep that evening. I slept in my uncle’s old room that came with a digital clock radio. I’d watch that clock tick off the minutes until I dozed off listening to Gordon Lightfoot.

The next morning we arrived at the farm and grandpa told me I could rototill the very area where I tossed rocks from the day before. He showed me how to safely engage the blades that dug deep into the soil. I pulled the cord a few times to get it started and was quickly on my way to rototilling bliss. It was so much fun although I felt like the rototiller was pulling me a lot more than I was guiding it over the soil. I was making good progress when I heard a very loud, SMACK! The rototiller jerked hard to the left and toss me to the dirt as I tried in vain to control it. Luckily, my grandpa was there to pull me up safely away from the blades. He turned off the engine, and I stood there shaken and a bit embarrassed. I looked down and saw a huge rock in the dirt with white scrape mark across it. I’m sure my grandpa saw it too but he never said a word. He brushed the dirt off my shirt and face. The only thing he said to me was, “Grandma’s going to wonder what I did to you”.

What I learned that day was that the job I thought was meaningless wasn’t. Had I taken my rock tossing responsibilities a little more seriously the day before I may have seen that large rock. As powerful as the rototiller was, it was no match that dang rock.

Grandpa Tingey holding Luca in Bountiful, Utah

I learned a lot of lessons from my grandfather. I’m glad he let me try new things like the rototiller even when he probably knew I was in over my head. I think back to these experiences now I raise my children who often ask to do things that give me pause. He’s probably looking down on me now and laughing at some of the mistakes I make. But I hope there are enough good times where he smiles and realizes that his good influence on me was can be seen in how I interact with my children today.

I’ve never actually seen it happen. All I know is that IT IS HAPPENING. Each night, after everyone is asleep, a bottle of shampoo is hooking up with a tube of conditioner to produce a baby tube of facial scrub in Kim’s bathroom. This chemical mating ritual is taking place at such a rapid pace that it won’t be long before I’m shoved out to the shed with the weed whacker due to lack of space in our home.

Every week I ask Kim if she has any errands to run. She’ll toss out the regulars such as Fred Meyer, Costco and Target. Just as I’m about to walk away she’ll add, "Oh ya, I could use a trip to Nordstrom or Kiehl’s to get some (insert hair or skin product only a scientist could understand)" Given the cost of this stuff I’d rather she tell me she’s going to Louis Vuitton to check out the new line of steamer trunks.

This makes absolutely no sense to me because I go into her bathroom and there’s not a square inch of tub, counter or vanity space to hold any more product. If you were to walk into our home and see the number of tubes, bottles, jars, and vials in Kim’s bathroom you’d assume we were in the process of raising 23 daughters. Kim could wash her hair for a month and never use the same product twice.

A jar of something that isn’t facial soap

And I won’t even get into the number of conditioners taking up refuge in our home. But suffice it to say that we own a brand of conditioner that comes in a bottle, a tube and a jar. I’ve stopped using her shower because the hot water runs out before I’m able to determine what shampoo to use. One time I jumped in the shower, grabbed a tube of liquid soap and started rubbing it all over my face. My face started to feel more "silky soft" than clean when I realized I’d just deep cleaned by face with something called "Biolage Conditioning Balm". For hair. The rest of the day it felt like I’d been given a facial using a thin layer of Turtle Wax.

So if you plan to visit us this summer be prepared for the deluge of products you’ll encounter in the shower.

And don’t forget to bring along a periodic table of the elements. You’ll need it.