more sprinkler fun.

who's supposed to be watching this kid?

daddy was gone for the day. he left early this morning to attend a wedding. it's his very first wedding shoot and it's going to last all day long.

i had to figure out something to keep the kids busy, and cool. it was pretty hot and we made sure to use this water ball toy as much as we possible could.

we had lots of fun, yep, even i ran through a couple of times.

this guy didn't though. he still hates getting wet.

he watched happily from the front porch.

we kind of lazied our day away, playing in the water, and watching movies. i didn't get much packing done. i really should've. our moving date is coming up fast, but at the same time, it doesn't feel all that real. oh well. it'll have to get done at some point.

the end.

the last of summer days

i lie on the black, stretchy nylon of the trampoline.

the baby bounces uncertainly, falling, climbing back to his feet, and falling.

the nippy air of autumn breathes across my face.

the sudden gust travels through the un-mown grass, 

tickling the blades causing them to twirl and dance.

i watch her,

she shovels mud into her hands,

it oozes through her fingers and she suddenly throws it up into the air.

she jumps into the falling mud clots.

it sticks to her wild and wavy black hair.

her feet hop and splash into the leftover pool of muddy goo.

a hearty laugh bursts through her tiny body.
she licks the mud from her fingers.

the boy finds a toy car.

my legs immediately transform into steep hills and bridges.

his pink lips blow raspberries, the sound of toy car engines.

his head hits the soft sides of my mama body, 

and the tail of my shirt becomes wet with giggling baby saliva.

he lies there for a while
and i feel his soft thump of a heartbeat against my back.
his chest rises and falls, i feel his breathing.

i close my eyes and hear the chirping of crickets, 

the tweeting of birds in the pine tree towering over me.

cars rumble past on the usually quiet road.

the leaves rustle, announcing the arrival of the autumn breeze once more,

just in case i missed it earlier.

she carries the scent of earth, grass, bark, the last summer sweetness of nectar.

the nearby smells of the farm down the road catch a ride on her swift shoulders and my nostrils are filled with the faint aroma of manure and cows and hay.

the friendly argument between the nippy autumn breeze and the warm rays of sunshine find it's way to my back and loose strands of hair.

i smile. i feel warm and cool all at the same time.

the crickets chirp.

the babies let their giggles escape.

the pokey elbows grind into my spine.

the heavy roundness of my offspring tumble over and over me.

and i could lie here forever.

First day of school

i stayed up a little later than usual last night sharpening pencils and gathering up school supplies.

i always procrastinate until the last minute.

the morning went well.

i made sure to take pictures and such during the open house.

i didn't want a repeat of last year's first day of school fiasco.

we took our first day pics on the step.

and the kids waited excitedly for the bus.

it was a cool, foggy day.

it's always so strange when the kids go to school.

it's just me and the babies.

sometimes, you need to allow one mess, to clean another.

i hadn't mopped the kitchen floor in weeks.

and after mopping the kitchen floor, the babies made sure i still had work to do.

rice cake crumbs all over...

thanks, babies.

we cuddled.

we sat in the car and pushed buttons.

"mom, take me fishing!"

we played with old and broken electronics, just to pass the time.

mimzy picked some "flowers" for me.

and then the kids finally came home.

we were pretty happy to have them back.

the first day went smoothly.

they loved seeing their old friends and teachers.

it'll be nice to have a little bit of this normalcy until we move.

the night ended with baths.

"lemme out!" "cuddoh me, mom!"

i couldn't resist, and let her out for a cuddoh, and a story.

i love these munchkins.

happy first day of school.

i sure am going to miss my helpers during the day.

the end.

labor day

every summer, we seem to have a bbq near the lake with our good friends, the S family.

this time, we chose to get together at devils lake.

we had never been, and it was on our wisconsin bucket list.

the day started out rather chilly.

the wind was blowing, and the kids played on the beach.

and they gathered up enough courage to jump in and take as swim.

mosiah stayed and played happily in the sand.

we met some super nice people, and it was great to get to know them.

this gigantic beach ball came out of nowhere and the babies loved playing with it.

the older kids dug out water holes and made sand castles.

it was still pretty cold, but they didn't seem to mind.

we even snuck in a bit of kayaking.

and sam caught a fish, and threw it back in.

and makayah did some beach yoga.

the day was so perfect, and towards the afternoon, the sun came out and warmed things up considerably.

while the kids played in the sand and water, we all chit chatted about dogs, christmas cards, family, traveling, moving, schools, kids, all of it.

i can't remember the last time i laughed so hard, i cried.

as the sun finally began to set, we began packing up and saying good-byes.

this family is amazing, and we are going to miss them.

thanks so much for the incredibly delicious carne asadas and the jicama salad,

the great company,

the entertaining conversation.

we'll miss you!

on being native american: part one

my parents grew up in a very trying era.

while most people were dancing to 50's and 60's jigs, twirling poodle skirts and perfectly styled coifs, hanging out at the local malt joint, my parents were being torn away from their families by government officials. they were forced into boarding schools at around the age of 4 and 5.

their beautiful long hair was shaved off and butchered.

they were issued "civilized" clothing resembling prison wear more than anything else.

they were beaten if they spoke their native language.

in short, the native was set to be extinguished, because someone else thought their ways to be lowly and savage.

my father with no other government-approved options, finished out school at the hateful boarding schools. my mother's mother, reluctantly but willingly sent her daughter away to live in another state with a more civilized white family, better equipped to give her the "appropriate" upbringing. 

i grew up on the navajo reservation. my family started out in humble circumstances.

i basically lived in one town my entire childhood life, having the wonderful opportunity to graduate high school with friends with whom i've known since nursery.

although my parents were fluent in navajo, i was never taught the language for fear of not succeeding in school or being different than the outside world and speaking with an accent.

i was raised to fit in with the outside world.

i never went to pow wows, was never taught the dances.

...because somewhere in there was this mindset that "success" did not include the native culture. 

my father worked hard and built up two businesses in which his focus was to provide jobs for the native american people. i remember it was a constant battle for him, fighting against the non-natives, fighting against the natives, just to accomplish his dreams.

as i look back, it was a very confusing time for me.

maybe i didn't realize it until now, as i look back with more educated and enlightened eyes, i grew up ashamed of who i was. this dark skin, i was told, was a curse. my black eyes and thick, black hair was not the idealized beauty of blue and wispy yellow. there was shame in dancing because it was beastly and wrong. there was shame in traditional dwellings because it was dirty and too simplistic. in everything that was my culture, there was shame, and i was made to feel it, and maybe hoping by the small minds of others, that i would spread this shame and finally extinguish whatever pride our people once had.

i got married.

i was told he'd never amount to anything.

i had kids.

i was told they were dirty rez kids.

after years of living off the rez to get my bachelor's degree, and waiting for my husband to get his, i went back to the rez to find a job.

i was told i was pathetic..."ugh, i would NEVER raise my kids there. ever."

there was very little flame i had left.

i hurt and i ached. and i wondered what was wrong with me.

but, when two presidents of the united states issue an indian extermination act, it's not all that surprising that i feel this way.

and then i moved to wisconsin.

it was a funny thing moving here. we didn't know anyone. we had no planned place to live. whereas, back in utah, we had everything we needed, and we turned it all down.

we felt so strongly about moving to wisconsin, and we didn't know why.

the people who came into my life in wisconsin were magic.

they were friends, they were teachers, they were law school classmates.

on more than one occasion, we were asked to give presentations in my children's classrooms about our culture, about rug weaving, about dancing, about being native american.

these people rekindled my flame, and blew strength into my children's growing fires.

we met up with our oneida family in green bay.

with their hugs and their kisses, and the sharing of their stories, they healed my open wounds.

they accepted me and my children with open arms and lifted us up.

we stayed in wisconsin one year more than we had thought we would.

we moved to the small town we are in right now.

i had wondered why, why hadn't we found a job in utah near our friends? or in canada near our family?

sam and i would often brainstorm about the reasons why. maybe it's this, or maybe it's that.

then he got a job in arizona. we had initially turned this job down because it was on the reservation.

i didn't want to go back.

i didn't want to bring my kids back to the abuse of babysitters, or bullies, or the shame of it all.

i look at them and they are everything i wish i could've been when i was growing up.

they are smart and outgoing.

they are confident and sure of themselves.

they are strong and yet, tender.

they are loving and affectionate.

they are sensitive to others and welcoming.

they are talented in everything they do.

they are fearless.

there were many happy and good times, but like anywhere else, there are sad and rough times, but even more so on the reservation.

i had built a wall around me, to protect myself so i could survive growing up on the reservation.

with this wall, i became fearless.

i became strong.

i had a drive for knowledge.

but there are some things the wall didn't allow for.

 in the past couple of weeks, circumstances have changed, and we need to be close to work, and this would mean living on the reservation.

i was confused. i was upset, and i was arguing inside my head with God.

you know i don't want to go back.

why do i have to sacrifice my kids for this?

yesterday, we saw two very special young native american women. Shoni and Jude Schimmel play college basketball for the Louisville Cardinals. they made it to the championship game, underdogs the entire way. they were amazing to watch. i can't describe the feeling of watching a fellow native american on espn - paving the way for others to follow. it might not seem like much at all to anyone else, but, when your entire people have been beaten and broken - refrained from rising again...and then they do - 

the flames rekindle.

the light begins to burn bright.

the heat sparked our hearts back to life.

yesterday, shoni said, "we are here. and we will rise - why not now? why not us?" 

these feelings still stewed inside me as i drove back home with sam and the kids. we couldn't talk about the move because i'd get to upset. we got ready to go to the pow wow that night (one of many we've attended in wisconsin). 

i fought with these feeling inside my head, not able to really concentrate on anything until grand entry began. the native american veterans, held flags and led the line. the heavy beat of drums began,



and the happy jingles of dresses and bells danced in the air.

as i stood, i saw the brightly colored feathers,



the painted faces, the sparkling dresses, the flying ribbons.



i saw the elders, the men, the women, and the very young children.

my eyes and throat burned. i was so overcome by this. these people weren't savages. these people weren't animals, these people, MY people were beautiful. i watched them dance and flutter so lightly on their feet, everyone in rhythm, in harmony. 

these people were proud of who they were, who they ARE. these children, they carried the beauty of their culture high above on strong shoulders.

the women, were graceful and regal, like ancient royalty.

the men, were warriors.

how could i not see this before?

suddenly, i wanted this for myself, but most of all i wanted it for my children.

on the way home, i cried and cried until my eyes were good and puffy.

i let go of all the shame, all the hateful things i've ever heard, all the hateful things that have ever been done. this beauty, this special part of my culture, i wasn't going to let it be extinguished. 

i wasn't going to be tricked into being ashamed of my people, my past, my culture, of who i am and who i was meant to be. i wasn't going to believe their lies any longer.

i know why we came to wisconsin. i needed this weak flame of mine to be rekindled. .i needed these wonderful and amazing people to uplift and support me and remind me of who i am, and that who i am and where i come from is nothing - nothing to be ashamed of.

***