I want "everyone" reading this blog to know that I share many very personal, somewhat private feelings here. I honestly use this blog as a quick journaling tool. It is a lot faster for me to type, and a bit less painful, as well.

Ava and I were invited to spend Christmas at my sister and brother-in-laws home. We asked to stay the night the night before, and therefore, were going to be a part of their Christmas Eve pj & The Polar Express tradition. Some days being surrounded by a pack of kids is just what I need to make it to the next day, but sometimes seeing a baby makes me plain ol' angry. This night, the heart break of not being able to carry a baby further than 7 weeks or so slapped me in the face and kicked me in the shins.

I needed a moment - or maybe several hours until the crowd left - to try to keep myself together.

I was followed. I was told that it was my weight that kept me from experiencing the bearing of children. True. To some extent, anyway. I was also told that it was my weight that kept my back in such pain all the time. Maybe. Or it could be the fact that I literally busted my back caring for my 80+ year old, bed-ridden Grandfather, and that my weight simply exacerbates it. I was also told that it was my weight that kept intimate moments - not so intimate. Wow. What a blow. I know, without a doubt, that my weight causes many to... think. To put it nicely.

Then the next day to be told by another person that it was my weight that kept them from being able to tickle me without me hurting. Yeah, maybe. But, I really don't like to be tickled. Regardless of my back.

I am angry. I am angry at mothers and fathers, especially mothers, who are blessed with babies - and then complain about the sleepless nights. I am angry that mothers complain about the hyperactivity. I am angry with the mothers who loose their patience so easily. I am angry at the mothers who place other things/activities/people about their children. Why have you been blessed with a child? Why have you been blessed with children? I would just like one. Just one.

Stop complaining. Stop whining. I'll trade my nights for yours. In a heart beat.

Kaysi

Around Homecoming time in my Senior year of high school I called an ad that was in the Peddler for free rat terrier puppies. When I got there..., let's just say they weren't rat terrier puppies. Regardless of the breed I feel in love with a very timid black and white female puppy. The owner had to crawl under most of his house to get her. And when we got her home she spent the first two weeks or so under the front porch steps.

This little puppy became my best friend. She was everything to me. She was my best friend.

Monday, September 29, 2014 (three days before her 14th birthday) she took her last breath.

I miss her every single day.

Push Pause

I remember being a young kid playing Nintendo with my siblings and having to use the restroom so bad that I dance the tee-tee dance. We all got really good at it! The thing to say when it got to be an emergency was "push pause." We'd jump up, run to the bathroom, take care of business, and run back to finish the game.

I graduated in May with my Associates in Teaching. There's not much I can do with that except teach Jump Start to Pre-K levels. The plan was to go straight into the Teaching program and at Lamar that I was accepted into in April. Long story short, I pushed pause.

Angelina spoiled me. Lamar, apparently, doesn't spoil. I'll start in the Spring. I started working part-time at a local funeral home. I love it. I love the people I work with, the people I come in contact with, and extra income is nice. Its nice to help Ava out and to ease his burden.

He's made a lot of progress. He's accomplished every goal he's set for himself. Now to work on the new goals he has set.

I'm kind of not ready to push un-pause yet.

Jarom's Home!

What an awesome experience our family has had this week! These past two years, really, have been an experience. A wonderful, faith-building experience. We've laughed, we've cried, we've rejoiced, and we've worried. We wouldn't trade it for anything, and we know he wouldn't either.

Elder Odom's mission had been difficult. Typhoid, typhoid fever, E Coli, severe back pain, and possible intestinal parasites are only a short list of his "health" tribulations.

Elder Odom's mission had been miraculous. Countless baptisms, being spared for numerous typhoons, beautiful scenery, and heavenly people.

We initially received an itinerary for Elder Odom that would bring him home at the beginning of November. Heavenly Father planned differently and we had him come home on Tuesday, October 21st at 7:50pm. Most of our immediate family was able to attend, (Heber's family couldn't make it), along with Uncle Early Wayne and Aunt Linda and Colton and Garrett. We had our poster the Young Women made, along with "Hug Me First" signs Mom made for each of us. We gathered at the escalator the airport told us he'd come down. Our feet couldn't sit still, we went from teary eyes to big grins, kids giggled and jumped up and down. Ava walked around and found he had come down another set of stairs.

We made our way to him and had a nice reunion. His back hurt so back he was shuffling like an old man. He focused intently to when we spoke because he was having a hard time understand English. He had been traveling for twenty-two hours and awake for much more. He was tired. He was hungry and thirsty. But he was - he IS - home.!

We left Houston and travel to Beaumont to meet with Stake President Little to have him released. He met with Elder Odom alone first for a time, then invited us in. President Little allowed Elder Odom to share his testimony with us. He had changed so much. Then, President Little read Elder Odom's release certificate and asked that he remove his missionary name tag. That was a bitter sweet moment. The pain and the anguish in his face was so raw. He reached for it twice before, on the third attempt, he removed his name tag and again became Jarom.

He served well. He returned with honor. He made us proud. He made his Heavenly Father proud.

He left his family for two short years to help other families be together for an eternity.

Immigration

Recently I've seen several political pictures shared on Facebook concerning Immigration that disturb me. One of which is the "Press 1 for English. Press 2 to go home." Did you know that the United States of America does not have a national language? Did you know fellow Texans that because our area does have a "Press 2 for Spanish" option, whereas, in other areas, say FAR north, its "Press 2 for French?"

Don't get me wrong, my feelings about this was the same a couple of years ago. If you're coming to America, speak "American!" If you're coming to America, adopt our "American" ways! What is the American language? What are the American ways?

The American language, literally, is what ever language you already speak! The American way is, literally, the customs and traditions you already have! That's what makes America - America!

I used to be one of those ignorant people that said (loud and proud), "If you want to come to America - do it legally! Go through the proper channels!" Have you ever been through the proper immigration channels? I have! And I completely understand why so many are here illegally!

ITS SO EXPENSIVE! If you choose to NOT hire an immigration lawyer, which is totally fine, but I would suggest against it, the filing fees alone are $1500 (for about three sheets of paper)! That's not counting the at least two trips you'll make to the local immigration offices.

When one is coming into the United States of America the government asked for many things. They get "nosey", they get rude sometimes, they get haughty, etc. They look into your past and if you so much as sneeze with an accent they delay you, or worse, they send you "home" for pushing 2 for their language.

Do you find it frustrating trying to deal with a foreigner who may have trouble speaking the language? Do you think its not frustrating to come into a completely foreign country to be FREE to only have the government officials tell you what to do, what language to speak, having to deal with all the red tape?!

What happened to, "Give me your TIRED, your POOR,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

Did you know that most illegal immigrants work harder than you, but make less than you, AND they send money to their families? Did you know that most illegal immigrants are living the American Dream just by doing this? While you're complaining about your Apple store running out of the new iPhone, these illegal immigrants are actually living BETTER than you - and you call it struggling!

Get over "British" selves and welcome in these poor, tired, homeless immigrants. Help them. Teach them. Love them. Don't cater to them. Don't tell them to go home - because they are home. And they had to pay a lot higher price than you'll ever have to worry about!