Osgood-Schlatters

"Oh my gosh, he does walk like Grandpa Allred," my sister Jessica remarked as she watched Zach hurry onto the field.

We were all huddled close, wrapped in blankets as we watched Zach's football game from the metal bleachers. The fact that it had been a freezing day added to the misery that this particular game was being played at 8:00 at night. It's fair to say that "chilly" didn't do the night justice.

It was a great football game against the other Lone Peak team. If we won, we earned a place in the playoffs. If we lost, we were out. The whole clan was there and I know that it meant so much to Zach. He truly had a cheering section. Both sets of grandparents were there, his Aunt Jess and Uncle Aaron, his two sisters, mom, and even his cousins Bree and Hailey had come down all the way from Pleasant View on such a cold night.

"I've been telling you that," I said to Jess. Duh.

Let's just say that walking like my Grandpa Allred isn't exactly a compliment. He was in a serious car accident and walked with a pronounced limp for the last 20 years of his life. Brook has a different take on Zach's walk, though. He compares it more to Kramer in that Seinfield episode where Kramer's jeans are too tight and he walks like Frankenstein, scaring the neighbor kid. I can see Brook's point. Zach kind of shuffles along, avoiding bending his knees at times, swinging his arms to propel him forward.

For the past three or four months Zach has been complaining about his knees hurting. One day it's his right, the next day his left. Some days it's both. It's hard to watch him run because you know it's just killing him. We've been treating him with ice packs and pain reliever when it flairs. A visit to the doctor this week confirmed that he has Osgood-Schlatters, something we had assumed. Basically, it's growing pains and is very common for children his age who engage in a lot of sports. The doctor said that it will leave in a few months and return again when he goes through that one growing period around the beginning of high school. I don't think Zach was overly thrilled to hear the latter part.

I guess growing pains are inevitable, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm never ready for them, at any age. Every stage in my kids' lives seem to bring something new and unexpected. I feel like I'm always one step behind, always trying to catch up. Just when I get one thing mastered, something else sends us off flying in an unknown direction. At times I feel like telling them all, "Don't look at me. I don't even know what I'm doing." But Brook and I seem to trudge on, leaning on each other to somehow pull it together. Being a parent is not always easy, but it is definitely worth it. I wouldn't change my life for the world, growing pains and all.

Zach played well. He had some great passes and hand-offs and everyone played their positions beautifully. They ended up winning the game and earning a place in the play-offs. Go Knights!

Mom, Was it Heaven?

Brynn was looking out the window on the ride home from school. The weather was gray and cloudy and raindrops still decorated the windows from the morning rainstorm.

"Mom, was is it heaven when you were seven?" she asked quietly.

"What?" I couldn't figure out what she was asking.

"Was it heaven when you were seven? I love being seven; it's heaven," she explained.

Ah, being seven. I thought for a moment. "Yes Brynn, seven was heaven for me too."

"Brynn, why is seven heaven for you?" I asked.

"Well," she started, "I was the queen of the jungle gym in Castle Rock, I have lots of Webkinz, and I got to go to Disneyland."

I'm glad that Brynn loves being seven, but truth be told, she's enjoyed every age she's been. It's almost impossible to look through albums of pictures and find one where she isn't flashing a huge, cheesy smile or striking an impromptu, ridiculous pose. She sees each morning as an opportunity to rustle up some kind of fun and entertainment.

Brynn doesn't walk: she skips, runs, hops, and cartwheels down the aisle at Target. She doesn't just stop either: she flies into a chair, slides across the floor on her knees, or flngs herself into someone's unexpecting midsection. Church must be an exercise of intense patience for her. And while these descriptions sound like a diagnosis of ADD or something, she wouldn't be labeled that at all. She does well in school, can maintain her composure, and does have the ability to pay attention, reflect, and reason.

No. Brynn doesn't have a disorder of any kind. Brynn simply has, well, joy.

Later that day, as I watch her in dance class, I notice that the drab colored, soft pink ballet leotard she's wearing gives no indication of the spunk within. It isn't until the class is stretching and she announces to the other students, "I can feel the buuuuuuuuuuuurn!" that she resembles the Brynn I know. The other girls giggle as she puts them at ease. She loves a good girlfriend (and she has many). She likes nothing better than telling secrets on the sidelines during a soccer game, making best-friend nicknames, or giving "hug-gies" goodbye (usually 2 or 3 or until she's dragged away).

It's sad for me to watch her grow. Her build-a-bears and plastic princess shoes have gathered dust in the back of her closet as she's rushed full force into girlhood. With excitement she's taped up posters of the Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana to the walls of her room. I take them down every so often, but new ones appear, as if by magic, to take their places. Her sweet bedtime storybooks don't get read anymore. Instead, books with titles such as High School Musical, Get Your Vote On! sit on the nightstand next to her bed. I'll find her reading them as I go in there to kiss her goodnight

Oh Brynn.

My Brynn.

I hope you continue to find joy in this old life. I hope every age greets you with the excitement and thrills you so love. May your years be filled with snowglobes, and tomatoes, and stickers, and chocolate creamies, and the sweet smell of your pillow as you bury your face in it. I hope you find the joy you so optimistically expect and the party you're searching for just around the next corner.

Rosie's Baptism

Yesterday our family had the privilege of going to a baptism for our cousin Rosie. She just turned eight-years-old this past week and was able to be baptized Saturday. It was a special day for her and we enjoyed being there. Rosie was baptized and confirmed by her dad, Nate. Rosie's mom, Emily, and her grandma Huff both gave wonderful talks about baptism and about being confirmed a member of the church. Rosie was excited, as was everyone there. We are proud of her and her decision to follow in Jesus' footsteps.

Pictured are Rosie, Nate (Brook's younger but wiser brother) and Emily.

Brynn was excited to watch Rosie be baptized

because she turns eight in December. She can't

wait for her special day. Here are the three

cousins: Brynn, Rosie, and Hailey.

Brook and his Dad, Max Buhrley

Brook's sister Trisha and her cute daughter Mia.

Mia is so soft and feminine. Caitlyn said the word

"hate" in a conversation with her cousin and Mia

gently scolded her and told her that it wasn't a

nice thing to say and that "I wouldn't say it if I

were you."

Caitlyn with Trisha's son Truman. He has the

cutest curly hair and the best disposition. He

joined in and just sang the final hymn as loud

as he could.

Here is Rosie's younger brother Max on the left,

with Truman in the middle and Angie's daughter

Allie in front. Max wore his backpack the entire day.

I'm not sure there was even anything in it, but he sure

enjoyed having it on.

Angie (Brook's sister) and her son Parker.

Parker is a true boy's boy. He loves anything fast

and furious. If you can kick it, throw it, catch it,

or ride it, he loves it. And his three sisters and

mom love him, too. Zach loves to hang out with

Parker when he gets a chance.

Caitlyn and Breanne. Can't you just feel the love?