Okay, okay. I know I haven't written a thing for a very long time. Shame on me! But I've been busy! Do you even know what it takes to get a young man ready for a mission? I had no clue, but we did it. We survived the "gathering" process, and tomorrow Taylor will have been gone for three weeks. I can hardly believe it. I know I should have been posting during all the preparation time, but I've just really not wanted to write. I've had so many emotions going on that it's really kind of difficult to express what I'm feeling.

I have been so excited for Taylor to be a missionary. This is something that you dream about from the time your son is born. I was a missionary. Corky was a missionary. We've both wanted our children (daughters included) to be missionaries, to have those same experiences that helped us to grow. To have their testimonies refined; to have their very characters defined by the difficulties, joys and people they meet. There truly is no experience equal to a mission: to have to reach outside of your own little world, your own little self and seek for something greater.

But I will miss him. He is my son. He is my firstborn, my 4-1/2 pound baby who wasn't supposed to make it. But he did. And now he is doing what he has planned all along. To serve the Lord and teach His gospel.

Taylor and I spent a lot of time together since he came home from camp the middle of last August. Every single day of the week, every week, every month until he left on February 24, we were together for at least part of the day, just the two of us. We made list after list, we shopped, we ticked items of the list, and then realized we needed a new list. We had fun, we disagreed, and we enjoyed being together. We didn't disagree a lot, but I found this really cool hanger. He was supposed to take slacks--he had five pairs of pants. This hanger looked similar to this.

Do you see how useful this little item is? Five racks. Five pairs of pants. The hanger I saw had all racks with a rubberized material on them so the pants wouldn't slip, as well as it hooked on the side (this one is open), so they pants wouldn't slip off anyway. I thought it was a great find--$6 at Walmart. Taylor thought it was dorky. He wanted regular plastic hangers. Okay, if I were the one going on a mission, needed to conserve space, hang five pairs of pants--I would choose this one single hanger. Just think, when you needed to pack, you could probably even keep the pants on the hanger and just lay them in the suitcase. But I'm a mom. Do moms know anything? He didn't take my nifty hanger.

Taylor was supposed to leave on February 23 and fly straight to Brazil, but we were informed the week before that his visa didn't come. So, on Wednesday the 24th, we took him to Provo to the MTC. It wasn't as hurried as we had been told, but we just drove him up and dropped him off. We did all get out of the car and give him final hugs good-bye, which were strained because he was so anxious to go. He was nervous and ready. He had planned for this for years, and for this exact moment for four months. He was ready, but I don't think the rest of us were. We were standing there with tears in our eyes and he was all grins and moving on. Moving away. Moving to a new life. And we were left just standing there.

The next night, Thursday, it was amazing that I heard the phone ring. Ask my kids. I never hear my cell phone ring. Or if I do, I never get to it in time and have to return the call. My phone was in my purse in my bedroom. I was in the kitchen. My phone rang, I heard it and got to it in time. Wow. It was Taylor--he was given five minutes to make one call, one phone number. If you weren't there to answer, too bad. He didn't get another call. He was telling us that his visa had arrived and he was leaving the next Wednesday. Two other missionaries in his district got theirs the same day. It was so great to talk to him--he sounded so happy.

So we planned to go to the airport. Even though they suggested we not go the airport, we decided that we needed to. And I am so glad! It was what we all needed. Taylor was relaxed, we were more relaxed. It was great. There was a whole troupe of missionaries--about 25 of them, including a senior couple. Talk about the Army of Helaman. And my son was part of it. Taylor was second in line to have his baggage checked, so we had plenty of time to talk. See, look at us. We all look so much more relaxed and happy. Yes, we took the kids out of school so they could say good-bye to their brother, again. This was just nice. We followed along the lines with Taylor through the security checks. We stood back and let them all do their things, but we were just there. He kept looking back to see if we were there, and we were. At the very end, the group could go left, right or straight ahead where we would no longer be able to see them. He went straight ahead, but we stood kind of in a hallway where people were coming toward us. We could see for a minute, then he was gone. Taylor came back into view, stood there and waived. I missed it. Never look away! Corky said, there he is-did you see him wave? I almost cried. We watched for another minute, and he came back. He made sure I saw him waving. We all called out that we love him. Then I did cry. I was great until then, but it really hit me. My boy was a missionary and he was going very far away. And I love him! But it felt so good. All day long I felt good; I felt grateful, I felt blessed. I was so happy that he was willing and able to serve. I am still feeling it.

Today we received emails from Taylor, second P-Day in Brazil. It was really fun. I was home and called Corky to see if he'd heard anything yet and while we were on the phone, Taylor sent an email. So I hurried and logged on, and the three of us wrote back and forth for about 20 minutes. It was great. I did have to coax him into writing an actual letter. We kept getting cryptic responses to questions, but finally he wrote something that I could post on his blog. What? Have you not looked at his blog yet? Please do! I'm having fun with it, but am hoping for some more pictures, current pictures. These are already so out of date. Okay, so from here, you need to go his blog.

But again--I'm on a high! Being a missionary mom is very wonderful. I recommend it.

Fishing Charm--Grandpa's Hat

Jake sporting "the hat."

I can't remember if I talked about Jake going fishing while we were at the fair this fall. There is a little fishing pond and every year we look at it and there are too many kids or it just closed, or something. But we've never been able to fish. Well, we walked by, it said it was open, and there were no kids in there. The lady standing there wasn't acting like she was going to let us in, so I asked if it was open--of course I didn't see all the kids sitting down getting their fishing instructions. She said they were full, then looked around to see if anyone was watching and asked if it was just Jake. Yup. Just Jake. So--thank you dear woman--she let us in!

Jake got his fishing instructions and got to fish. He was wearing the hat Grandma let him choose--one of Grandpa's hats. Jake figured it had to be good luck since Grandpa was a good fisherman. We had a great time fishing. It was catch and release, which is perfect because what would I do with a wriggling catfish all the way home? I think they finally did that so people wouldn't leave fish stinking all over the fairgrounds. Or perhaps that's why it was always busy when we were leaving--everyone else was doing the same thing so they could take the fish right home.

He tried a couple of different spots around the pond.

He caught the big one! I'm sure he was grateful he didn't have to touch the fish at all. There were several Fish and Game guys around to do the dirty work and help the kids whenever they needed it. Makes for a happy mom, too.

Look at that happy face!

He actually has a big fish story to go along with this picture. He'll tell you sometime. . .

Phew!

What a relief. This has been a great shopping week. I'm so relieved! Last Friday we decided to check out the Men’s Warehouse, just to have a point of reference. We walked in, I told the guy we had a missionary to outfit, and we were just checking things out. He hands me a little piece of paper (with three price packages) and says, there, that’s what you need. I looked at it, waited a minute, he said nothing, so finally I asked, could we see the suits? He turns to a rack, grabs a couple and says, these are the suits. So I suggested to Taylor to try on a jacket and the guy goes, oh, maybe I should measure you. These probably won’t fit (they were the very smallest they had). He measures Taylor and gets to his size. We had about 6-8 in that section, but not all of them qualified for a “missionary” suit because they weren’t the right brand. Then I had to ask to see the shirts, and the pants, and the socks. He didn’t offer anything. We thanked him, he said he hoped he earned our business, and we left. Not impressive. They guy was nice, but he didn’t offer to show us one thing. I had to ask about each detail. I didn’t say much to Taylor about how I felt since I thought he should form some of his own opinions—all I said was there wasn’t a lot of choice.

So Monday we went to Mr. Mac. Right when we walked in, Taylor looked at me and said, I already like this place better. The guy was great. We went to the counter and I asked if he could make Taylor look like a missionary—he was sporting his ratty, holey jeans, worn Chuck Taylors, T-shirt and Ramones ball cap. Let me show you basically how he looked:

This was taken at Moni's birthday party this summer--I'm sure there are more holes in those jeans. I wish you could see more, but I think you get the picture. I don't know what he's going to do without those jeans. He's determined that he's going to come home from Brazil and slip right back into those pants. As a loving mother, I am obligated to keep his clothes in a box for him. However, nobody said I couldn't introduce a few moths. Maybe that's what he really wants, though--more holes. He loves to patch them. Wow, kind of crazy.

The salesman (Carson) measured Taylor, immediately took us to the right size suits, pulled some out, tried on a couple (Taylor, not Carson), let him choose, tried on the chosen suit again, marked it. He pulled out slacks to choose from, shirts, everything. We both loved it. I do have to say, however, that I chose much nicer ties than the salesman did! Taylor tried on the shoes, got two of the same kind. We’ll take back one pair that we purchased earlier (I didn’t realize shoes were part of the package) and hang on to the others, hoping to have room to send a third pair. Am I dreaming? Maybe in his backpack?

Basically, we still need to get luggage and a V-neck sweater, as well as the toiletry items. It felt so good when we left Mr. Mac with two huge bags and the bulk of the main clothing done. I am still happy thinking about it. I couldn’t tell you if it was a great deal or not, but we didn’t really care about that. We felt like we got a good deal and we liked what was offered and the service rendered.

Like I said earlier, phew! Tonight I typed up an authorization to release health information so Corky and I can actually communicate with people if there is a medical need. Earlier in the year we had a little issue with the insurance not wanting to pay a bill. They wouldn't even talk to me because Taylor was 18. Hello! He's under our insurance and we are paying the bill. I get the rules, but really, how dumb is that? If he were paying the bill or had his own insurance, okay. But he was still in high school!

I love checking things off a list. I know there will still be some last-minute things to do, but we are getting there. This is really fun! I am having a good time and am anxious to have everything on the list taken care of. Taylor would rather leave something for next month, but I’d rather he be packing and repacking for three weeks instead of shopping. He was so funny last summer when Simona was going to work at scout camp with him. She packed her trunk and he made her redo it at least three times. He’d go in and dump everything out and direct her on how she should proceed, since he was such the pro--you know, having been there three years (that qualifies for pro, right? He thought so!). I totally stayed out of it. She didn’t holler at him, so who was I to interfere? That was really strange to have them both gone for the whole summer. At the end of the first week, there were still three gallons of milk in the fridge. I had to throw away bread. Cereal went stale. It took a good part of the summer to realize what I needed to buy or not. If I were better at keeping track of exactly what I spend, it would have been interesting to know what I actually saved. I just have to content myself knowing that I did spend less at the grocery store.

Hmm, will the savings in groceries make up for the monthly mission fee? I don't think so, but I am so excited to even send that money in every month! I know it goes to help lots of missionaries, but that is something I've always wanted to be able to do. I remember what it was like as a missionary, and there were some who simply had nothing and wouldn't have been able to be there without some help. And, my mission was expensive. My parents paid $375 a month for me to be in Italy oh-so-many-years-ago. I can't imagine what it would cost now. Corky's mission was $150, but he said that was way too much. He told his parents to send $100, and then even less later on. He said his said whopped for joy when he say how little it would cost to support him. He'd had three older brothers in Europe--I'm sure they were all pricey.

But I always thought about some people who couldn't afford it--it wasn't really fair to be sent to "a mission you can afford." That's not very inspirational. So I like the idea that we all send the same amount and it gets split every which way so everyone gets to be in whatever mission they should. Pretty cool. I don't know where the money will always come from every month, but I totally have faith that it will be there. I've seen how things work while families support their missionaries, and I'm not even worried about it. We'll be just fine. I know I'm going to miss my son, but I am so happy that he's going to be a missionary.

Sorry I keep talking about this. There are a few other things going on in my life, but mainly--this is it!

It was wonderful going to the temple a couple of weeks ago, yes, with Taylor. That was very cool. The man who helped Taylor the whole way through was Corky's scout leader when he was young. That was fun to have an important person there with us. He was very influential in Corky's life. I believe it was the day after Dwynne went. Happy day for you! What wonderful feelings for parents to see their children in the temple. Taylor and I went last week and hope to go every week before he leaves. Tomorrow we get to see Megan (Corky's niece) sealed to her sweetheart. That will be fun.

Oh Fred, Where Art Thou?

This is the craziest thing ever. Sunday morning, right before I had to get up, I was having the weirdest dream. The part I will tell you is this: We were staying at somebody's house--started out to be Grandma's, but then you know how in dreams it turns into something else? Well it turned into someone else's house, but I'm not even sure whose. Anyway, I had to set the alarm clock. I did, and in the morning, it went off. I got up, went into the bathroom, which looked strangely like my own bathroom, and checked the clock in there. It was only 6:20.

Well we now have 11:00 church, so there's no reason in the world that I would need to be up at 6:20--no, not one--reason--that is. So I went back in to change the clock, and it was a Fred Flintstone clock. He was made out of plastic (I used to have a clown bank made out of the same plastic) and was about 18 inches high. The buttons to change the time were on the tops of his toes, and I was fiddling with them trying to change them when my own alarm rang! I was so mad--because I was certain it was only 6:20 a.m.--that I hit my snooze. I laid there for a few minutes thinking about Fred's toes. I have not been able to get him out of my mind! It was exactly like Fred Flintstone, club, clothes, bare feet, everything.

If you ever see a Fred Flintstone clock, please, please buy him for me! I need that clock!