Happy Birthday Amy

My daughter Amy has a birthday this week.  Looking back over my years with her brings me such peace and joy.

Dear Amy,


Happy Birthday, my precious daughter Amy. I hope you have a wonderful day knowing how dearly you are loved and adored by your mother. You have a unique and singular place in my heart.

When it’s your birthday I like to focus my thoughts on you and think about our years together. Even before you were born I used to talk to you and rub my tummy. I remember carefully selecting your name, getting your room ready and making a baby quilt for you with red and white hearts. I was so overcome with peace and joy when I first held you in my arms and knew you were alive and well. Your older brothers and sisters thought you were the best thing that ever happened to our family when I brought you home. Someone was always excited to hold you and love you.

It has been a joy to watch you grow up, develop your talents and grow into the woman you are today. I see you becoming all that God intended. You have a queenly presence about you – a stately dignified aura. You don’t demand front and center attention but when you speak I listen because you always have something wise or insightful to share.

I notice the way you find the one person in a crowd that needs a little extra special attention. I notice how kind and gentle you are with young children. I notice your Christ-like nature as you kneel down and give those you love a foot rub and your unhurried undivided attention. You have the ability to get out-side your self and see the unspoken needs of those around you. Thank you for noticing and responding to my unspoken needs.

I see you becoming a confident professional as you work toward your degree in special education. I’ve seen you face and overcome your fears one by one. I’ve seen you develop your skills and abilities with persistence and courage. You don’t give up when things are difficult, but keep working hard each day until your dreams are fulfilled.

I think you found the perfect companion in Aden. You are both such a joy to me. I love to talk to both of you for hours. I always prayed you would find someone who would honor and respect your gentle nature and kind soul. I think you bring out the best in each other.

Our family will always be better because you insisted that we hug, kiss and say “I love you,” every single time we left the house or came back. I love your hugs and the way your eyes sparkle when you smile. I love your quiet laugh, your attention to detail and the music of heaven you bring into my life when you play the harp.

I don’t think you know how stunningly beautiful you are. I don’t think you know how intelligent or wise you are. I don’t think you know how approachable and warm you are. I don’t think you know that every single time to see your face coming through the front door or think about you in my mind I feel all warm inside and full of ardent gratitude to God for the gift of you in my life.

I absolutely love being your mother. You are sunshine to my soul. I look forward to many, many more years of making wonderful memories together.

I love you Amy, with all my heart.

MOM

Amy Growing Up

Joshua and the Awesome Principal

This is a special story written for my
famous, cool, superior, exceptional genius grandson Joshua
on his tenth birthday.
I love you Josh.



One day Josh woke up with a tight knot in his stomach. His regular teacher at school would be gone that day and a substitute was going to teach his class. Josh never knew what to expect when a substitute came because there was a nice substitute and a mean substitute. The nice one let the children party all day but the mean one took great pleasure in making the students into robot zombies. Sometimes Josh wondered if the mean one was an alien because she was always rolling her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. Josh decided to fake being sick that morning but his mother didn’t fall for it.
While he was walking into school Josh tried to get his mind off his impending doom by asking himself his favorite question: If a long range laser guided thermal nuclear heat-seeking missile hit your house, would you rather die by the explosion or the house caving in and crushing you? Next he thought about how to convince the principal that homework should be illegal because homework is forced payless work and forced payless work is called slavery and slavery was banned years ago.
When Josh arrived at his classroom his worst fears were confirmed. The mean substitute greeted him with, “Take your seat young man. Feet flat on the floor, eyes forward and mouth shut.”
Josh knew this would be the worst day of his life. First the substitute made all the students do pull-ups and push-ups in the gym. Then she made them all use the restroom and wash their hands. Next she had them start on ninety-six long division problems with remainders. But when she started a lecture about space travel including black holes, super novas and pulsars, Josh sat up straight and listened with both ears. Just for a minute he imagined himself floating weightless in space.
That is when the mean substitute asked Josh a question. Josh didn’t notice. Then she suddenly appeared at his desk.
“Well, young man,” the substitute asked.
“Well what?” Josh said.
“That is precisely the point. You don’t know what I asked you because you weren’t listening,” the mean substitute answered.
“You don’t know what I was imagining because you didn’t ask,” Josh answered.
The mean substitute rolled her eyes, looked at the ceiling then took him to the principal’s office.
“Yes?” the principal asked as Josh entered his room.
“I was imagining instead of listening,” Josh said.
“What were you imagining?”
“What it would be like to be floating in space.”
Can you keep a secret?” the principal said.
“Yes,” Josh answered.
Then the principal opened the closet door in her office and took Josh by the hand.
“This is my anything-you-can-imagine closet,” the principal whispered. “If you can imagine, it can happen.”
Before Josh knew what was happening the closet door closed behind them he was floating in space with the principal. They did superior cartwheels, exceptional back flips and daring nose dives.
“This is awesome,” Josh said. “Do the other kids at school know about this?”
The principal smiled, winked then told Josh it was time to go back to class.
“Your substitute may be harsh at times,” the principal said as she closed the closet door behind them, “but when she was a little girl she used to imagine living in a world made entirely of chocolate. Here, you take this chocolate candy bar to her. See what happens.”
Josh walked back to his class and noticed all the other students had left for recess. He walked up to the substitute and handed her the giant chocolate bar.
“How did you know that was my favorite?” the substitute asked. Then she sighed, leaned back in her chair and carefully unwrapped the foil. “I used to imagine living in a world where everything was made out of chocolate.” She took a bite, licked her lips and smiled. “By the way what were you imagining?”
“That I was Inderfurnius X the legendary, famous, cool, superior, exceptional genius space boy of the universe blasting off to the moon while eating doughnuts.”
“If I close my eyes, I can almost see you,” the substitute said. “Your spacesuit is silver with a crimson red light-saber blazing across the front and the doughnut is filled with rich milk chocolate.”
Josh squeezed his eyes together imagining the substitute as a little girl in the principal’s office with chocolate smeared on her face. Then the nice substitute broke off an enormously large hunk of chocolate from her giant candy bar and handed it to Josh.
Maybe this isn’t going to be such a bad day after all, Josh thought. Not such a bad day at all.

The Love of Music

I walked into my living room this past Sunday and saw this delightful gathering at the piano. Without any prodding from me, my youngest daughter Alisa decided to show her three young nieces Emily, Sandy and Libby how to play the piano.

How quickly we pass down our priorities to the next generation and the next. Like a pebble thrown in the pond - what we begin continues in ever widening circles touching the lives of our posterity for ages to come.

Happy Birthday Alisa

My daughter Alisa is ten years old this week. She is a joy - an intelligent, happy, talented little girl who loves to snuggle in tight and read bedtime stories. Alisa likes to play the piano, take care of young children and animals and has a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.
Let me tell you her story. When I was 46 years old my OBGYN told me I was too old and it would be too risky to have another child. I was already the mother of a large family and his advice seemed logical enough. I’d just been through a painful and difficult miscarriage and all medical facts seemed to agree with his conclusion. Yet something deep inside told me that my Father in Heaven had a precious gift for me.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was elated. The pregnancy proved to be difficult with bleeding issues and bed rest. Each month I maintained the pregnancy was a deeply appreciated triumph. Then my doctor told me my unborn child would have serious genetic abnormalities and asked me to consider an abortion. All life is sacred to me so his suggestion was never an option. I had been a volunteer at a school for children with Downs Syndrome when I was in college and fell in love with my students. So a having a child with special needs was not something to dread or fear for me.
When an emergency C-section was needed a nurse read the chart next to my bed and said, “It says here your baby probably has Downs Syndrome. I have a Downs boy at home and know what to look for. When your baby is born I’ll be able to tell you.”
When Alisa was born, the nurse leaned down and whispered into my ear, “Oh she’s fine. She is beautiful.”

The first time I held Alisa I sang her a song that just flowed from my heart . . . “My mommy loves me. My mommy loves me. My mommy loves me because I’m me. She’ll always love me. She’ll always love me. She’ll always love me because I’m me.”
Even today I sing that song to her before I tuck her in bed at night.

Alisa’s life is a miracle. Every child is a miracle. Being allowed to be a mother is a sacred privilege I never take for granted. My husband, children and now grandchildren are the joy of life and my most deeply prized treasures.
Happy birthday, Alisa. I love you so very much.

The Love of Writing Runs in my Family

Writing has been a passion all my life. Now my children are discovering their unique voice. I'm so proud of them. Congratulations Arianne and Aubrey!

My daughter Aubrey Baadsgaard Poffenburger just had an article accepted by Antiquity, a prestigous acedemic journal published in Britain.


My daughter Arianne Baadsgaard Cope has just published a short story in a new hot off the press book that is described as the best comtemporty collection of serious short fiction by LDS related authors.

How Brief Each Day . . . Each Life

A while back my husband and I went for a ride in the mountains near our home. The road was rough with large boulders in the path, streams to cross, steep grades and numerous rock slides. Yet there were moments when we’d come around a bend in the road and suddenly there was our own private preview into heaven . . . deep green pines nestled in golden quaking aspen paired with brilliant splashes of red maples.
Quite unexpectedly snow fell the next day - soft and deep. Luminous leaves turned brown and the breathless mystery of a Rocky Mountain autumn was gone. Mountain trails closed and a harsh winter of white and waiting was upon us.
A few days later I walked into our church and saw my neighbor Bill seated in a chair next to his wife’s casket with his head bowed.
"I don't know what to do without Ann," Bill wept as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He died two weeks later.
While I sat at the kitchen table with Ann’s daughters planning her funeral, I looked into their beautiful dark eyes and saw glimpses of their petite Italian mother staring back at me. I realized the best parts of Ann lived on. At the funeral her children remembered their mother’s soft hands and her famous spaghetti dinners. In the end, it seems it is the little things we do for each other that turn out to be the big things.
As her grandchildren and great-grandchildren sang I Am a Child of God at her funeral, I knew Ann’s efforts to love and nurture her family had born fruit. Though she sometimes felt discouraged with her efforts, in the end she had led her posterity a little closer to heaven.
The seasons of life pass quickly. How brief each moment, each life. Death is waiting around the corner for us all. We can not dismiss or ignore death without losing the key to love. As winter increases our appreciation for summer and fall, so death intensifies our love for each other. We are always aware that those we care for will not always be with us.
Life is excruciatingly short. Our appearance on this stage is brief - our tenuous entrance and exit nearer together than we suppose. Like restless leaves trembling in the autumn air, a precious life is here one moment, then gone on the next breeze. Eventually we will all be separated from those we love.
I've heard it said that we die when we've learned what we came to learn or when we've taught what we came to teach. Perhaps we must do both. We are each given an equal endowment of twenty-four hours a day. What makes life precious is that we don’t know how much time we have left. Not knowing gives our fragile existence urgency. We feel the constant stirring to use our inheritance wisely - to live and love as if there is no tomorrow.
On the day of Ann’s funeral I watched the last leaf fall from the willow tree and rest softly on her lawn. Then a light snow fell. Winter and separation had come - but not to stay. Like the closing of the day and the setting of the sun, rebirth and reunion await the dawn. Spring will come again.

Happy Birthday Caleb

This is a special story written for my angel grandson Caleb on his fifth birthday. I love you Caleb.



Caleb's Story
On a bright a shining day in heaven God called a meeting for a special group of his beloved spirit children. They were the chosen ones to be born that day.
Caleb was excited because he knew this was his birth day. He listened carefully as his Father in Heaven told each spirit about the circumstances of their birth.
One son would be born in a poor village in Africa. Another daughter would be born in a high rise in New York City. As the Father spoke Caleb became more and more anxious because his name was not called.
Finally he was the last spirit child in the room.
“Caleb, you will be born today into a body without a brain. Your mother and father will be told that you can not see, hear, feel, touch, taste, think or move. They will be told by the doctors to let you die because you have no quality of life.”
“Will my parents want me to be born?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. They will love and care for you all your days.”
Caleb thought about his parents. He thought about the constant life and death struggle they would face each day to keep him alive.
“Will I ever be able to thank them?” Caleb asked softly.
“You will not be able to speak to them with words, but you will communicate spirit to spirit. Your voice will be like the breathless silence between the notes of a masterful symphony. Only those who are still and listen with their hearts will hear you.”
“How will my mother care for me when I don’t have a brain to tell my heart to beat or my lungs to breathe?”
“Your mother will care for you night and day with all her heart and soul. I only send spirits like you to someone full of light and love. You will not be tested or tempted but you will teach.”
“How will I teach when I can not see, hear, move, think or speak?”
“Your mother will be your voice when you can not speak. She will be your legs when you can not run. She will be your hands reaching out to others when you can not move.”
“How will my mother be able to care for my needs when they are so many?”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Caleb heard God speak again.
“I will be on her right hand and on her left and my spirit will be in her heart and my angels will be round about her to bear her up.”
God paused. Caleb waited. Then God embraced his son and spoke again with great tenderness.
“I will be her strength when she is tired. I will be her legs when she is too weary. I will be her hands reaching out to others when she can not move.”

Baadsgaard Family Coat of Arms

While discussing our upcoming family reunion my husband suggested we create a Baadsgaard Family Coat of Arms to put on a flag and place below an American flag on our early morning flag ceremony. My wonderful son-in-law Aden came up with this awesome suggestion:

Baadsgaard Family Coat of Arms
• Green signifies abundance, joy, hope and loyalty in love
White: truth, sincerity, peace, innocence and purity
• Gold: wisdom, generosity, glory, constancy and faith
Charges of Shield
• Fleur-de-lis: Purity and light
• Anchor: Hope and religious steadfastness - acts as a reference to the naval interpretation of the name “Baadsgaard”
• Pen and inkwell: Educated employment and the art of writing
• Open book: Manifestation—a declared interest in education (and represents the literary accomplishments of the family)
• White rose: Hope, joy, love and faith - this particular style of rose is known as the Yorkshire rose, a reference to the British origins of the Wolsey family)
• Star: Celestial goodness, excellence and nobility of character. The number of stars corresponds to the number of children in the family…)
• Angel Moroni: Activity in the LDS church and faith in the restored Gospel
Shield Supporters
• Stag: Peace and harmony; one who will not fight unless provoked
• Angel: dignity, glory and honor; missionary; bearer of joyful news
Helmet
• Facing left, the helmet indicates loyalty to God (additionally, this helmet is a rough approximation of the helmet found on the Danish Baads family coat of arms)
Mantling
• Usually a purely artistic touch; however, the red flowers growing near the base of the shield are woodbine, which symbolize “Love that does not injure that which it clings to”
Banner
• This is a motto or phrase with special meaning to the family: Cum uterque pedis contactus terra, nequeo induco bracæ. Translated loosely, it means “If you keep both feet on the ground, you can’t get your pants on.”

A Mother's Gifts to her Children

MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTERS

Amy, Aubrey, Arianne, Me, April, Ashley, Alisa

When you're the mom raising a family you spend your days offering your children many gifts . . . nutritious home-made food . . . a warm, clean and comfortable place to live . . . delicious books to read . . . clean sheets fresh from the clothes-line . . . someone to care when you're sick, discouraged or sad . . . someone to clap when you perform . . . someone to get excited when you make the team, get the grade or find your one and only.

The gifts mothers offer are exquisitely personal - the use of your body for nine months while your child grows big enough to be born, your precious sleep so your child can breastfeed around the clock, your privacy so your child is never without a friend, your sanity so your child can experiment and make mistakes, your patience so your child can try again and again.

We offer all of our self until we think we have lost our self. But in the losing comes the finding and as the years go by suddenly mothers are surrounded by intelligent, talented, accomplished adults who also happen to be our children.

While my family gathered this holiday season, our house was full to over-flowing with all the people I love. To me it was not chaos but beautiful noise, it was not work but an opportunity for the next generation to get to know each other, it was magical really . . . a linking of hearts.

One day, my daughter looked around the room and saw each of her sisters smiling back at her.
"Look, Mom," she said. "all my sisters are here in one room!"
Then she grabbed someone from the kitchen and asked them to snap a picture of me and my girls . . . for she is a mother too now and she knows that moments like these are fleeting and oh so dear.

"Thank you for giving me my sisters," my daughter said as she gave me a hug. Each of her sisters added their own amen.

Brothers and sisters who love you - those were gifts I did not know my children even noticed that I offered them.

They do.

Like a Spider Web of Frosted Lace . . .

The holiday season is coming to a close. Empty sleighs are stacked against the wall in the garage after pulling rosy cheeked children and grandchildren around on the back acre. The Christmas tree has been decorated and redecorated by dozens of tiny sticky hands. All the fudge and gingerbread has vanished. Visiting children and grandchildren are returning home leaving long tire tracks on my snowy driveway. Life will not stand still and let me hold it close enough. Like snowflakes on my tongue, the fleeting moments melt away.

Today I learned my son and daughter-in-law are expecting a brand new baby. My neighbor was married this morning and I attended a viewing for two friends at the mortuary this evening - beginnings and endings and all the precious moments in-between. Life is so dear. How do I properly thank God for the wonder of it all?

Snow is falling outside my window tonight. . . snow on snow on snow. There is a fire burning in the wood stove downstairs. The house smells of fresh baked bread. And so I pause in deepest gratitude for the richness of it all. Like a spider web of frosted lace, our lives are tenuous - a wonder and delight.

Christmas at the Baadsgaard House

Christmas at our house is always filled with good food, fun, music and all the people I love.

Mitchel the Magnificent

This is a special story written for my magnificent grandson Mitchell on his third birthday. I love you Mitch.

(When a mother learns to see the world through the eyes of a child, she will never be the same again.)







One day Mitchell woke up and rubbed his eyes. Then he heard a bear downstairs. Mitchell quickly grabbed the sword next to his bed. He listened oh so carefully. Then he heard . . . thump . . . thump . . . thump coming up the stairs.
Mitchell gripped the handle to his sword and quickly crawled under his bed as the door to his bedroom creaked open. Mitchell closed his eyes as tight as he could. Then he heard the bear thump, thump, thump through his room and into the bathroom. Mitchell listened to the bear spit into the sink. Next he heard a strange gurgling sound, another bear growl and the toilet flush.
“Well, good morning Mitchell,” his father said walking out from the bathroom. What are you doing under your bed? I’m all ready for work now. How about a hug?”
Mitchell crawled out from under his bed and walked toward his father peeking around his legs to see if the bear was still in the bathroom.
“I’ll see you at supper time,” his father said after he gave Mitchell a big bear hug.
After lunch, Mitchell was playing with his blocks upstairs when he heard a space ship land in his dining room. He rushed to his closet, grabbed his moon boots and pirate hook then sneaked over to the stair railing to steal a look at the aliens.
Mitchell saw a large black shadow drift across the wall in the dining room. Then the space ship’s engine stopped. It was quiet. That’s when Mitchell heard thump, thump, thump coming up the stairs. Mitchell dived under his bed. Before he closed his eyes he saw two fuzzy pink alien feet inching toward him. He closed his eyes as tight as he could.
All of a sudden the space ship powered up right in his bedroom. Mitchell heard the engine roar get louder and louder then closer and closer. Mitchell scrunched against the wall as tight as he could. Then suddenly it was quiet. Mitchell opened his eyes. That’s when he saw two large red beady eyes staring at him.
“Mitchell?” what are you doing under there?” his mother said dressed in her fuzzy pink bathrobe and slippers.
Mitchell didn’t say a word. He crawled out from under his bed and looked around his mother who was holding the vacuum to see if the aliens were still there.
Then Mitchell’s mother gave him a big alien hug.
“It’s time for your nap,” his mother said.
“No!” Mitchell said drawing his sword. “I have to fight the bears and aliens.”
“Oh honey, there aren’t any bears or aliens in our house. Let me tuck you in.”
Mitchell gripped his sword tight to his chest as his mother pulled off his shoes. Then he crawled under the covers on his bed and yawned.
“Even Mitchell the Magnificent needs a good nap,” his mother said brushing his hair away from his forehead and kissing him on the cheek.
After his mother left, Mitchell peeked around the room to make sure no one was still lurking in the corners. Then he yawned, closed his eyes and rolled to his side. Right then he heard bad guys getting ready for battle. Thump, thump, thump. Mitchell heard them beating on their drums.
“Mom!” Mitchell screamed.
“What do you want?” Mitchell’s mother answered as she opened his door.
“The bad guys are coming,” Mitchell said.
“There are no bad guys in this house honey. Now go to sleep,” his mother said.
“Listen,” Mitchell said. “Put your ear right here.”
That’s when his mother smiled.
“Oh,” she answered. That’s your heart beating. “You can hear it when you put your ear on your pillow. I used to think it were bad guys beating on their war drums when I was a little too.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I kept a pointy umbrella next to my bed just in case.”
“I have a sword,” Mitchell answered.
“You are so brave,” Mitchell’s mother said.
“Yes,” Mitchell answered.
“Simply magnificent!” his mother finished.
Mitchell smiled. Then he yawned, closed his eyes and went to sleep.

A Picture Perfect Christmas

Every year about this time, I thumb through the women's magazines and see their ideas for how to have a happy Christmas. The slick, ink-scented, full-color pages are always brimming with suggestions.

You can almost smell golden glazed turkeys and butter-rich pastries heaped on elegant dining room tables. The little girls are always dressed in deep plum velvets, silky white taffeta or in layers of eyelet lace and satin ribbons. The little boys are dressed in knee-length dark blue knickers with cotton white knee socks and shiny black patent leather shoes. The Christmas tress in the magazines are always decorated with dazzling lights, bright poinsettias, or delicate glass and porcelain ornaments.

When I was a young mother I used to wish I could create a picture-perfect Christmas like that. I don't wish for that any more.
Now that many of my children have grown up and left home, they often tell me what they enjoyed most about our celebrations. It is never the presents, never the fancy clothes or decorations they mention . . . it is always our simple family traditions.

We like to have a birthday party for Jesus on Christmas Eve. We set a place for the Savior at our Christmas dinner table. Later we dress up and act out the nativity story together reading from the Bible. Then when it gets dark outside, we gather around our olive wood Nativity set, light a candle and turn out the lights in the room. Each person selects a piece from the nativity set and thinks about a gift they want to give Jesus. As each family member comes forward they place their piece of the nativity set next to the baby Jesus. Then they tell the group what gift they want to give the Savior that coming year. When each person has had a chance to give their gift, we sing Christmas hymns by candlelight.

A picture-perfect Christmas is a tinsel illusion. We create our own rich reality.

Moments of Christmas

December always brings closure to another year but the opening of most parental states of overwhelm. If, after all the hustle and bustle of shopping, baking, sitting through long stuffy programs, and attending an endless series of parties, you feel like you want to stop the holiday wagon and jump - stop - for if you're paying attention, something will happen to make it all worthwhile.

Once December evening when I finally finished my nightly wiping up of slop, heave-ho, and potato cement from under the dinner table, I slipped into the living room alone. All the children were scattered around the house, some yelling, some hibernating, and others imitating sumo wrestlers. I pushed the hair away from my face with my dishpan hands and took a slow, deep breath before I sat down and began quietly playing Christmas hymns on the piano. The music must have slipped through the heat vents, for one by one the children spontaneously wandered into the living room. Except for the single brass light above the piano, the room was dark. The hard wooden piano bench soon grew warm and crowded as my two-year-old snuggled up on my right side while her ten-year-old sister snuggled up on my left. Then the baby crawled across the carpet, elbowed her way through my legs, and started playing with my big toe as it bobbed up and down on the sustaining pedal. Seven-and-eight-year-old sumo wrestlers untangled themselves and tumbled into the room long enough to belt out a few tunes standing guard behind me.

You've never really heard "Joy to the World" until you've heard a seven-year-old, with total abandon and a little off key, command from the depths of his soul, "Joy to the world! The Lord is Come! Let earth receive her king! Let every heart repair him room! And saints and angels swing!"

Later when our voices were tired and squeaky, we did "Silent Night," complete with "Round John Virgin. As we rounded the corner to "Sleep in heavenly peace; Sleep in Heavenly peace," it hit: that skin-tingling, hold-your-breath moment when the magic, mystery, and wonder of Christmas was all mine to hold.

At that precise moment, it didn't matter that our budget was having a hard time stretching for our large family. It didn't matter that within seconds my "heavenly choir" would return to sumo wrestling on the living room floor. For I had learned that moments like these are fleeting. Like winter's frost, with a breath, childhood melts away. So I sighed, detached the baby from my big toe and kissed all those Junior Tabernacle Choir members on the forehead before they could pull away saying, "Yuck, kissing. I hate kissing,"

Christmas comes but once a year. With or without the mistletoe, you have to savor those priceless moments and kisses while you can.