A Published Writer...Using the term loosely...

Back in September Rus and I took the kids to the Salman Raspberry Ranch outside of Santa Fe. While we were busy picking (and sampling) raspberries, a woman came up and asked if she could take some pictures for a family magazine based out of Santa Fe. I said of course, even though my kids were super dirty (not kidding, we'd been camping and hiking and riding in the car with suckers...I'm sure there were boogers, too). I asked her about the magazine, and when I got home I looked it up online, where I found that they take article contributions. They are a quarterly publication, so I looked forward to the next deadline and decided that I would send in some essays (why not?!)
So I did, she liked them and decided to publish two of them together, and now I'm famous.
Right?
Right.
You'll be able to look them up online tomorrow (hopefully) at this website, but until then I thought I'd post what I wrote here for you to read/enjoy/hopefully.

Camping with kids is an unnecessary abandonment of most modern conveniences. Beds, a fridge, bathrooms…these things are taken for granted in all the day to day bustle of work, school, and play. But there comes a time when despite all the inconvenience, a family simply gets tired of living in a house and cannot resist for one more second the urge to just pack up and run away. It may be primal instinct, or if you’re like my son Jacob, you might just want to get out, pee on a tree, and commune with the stars. My daughter Bekah is a girly-girl in every way, yet even she cannot resist the appeal of a chair next to a campfire and marshmallows on a stick despite the inevitable lingering smell of smoke in her clothes and hair. My youngest son Beau enjoys camping because of all the dirt. He must wonder what miraculous turn of events occurred to bring a smile to mom’s face at his neglected appearance. And why do I go camping? I do it to see the unmatched awe on my children’s faces at the discovery of some treasure like a massive cow pie or raccoon tracks in the dirt or some crazy shaped tree or beautiful flowers or a herd of cattle suddenly invading our campsite. I do it for the fresh air that invades my limbs and lungs and makes me want to hike up a mountain path, furnishing my children with candy and purple and blue water bottles just so they’ll ignore the short stamina of their legs. I go camping because I want my kids to enjoy the outdoors. I want to cram their little bodies so full of enjoyment that they cannot help but fall in love with the damp dirt and cool fresh air and trees. My children have grown up in a desert, meaning sand, wind, and sunshine. This desert kind of beauty takes some getting used to. It is stark yet subtle; you won’t realize you love it until you leave it. The desert also saves its best, most surprising and beautiful places for those willing to pay the price to discover them. It is secretive and protective of its lush, hidden landscapes, cradling them at the end of bumpy dirt roads and vast barren scenes. Our family searches out those secret places, eager to be enchanted. That is where we go when we cannot see the stars anymore because of all the streetlights. That is where my husband can dig up worms in the dark of the morning just to lure a fish onto his hook. That is where our kids can whine because we forgot their sippers or gloves only to forget their complaints when Dad yells that he’s spotted a deer. And when they run with wild abandon, that is when Rus and I know that we’re doing something right. We are camping.


My home is a sanctuary. It is a place of love and safety. From what? Well, for now, with Bekah, a 5 year old, Jacob, a 4 year old, and Beau, an 18 month old, our home is a safe harbor from mean kids, sticks and stones, thunder and lightning, bad words and green scary monsters. It is the place where it is okay to cry about getting put on yellow at school for bad behavior. It is okay if you drop an egg, spill milk, or find that permanent marker can bleed through your paper onto the carpet. It is even okay if mom finds you with your hand in the cookie jar and a bite taken out of each remaining cookie. My home is where Jacob has learned how to politely say, “no, thank you,” and Bekah has learned to say, “excuse me, please,” instead of interrupting. My home is a place that houses a warm fuzzy jar, where good deeds are rewarded with a warm fuzzy pompom, your choice of color. My home is a place that smells like cookies in the afternoon because Jacob wants to make them with me. (Really he’s in it for the cookie dough.) My home is a place where the kids are read to, prayed with and tucked into bed so that my husband and I can finally see and hear each other without the proverbial noise and colorfulness of our children. My home is a place where I can learn how to do things right. It is where I learned to change diapers without getting peed on and learned to handle tantrums without feeling beat up. And what lies outside the doors of my home? There is goodness everywhere but it does not in any way eclipse the fact that there are shadows and demons, too. Outside my home there is a gauntlet for me and each of my children. Outside my home Bekah’s strong will and drive for perfection will be tested. Jacob’s solitary way will be pressed into conforming. Beau will be knocked down by bigger kids. I will be questioned for not working and having three young children so close in age. I will be wrong when I yell at my kids and I will be wrong when I don’t. But my home is my corner of the ring, the place I can go to break down, regroup and rebuild. My home is a sanctuary because it is where my children know that they are loved even when they have messed up. My home is the place where they should mess up, make mistakes, and discover the difference between right and wrong because here I can correct them, teach them, and love them. So tonight we will read our bedtime story, like always. We will read scriptures, say prayers, brush our teeth, and get tucked into bed. Bekah will give me eskimo kisses and Jacob will squeeze me as tight as he can before saying goodnight. Beau will give me open mouth kisses and I will nibble on his cheeks. Then the lights will go off and the wind will howl outside, but my children will be dreaming happy things because they are loved.
In my home.