Memorial Day Memories With the Baadsgaards

April and Dallan with their boys at the cemetery.

Grandpa and Mitch.

Alisa and Josh on the big tree hike.

Dallan and Mitch on our big tree hike.

John with his nephews Josh, Brad and Matthew.

April and Dallan with their boys at big tree.

Big tree hug.

My beautiful grandchildren: Samuel, Liam, Sophia, Gideon and Logan Cope.

Arianne and Jared with their children

We like Memorial Day to be a mixture of respectful remembrance and family fun. On Sunday evening we visited the graves of my mother and Ross's parents and also our grandson Caleb. We like to express our favorite memories of our loved ones to each other. This is also a way for my children to learn more about their grandparents. Then we headed to the cabin where we slept over and woke up to a great breakfast fixed by Ross followed by a hike to Big Tree. Every single person made it. It didn't matter if we were the first one there or the last - we all got there and being with family it what makes memories sweet. 

Thoughts on Springtime in my own Backyard

If spring came 

but once in a century

 instead

of once a year, 

or burst forth with the sound

 of an earthquake 

and not in silence, 

what 

wonder and expectation 

there would be 

in all hearts 

to behold 

the miraculous change.

                                                             Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poem for a Seven-Year-Old Girl

Libby is Seven

by

Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy Birthday Libby. I sure do love you.

I hope you have a great birthday.

I do not like to hurry,” said Libby to her Mom

“In fact I’m pretty certain; I’d rather sing a song.”

“Am I your ray of sunshine?” said Libby to her Dad

“Libby Ray you make my day, you make me feel so glad.”

“I love your hugs and kisses,” said Libby to brother

“Even though you tackle me, I’d never want another.”

“I like to see you sing and dance,” said Libby to her Sandy.

“You’re costume and your hair just so; you really are a dandy.”

I love to hear you play the piano,” said Libby to her Emily

Your music makes me want to waltz; your fingers are my melody.”

“I love your chubby cheeks, said Libby to her baby.

“You make me smile for a while and even a little bit crazy.”

“Boy oh boy, you better watch out,” said Libby to the night.

“My moon-lake monster sparkle spray will make you lose your might.”

“My goodness, I sure do love you,” said Libby to grandmother.

“I especially like your candy jar; it is better than any other.”

“I sure do like your big bear hugs,” said Libby to her grandpa.

“You always tease with so much ease; you’re the best I ever saw.

So . . . Libby’s family says,

 “You are our piece of sunshine, our ray of hope and love.

“With Libby in our family, it feels like heaven above.”

“We like you. We love you; you’re scrumscious and delicious.

You are the apple of our eye; the gold in all our wishes.”

Libby Lou we sure love you!

Rachel Ann Baadsgaard is Born Today!

Congratulations Jacob and Teresa on the birth of your daughter Rachel Ann.
I'm so happy for you Emma and Kate. Now you have a brand new sister.
WOW three beautiful Baadsgaard girls in one family!

My son Jacob with his brand new daughter.

Ross and Janene Baadsgaard Family Reunion 2014

My great big beautiful family.

My husband Ross with our four sons John, Jacob, Jordan and Joseph.

Surrounded by my daughters Alisa, Arianne, April, Ashley, Amy and Aubrey.

My ten amazing children from youngest to oldest left to right: Alisa, John, Ashley, Amy, Jacob, Joseph, Arianne, Jordan, Aubrey and April.

This is me surrounded by my six daughters: Amy, Arianne, April, Ashley, Aubrey and Alisa.

My wonderful family in our front yard in Spanish Fork Utah.

My family in our back yard.

Ross and Janene Baadsgaard family 2014

We live on two acres and this is my family on our tractor next to our barn on the back acre.

Poem For One-Year-Old

When You’re One

by Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy First Birthday Gideon.

I’m so glad you are my grandson.

Have a happy day.

When you’re one, you’ve just begun and all the world is bright.

Each blade of grass just won’t last; all wonder is in sight.

When you’re one, you’ve just begun and all the world is new.

Each budding flower creates a bower; each day is clear sky blue.

When you’re one, you’ve just begun and all the world is true.

Each warm embrace you can’t replace; you smile and clap and coo.

When you’re one, you’ve just begun and all the world is fast.

Can’t hold on for too long; each cherished day won’t last.

When you’re one, you’ve just begun and all the world is love

Each tiny babe - two parents made - heaven sent from above.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL WOMEN WHO MOTHER

1. 
   

   

   
   

   
   When I was twenty-two years old, I celebrated my first Mother's Day as the terrified, brand-new mother of a three-week-old premature baby with jaundice. I'll never forget standing in church to receive my very first Mother's Day potted plant. I took that healthy, thriving plant home and promptly murdered it. Panicked, I was certain that the deader-than-a-doornail plant was a barometer of my mothering abilities.
   I still can't believe that my first baby survived my perfectionist craziness. Back then, I had the foolish notion that real mothers were saints or angels. I've since learned that angels and saints are just people who take themselves lightly. So should mothers.
   I heard a pregnant mother say in church one Mother's Day, "All you old ladies always say you're glad you're not raising your children today. You say the world is so awful. Well, I want you to stop it. You're scaring me to death."
   "Don't worry, dear," an elderly lady answered, patting the young pregnant woman on the shoulder. "My grandmother used to say the same thing to me fifty years ago."
   
   When you're a first-time expectant woman, mothers who have been through childbirth love to recite their most horrific stories of marathon labors to scare you to death. When you're a walking zombie trying desperately to soothe a newborn, more experienced parents tend to say things like, "They're only babies once. Just enjoy them, dear." When you're on the brink of a nervous breakdown with a house full of insomniac toddlers down with the chicken pox, older parents say, "Just wait till you have teenagers. You aint' see nothing yet." When you're battling fire-breathing teenagers, older parents say, "Don't wait for the children to leave home before you get a life, because . . . they come back!"
   Younger mothers think their older peers have grown senile and forgotten the hard parts. Older mothers think their young peers will soon regret not having enjoyed their children while they still had them home to tuck into bed each night. The unwritten code of maternal martyrdom states, "All other mothers must have it easier than I do, because if I really believed things were going to get worse, I wouldn't get out of bed."
   In fact, if we really knew what was ahead, we'd probably avoid making the very choices that ultimately bring us the most joy. Motherhood doesn't get easier as we go along, it just gets different. In truth, older mothers look back at younger mothers with a certain tenderness only experience can bestow. Perhaps it is time to stop comparing the hardness of our lives and start loving each other. It is time to appreciate and celebrate each woman's mothering contribution.
   
   Though not every woman can have children, every woman can mother. Though nobody has this nurturing business all figured out, we can collectively relax and enjoy the learning process. Though we often make mistakes, we can feel greater peace knowing we can try, fail, and try again. As we move from one mothering season to another, we should celebrate our progress. A mother's love ignites the forces of good and changes the world one soul at a time.
   
   One quiet day when we have grown old, we will realize we are not the same person we once were, because once you learn to truly love one human being completely, loving everybody else comes so much easier. See More

I'm part of a multi-author Mother's Day Giveaway.

Springtime Harvest of Love

Today I walked outside to get the mail and saw quail trailing across my driveway and into the protection of our towering pines. I heard the doves cooing in the locust tree and saw baby robins in a nest. Twenty three years ago my husband and I bought two acres in the country and lovingly planted hundreds of trees, bushes and flowers - and ten beautiful young children. Now all the native birds gather here  . . . so do those ten children so quickly grown and their spouses along with many, many grandchildren. When you plant with love there is always a season of harvest far beyond your dreams. 

Birthday Story for a Six-Year-Old

Logan and the Magic Gum Ball Machine

By

Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy sixth birthday to a very special boy I love very much.

I hope you have a great day.

When Logan unwrapped a gum ball machine for his sixth birthday, he smiled, looked up and said, “Thank you Grandma.”

When their eyes met, his grandma winked at him. Then his grandma did something rather peculiar. She stood up, rubbed her tummy once, hopped up and down twice, then twirled around three times.  

Logan’s eyes popped open. His grandma did not often do those sorts of things. He wondered if she was giving him a secret code. Logan liked having his birthday in April because that is when everything was coming back to life. But even more than he loved spring, Logan loved bubble gum. He especially liked to stuff several pieces of gum into his mouth all at once until his mouth was so full he could barely chew.

Logan usually chewed up all his new gum the first day but this time he had a plan to make his gum last. He decided to eat one colored ball a day.

 On the first morning he picked a red gum ball. All of a sudden Logan felt terrifically grumpy. He stomped into the kitchen and glared at the table.

“Who ate all my favorite cereal?” Logan yelled.

“Wow. Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?” his mother asked.

Logan crunched his eyebrows and frowned.

“My bed is against the wall. There is no wrong side.”

That whole day Logan was perturbed, annoyed and short tempered. His family was happy when he went to bed that night.

The next day Logan chose a yellow gum ball. All of a sudden Logan felt happy and warm inside. He took a long bath, brushed his teeth without being asked and got dressed for the day.

“Good morning Mom,” Logan said with a big smile at breakfast.

“Why Logan,” his mother said, “I don’t know what has got into you, but I like it.”

All that day Logan cheerfully sang a song while he emptied the trash, fed the bunny and swept the kitchen floor. He read his brother Liam three books, put his baby brother Gideon to sleep and then carefully organized all his toys. He even mated and color coded the socks in his sock drawer.

“Pardon me please,” he said at supper whenever he burped.  

“Thank you for this delicious meal,” Logan said when he finished.

“Logan, I like you better this way,” his older brother Sam said.

The next day Logan decided to eat a blue gum ball. Suddenly he felt sad. The hangnail on his big toe made him cry. When his brother poked him in the side at breakfast, he burst into sobs.

“Logan you’re being a little dramatic,” his father said. “Every little thing is not worth crying over. Buck up kid.”

Pretty soon Logan grew confused about his jumble of days. He just didn’t feel like himself. While he was in bed on the third night, he tried putting all the puzzle pieces together. He thought about how he felt on the day he ate each color . . . yellow - happy, red - mad, blue - sad. Then he remembered his grandma’s strange dance demonstration at his birthday party. Maybe that was the clue.

The next day Logan chose a green ball. He immediately grew two feet. The buttons on his shirt popped off and his long pants became shorts. Logan bumped his head on the door frame. When he walked into the kitchen for breakfast his mother screamed and his baby brother laughed.

Suddenly Logan got a super idea. He rubbed his tummy once, jumped up and down twice and turned around three times. Suddenly Logan shrunk two feet.

“I never know what to expect with you,” his mother said.

“Do it again,” my younger brother Liam laughed.

“Wow,” his sister Sophia said.

“I wish I could do that,” his brother Sam said.

“Well,” Logan answered, “you just need a little magic gum ball machine. And when things get tough, don’t forget your grandma dance.”

I wonder what will happen when I chew my purple ball tomorrow, Logan thought. And orange, that could be interesting.

Prom Night At The Baadsgaard House

This is my son John. I am so impressed with him and the other young men in this group.  They decided they wanted to offer the young women they asked to prom a unique experience where every aspect of the day would be wholesome and fun. The day started bright and early on Saturday as they decorated a cultural hall themselves at a local  church. Then they picked up their dates and spent a few hours providing service at a local food pantry and thrift store.  Next came a three-legged Easter egg hunt. Then they dropped off their dates to give them plenty of time to get ready. Next came pictures  followed by a delicious six course meal. Then they took the girls to their decorated dance site where they had arranged for their own play list of music that was tasteful, fun to dance to . . . and not too loud so they could talk to each other. They danced for 2 1/2 hours and had a great time. Every girl wore a modest dress and every boy treated his date like a princess.     

Birthday Story for a Four-Year-Old

Andrew and Fred

by

Grandma Baadsgaard

Here is a story I wrote just for you Andrew.

Have a Happy 4th birthday.

I love you forever.

Once there was a boy named Andrew who had a best friend named Fred.  Fred was stuffed frog with green and black spots and a bright yellow belly and toes. Fred’s plastic eyes looked like green marbles.  Fred was soft so Andrew could snuggle with him in bed or put him on his lap at dinner time.

Fred went everywhere Andrew went so he got a little ruffled and muffled and one of his eyes fell off. When Fred got a hole in his side and his stuffing fell out, Andrew gathered the white stuff in handfuls and brought it to his mother.

“His soft fell out,” Andrew said with a frown.

“Now let me see this,” his mother said. “I think I can fix Fred in a wink.”

Before long Fred was fixed and Andrew took him outside to play. He sat Fred on the grass while he dug holes in the sand box around the swing set in their back yard. That is when the neighbor’s dog ran through Andrew’s yard, grabbed Fred in his teeth and took off running for the field next to their home.

“Fred!” Andrew screamed casing after the dog.

Andrew saw the neighbor’s dog dig a hole, plop Fred inside and then cover the hole with dirt.  Andrew waited until the neighbor’s dog left, then sneaked up to that small mound of dirt.  Andrew dug the dirt away with his hands and there was brown and muddy Fred with his head almost ripped off. Andrew picked up Fred and ran to his house.

“Fred’s broken,” Andrew screamed as he raced into the kitchen.

Andrew’s mother looked at Fred and shook her head.

“I don’t think I can fix him this time,” his mother said. “Maybe we should throw Fred away and buy another frog for you.”

“No,” Andrew said frowning. “Fred is my friend. If you won’t fix him, I don’t care. I still want him.”

Andrew’s mother took Fred and did her best to sew him back together but most of Fred’s stuffing was gone and his eye was nowhere to be seen. So she gave him a bath and dried him in the sun.

The next day Fred was flat, missing an eye and still a little stained from all the mud, but Andrew did not care. He took Fred in his arms and hugged him like nothing had ever happened.

No one told Andrew this but he just knew . . . when you are a real friend, you never leave each other - no . . . matter . . . what. 

John Baadsgaard is Temple-Square-Performances Piano Soloist

John Baadsgaard played a piano solo for the "Come Let Us Sing" concert on Temple Square.
This is John on stage next to the piano after the performance sponsored by the General Young men's Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

An article about the concert appeared in the Church News. 

Click this link to read the full article:

John also sang with the choir and accompanied them for two of their songs.

This was an amazing concert by some of the finest young men in Utah.

Happy 10th Birthday Samuel Cope

Sammy’s Silence

By

Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy 10^th birthday Sammy.

Here is a story I wrote just for you.

I love you so very much.

           

Sammy liked his family’s new piano. His younger brothers and sister did not play rowdy or make too much noise in the piano room so it was quiet in there – quiet and warm. Sunshine streaming through the window from the afternoon sun made light and shadow designs on the rug in this room. Whenever Sammy was feeling sad or happy, he walked into the piano room. Then he slid under the keyboard and quietly sat on the bench. Later, he would practice the songs his piano teacher assigned; but for now, this was his sad or happy time.

            Sammy placed his fingers on the keys and closed his eyes. He listened quietly to the silence all around him. Then he played one note with his right hand and then another. Sammy listened carefully to the silence between the notes and sighed.

Next he placed his left hand on the keyboard. Then he played one note with his left hand and then another. Finally, Sammy played with both of his hands together, stopping and starting over and over again - sometimes using quick notes and other times using slow notes. If he was sad, a melancholy song flowed from Sam’s fingers. If he was happy, a quick lively song flowed from his fingers.

Sammy breathed deeply as he played. The music moved through his body like the rising ocean on the shoreline. There was a certain cadence to the sounds of the incoming tide. Sometimes an unexpected flurry of notes, like a huge wave, would crash on the keyboard and startle him with surprise. Sammy giggled and he smiled.

Now he was ready to play the songs his piano teacher assigned. Sammy thought about these songs in a different way. He knew that the person who created these songs often felt sad or happy just like him. As he played these songs, he tried to imagine what the composer was feeling when they composed the song. Sometimes he studied about the lives of composers so he could guess better. Sometimes unsettled or invigorating feelings came to Sammy when he played other composer’s songs. Yet, when he played their music, he felt they understood each other.

When Sammy was through playing the piano, he slid from the bench and turned around. That is when he often bowed to an invisible audience. Sometimes he clapped for himself and for all the composers who knew the secrets of happy and sad notes . . . and the elegant sound of silence. Often Sammy heard uproarious and grateful applause. That is when Sam played his most exquisite encore.

When Sammy went outside, the music did not stop. He heard melodies and rhythm everywhere . . .  in the song of a lonely bird sitting on the bare limb of a willow tree . . .  in the sudden gusts of wind whipping around the corners of his house just outside his bedroom window . . . and in the tapping of his mother’s knife on the cutting board preparing supper.

Oh, and then there were the enchanted times when Sammy climbed a hill where he could see so far and wide. He raised his arm and magic baton to usher into being the fleeting song of childhood - where only those who still have delight and whimsy deep inside can hear the intangible opus and tenuous offerings of life.