To Teach About Family

Lauren, Megan
Nathan

Lauren and Charlie at puppy training class.

Charlie

Kate before she is introduced to sand.

Kate after she is introduced to sand.

Jon is excited or thinking about something--up and down energy.

Still kind of fuzzy--almost got him not moving.  Jon is perpetual energy personified.

                                                       

Jon was quite enthusiastic about the water.  Meg is a good teacher. 

We got floaties for everyone and a special swim suit for Jon with buoyancy inserts built in.  The sun reflected into our eyes so Meg went in and found hats for everyone.

ICE CREAM TREATS!!!
Kate declined to make use of the stick and went both-hands onto the cold stuff.

Nathan, almost smiling.

Megan, smiling.

Nathan shows nephew Jon how Shaun the Sheep makes noise.

Brent and sleepy Kate.

Lauren and Gypsy

Lauren and Kate

Newborn Kate and me

What is it within me that so overpowers my subconscious?  What is it that always pushes my desire to teach?  

I was working with a new rehab (for my hand just operated on last month) tech and we fell to talking about our families, relationship with spouses, what I did in college, his thoughts on why two people stay together as a couple, my unfinished PhD, the change in the name of the hospital where he worked.  He told one of the other physical therapists about his trick to get children to eat vegetables:  put them on the table and declare that they are his . . . they are not to touch them.  Reverse psychology.  I assured him that method would surely come back to bite him.  You can't reverse direct most behaviors--children learn by watching and trying what they see.  He told me that so far . . . so good.

During the rest of our conversation I was compelled to listen and to talk about how to raise children.  Not overtly, but by using stories from my family's recent past, I tried to teach him how to respect and to reinforce desirable behavior.  Especially I came around to Brent's attitude:  problems need to be fixed, not the blame.  If there is a messy room it doesn't matter who created the disarray--we are family and as a family we will all work together to bring order back to our home.  When children were kind and socialized--when we were at the toy store and no one whined or cried for a toy, when we walked past an ice cream store and no one plead for us to go in and get ice cream, when conversations were balanced and everyone included--in these times, I would thank my children and tell them that I wanted to go and do things with them.  Sometimes we'd go and pick out a cookie at the grocery store, or plan to take a picnic to the park the next day.  When there was yelling or loud disagreements while we were in public, I would (as soon as the child had calmed down) tell the child that I was disappointed and didn't want to go places with someone who made me feel uncomfortable.  

In all this, my most overwhelming yearning was to differentiate between punishment and discipline.  Anger and embarrassment and yelling were ineffective in dealing with anyone--especially children.  Brent's desire to have me feel secure and happy kept me sane and our marriage strong.  When Meg, La and Nate saw me doing something that was usually Brent's job, they would ask me why I was doing it. "If I do it now," I would tell them "he won't have to later."  Our marriage has been so satisfying and joyful, I could hope for nothing more than that every other couple could have the same kind of relationship.  

Now something that drives Brent crazy--another link off of the first subject, kind of.  Going off on a tangent.

I've been reading in the Book of Mormon and again I've seen that those who seek adoration and to rule over others, preach that righteous leaders are only out to get power and riches.  Mosiah told his people that he had never required taxes to build palaces or provide him with an extravagant lifestyle.  He had worked with his own hands to provide for his needs.  His only joy had been the obedience of his people so that they could receive the blessings of their Heavenly Father.  He taught them that they were always in debt to the Lord because he gave commandments that, when obeyed, were rewarded with blessings so that they were in debt to the Lord again.  As a righteous leader, his only goal was to teach his people--that they would be happy.  

Laman and Lemuel continually incited their families and friends to rise up and kill their father Lehi and younger brother Nephi because they said that Nephi only wanted to get power over Laman and Lemuel and usurp their rightful place as the leaders of the family.  Yet, when confronted by an angel and they fall to their knees to worship Nephi, he does not accept their adoration.  Nephi "frankly forgives" them and urges them to worship their Heavenly Father.  Nephi has the same attitude that Brent does--when there are challenges or problems, being able to successfully solve the situation is the priority.  It does not matter who gets credit for the success--because ultimately Heavenly Father's influence and authority are what make it possible for men to move mountains--in accordance with their faith in God and their faithfulness in obeying God's law.

Back to the first subject:

I wanted to tell this man, somehow, that leading his children, rather than fooling them, would be the only way that they would be able to grow up and become as kind, as intelligent, as thoughtful, and as creative as my Megan, my Lauren, and my Nathan.  I wanted for him the incredible blessings--the wonderful life--that I have found.  

As I re-read what I've just written, I like that I want to be like Mosiah and Nephi . . . to be like my husband, and like each of my children. 

THREE: Come Home to Roost

The three Wagstaff girls: Carolyn, Susan, and Martha. Dresses that Mom made. Sitting on the front steps of Grandma Burton's home in Star Valley, WY. The start of the tradition of THREE.

Megan, Nathan and Lauren in the treehouse that Grandpa Wagstaff build in West Des Moines, IA.
This one was done at Christmas time in our home in Houston, TX before the flood. I took the picture as I was looking down on them from the top of the staircase on the second floor.
Nathan, Lauren and Megan all lined up for me to try some "artsy" stuff one afternoon.

I seem to spend all of my time lately taking pictures of birds. There are birds that come to my driveway; birds at the lake where I walk dogs; birds at the Wildlife Sanctuary; birds along the sides of the road; and tiny finches that roost in the "u" of our Publix grocery store sign. Before I decided to start looking for birds to photograph, I didn't really have a focus for my hobby. Four years ago, with both of my daughters' weddings coming up, I splurged and bought myself a really nice camera. But after the weddings, I didn't really know what to take pictures of.

When my children were growing up, I took them places and took pictures of them while we were there. I have countless photos of the three of them; on the floor looking up at me and the camera; the three of them standing in a row in front of the swing set in the backyard; all of them looking to the right, in a staggered line, in profile, in black and white; on Sunday, dressed in their new clothes (and slightly put out because I had insisted that they be dressed in these new clothes for the picture), standing in front of the Christmas tree; their smiling faces arranged in a vertical line outside of Megan and Lauren's middle school building; three in a row behind a small clump of Texas blue bonnets (which it is against the law to pick) that were growing along side of the road. In the last year, I have, in fact, started to assemble collections of these photographs and hung them on the walls of our family room.

There's the "real" art in our formal room. (This is the room where there once was a dining room table with chairs around it. It is now the resting place for a rather old, kind of beat up baby grand piano and a rather nicer, competition sized pool table and a display hutch that holds and protects a great number of my breakable things.) This "real" art is a collection of pieces, almost all of which, have been bought from friends or created by the artists in our family. Some are priceless pieces of my past. Others are recent gifts from inspired people who are uniquely talented at capturing the spirit and heart of the world around us. One is a huge, four-by-six-foot painting done by my great aunt of the park near her home. Another is a tiny, solid silver button--not even an inch high--in the shape of a rabbit and enameled in light blue. (It was "her favorite.") Hanging on the wall is an intricately woven textile basket, done in warm browns with glimmers of sun, earth, fall leaves, and winter greys that illustrates the safe-haven our home has always been. It is a wonderful room with a high ceiling and a glass wall that opens out onto the shimmering pool in the lanai. I can sit there as I play the piano and have the sensitivities and whimsies of these artisans sound through my memories--mixing with the piano notes and composing a lush experience that even I--the English major--have no spoken words to describe.

And then there is the "living" art that crowds the walls of our family room. I, in fact, am the only one in our family who calls this room the family room. For everyone else, this room where we watch TV, play video games, type away on our computers, hoover over a puzzle on the low, central table--this is their "living" room. We actually do spend most of our time here--eating, having Family Home Evening (such as ours have become), praying together, studying for college classes, assembling the various elements of the Stake Primary presentations that I give during Ward Conferences--and where the only couch in our home resides. It is the throne of the weary, the cocoon of the sick, the resting place for anyone seeking comfort and company. I have hung the pictures of Megan, Lauren, Nathan, Anton, Adam, Jonathan, Brent, his parents and my parents and myself very closely together--they look like puzzle pieces, carefully arranged so that the wall behind them barely has a chance to peek through. Some of these frames hold collections of the three of my children--standing, sitting, smiling, creating, hunting, finding and wondering, all together. They are captured in an instant that will never happen again. The wonder of these snapshots constantly, continually charms and captivates me. Three spirits; three curiosities, three pairs of wise eyes, three faces focused on ME--the person behind the camera. In these moments, I see them watch me. I see them respond to me. I see them love me.

I love this room. In this room my children are home with me again. We are making glue pictures. I am taking them out of school early so that we can go to the park and then to get an ice cream cone. We are in the car, I am lost (again), and they are calmly reading books and eating the treats they have packed in bags that I have sewn for them. They are dressed in Halloween costumes that I have made and posing beside the jack 'o lanterns they have carved. I am posing them in a row. I am with them.

In this room my own babies have come to roost. They are never far from my thoughts. In this room, they are always before my eyes. It is a selfish place, this room. It is a wonderful, laughing, smiling, glowing, accomplishing place. Now that my children are grown and busy with their own picture taking, I take pictures of the birds that surround me. In this room, I surround myself with those whom I love the best in all the world. In this room, I also find a place of peace and safety. In this room, I am home.

One of the pairs of Sand Hill Cranes that come to rest and eat at our house. They trust us enough that I am able to get right next to them as they eat or walk about. This is the first time that I have ever seen one of them actually "sleeping." She opened her eyes while I photographed her and her mate, but didn't move. It is magic to belong to a family of individuals who can already fly--and who will come and hang out with me while I prune trees or plant seedlings if they have nothing better to do.

A Lot of Stuff About Me and Cranes in Florida

A family of four cranes were just beginning to break up old family ties so that the parents could start a new brood. There was much hopping and flapping and "WaahaaAA AAA aaaa" evident and then the four of them would continue their progress westward down the street. We now have a lone female who visits for lunch when no one else is on property. I feel a little sorry for her, but not as sorry as I used to feel for the lone teenage boy crane who used to follow me about the yard as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

I still can't get the squirrels to trust me enough for me to feed them--but there are plenty who regularly shake down passing couples for treats as they walk by them at the lake. Absolutely enchanting. Small fuzzy, photographable creatures whom I neither need to groom, take to the vet, and/or in any way clean up after.
Love the way that the birds can reach so far being themselves to make sure that everything is in order.

A close-up of the sand crane's face. In it I see determined, clear eye below his scarlet, burpletted crown all the way down through his 6 foot wing span, and two leathery legs each ending in 3 knobby toes. This imperious face becomes very intimidating when the animal decides to fly at you--letting you know that he is in charge. The only answer for such a display is to hop up and down while "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"-ing and flapping your arms. Especially if you are recognized as one of those whose presence signals the appearance of food, the bird quickly backs off. When we first arrived here in Florida, Brent was counseled by someone at work against feeding the cranes. His wife had gotten in the habit. All went well until she and her husband went on a short vacation and had the grandmother in to babysit. The poor woman was vociferously greeted one morning when she tried to exit the house. The cranes were used to food from the occupant of the house and they followed her ("chased" was the word originally used) and attacked. The cranes were even so bold as to peck at the screened porch door--the grandmother was overwhelmed, helpless against such a sudden and unfamiliar "attack."

Brent warned me and I complied for the first year or two that we were here. After seeing the cranes peacefully waundering about the neighborhood for that time, I decided that I could put some seed out at the end of the driveway. I did have a challenge to my authority once--about 6 months after a pair had made our house one of the regular stops on their daily rounds. That day, the seed was in an area between me and one of the cars parked in the drive way. I walked toward the car--intending to get in and drive away. I suppose that it might have been right before these two birds had mated and begun to hatch their egg/s that season, but--whatever the reason--as I approached the car, the larger of the two birds cried an alarm and hopped into the air, spreading and beating his wings to afford him the largest possible aspect. Nonplussed, I jumped up and screamed an answering bellow, flapping my arms as the bird was doing. He immediately stopped. He settled back down and watched me as I passed by him--just a foot or so away from him as I walked. He took a few steps backward and then, as soon as I was in my car, returned again to eating.

I also had a hard time with another crane. I was planting some flowers in my front yard, across the driveway from where three birds were eating. By this time we were all accustomed to each others' presence and my activities elicited no response from the birds as I began to dig holes and plant my flowers. These were tiny vinca--not much bigger than the palm of my hand. As I worked, the smallest of the three cautiously approached me. The baby (I'm assuming.) watched as I dug and puttered with the flowers. Then, coming to stand just opposite me, it reached down and pulled up the flower that I'd just planted--tossing it into the air and then digging into the newly re-created hole (I suspect following the example of the parents who also poke about in the grass, digging for grubs and worms.). I was not amused. I went and got the plant and returned it to the hole, tamping it down firmly with my hands. The crane approached me again and, again, plucked the flower from its place and tossing it out of the way.

At this point, I had had enough. I walked toward the bird, shooing it away from my plants and towards it parents--still calmly eating on the other side of the driveway. It tried to walk around me, but having had many years of herding children into the car on Sunday mornings, I easily intercepted it and it backed slowly away from me. Thinking that I had made my point, I turned back to finish planting. Not more than a moment later, the crane was back and trying to pull out that same vinca. At this point, I enacted the screaming-hopping-flapping I had learned earlier. The chick got the message and retreated back towards its parents.

It did not come near me again, but the next day I found that one of the flowers I had planted in a different part of the front had been yard snatched from its hole--and the original hole greatly enlarged. I found the poor thing, wildering beside a bush about a yard away from its original place and replanted it. No harm--no foul.

It is weird that if all the photographs that I have taken during our five years in this Florida home, in the last year, about half have been of the cranes that visit--as they come, go, court, follow, and lead each other within the confines of our acre of yard. The other half are of Florida flowers, plants, insects, animals and reptiles. Meg and La are far away doing their own things in their own families. Nathan is grown about as much as he's going to grow and, since I know his habits and routines, not really all that enthralling a subject to follow about with my camera.

It had to happen, though. I have finally have begun to find things other than my children to fill my "nest". Though I talk to Megan (hearing Jon in the background "KA! KA!") and Lauren (hearing her lovebird Mango screeching for attention in the background) at least three or four times a week, those few minutes are far from enough to keep my day full. So, I fill a bit of it with photographing the place where I live and the plants that I grow and the creatures that I am able to watch. Not so much an empty nest--just one filled with other eggs.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Lauren and Adam when they were just engaged. It was in February, in Utah, in the backyard of the home that Adam shared with some other young men (and a cat named Skeet). The light was weird enough that none of the shots came out that day. Now, however, with the magic of Photoshop, I have been able to compensate for my ignorance as a photographer and the unsteady light of the late afternoon . . . voila! In 2010, I finally have a good image of them back in 2006.

This is a picture of Roo in her "baggy" position. It reminds me of the illustrations in Peter Rabbit when he is looking for a way out of Mr. McGregor's garden.