My Angel Mother

Despite it resulting in relatives or acquaintances placing a Christmas phone call to make sure everything is ok, my mom laughed when my brother and I changed her Facebook status to things like "My boogers taste like Christmas." and "I would like to punch a reindeer in the face."

I remember when my mom spilled a pot of homemade stew all over the counter.  She reacted with some choice words, resulting in her inadvertently teaching three year old Leslie the proper use of the word "dammit".  Leslie has never forgotten how to use that word.

My mom laughs a certain way when she's conflicted about the appropriateness of what it is she's laughing at.  One Sunday, at the dinner table, Liz, Leslie, and myself brought the poor woman to tears of laughter when we explained the meaning of the word 'shart'.  If you don't know what that is, you might not want to, but you can send her a message, requesting an explanation.

I remember her carrying me into the hospital to get stitches as a five year old after I had wrecked my bicycle, slamming my head into a stop sign. 

My mom is awesome at doing activities.  Our 2009 Mother's Day game of "Mother, May I?" is perfect evidence:

It's funny how I used to always wish we could eat out more often and now that I'm older and do eat out more, I just wish I could eat my mom's cooking everyday.   She always made sure we had a hot meal that tasted good.  On our birthdays, the birthday child always got to choose what we ate and eat it off the special red plate.

Knowing that the issue could have been solved easily by my dad with a 5 cent bullet, my mom took sympathy on us kids when one of the only cats we had ever cared about was struck by a vehicle, breaking it's hind legs.  We took it to the vet and she paid the bill to have it quietly put down.  It wasn't cheap and we weren't rich, but it made us feel better and that was more important to her.

There have been times when I stand in need of something and, without me ever saying it or asking for help, my mom recognizes what's going on and does something to help me out.  These aren't just small, inconsequential things.  Sometimes they have been things that I could not have gotten by without.  Words can't really express my appreciation.

I've observed as my mom dealt with stresses and adversity that no person should ever have to go through.  I've watched her carry her burdens with unusual dignity and selflessness.  There are all sorts of heroes in this world, but I can say that my mother has fought her battles, which have not been small, with unprecedented amounts of courage.

I can't pretend to know what has always gone on inside her head, but I can say that her actions have always led me to believe that she rarely thinks much about herself. 

My mom personifies everything good that I hope to be.  I'd be an extremely lucky guy to find a woman half as great as she is.  I love you, Mom.  I know "thanks" isn't enough in proportion to all you've done and continue to do for me, but just know that you and your example will be largely responsible for anything good that I do in my life.  
 

Oh, and she's real pretty.

Six Years Ago

Today is the six year mark of the death of my friend, Joe.

Joey was just 22 years old.  He was married and had a beautiful two year old daughter.  He and his wife, Teresa, had been sealed in the temple a couple years earlier.  He passed away in a tragic car accident on a Saturday afternoon.  

Joseph Todd Larsen stood 6' 7" tall and could light you up from three point land.  He was known to say the things few would think and no one would say out loud.  He was misunderstood by some people, but when it came down to what mattered, the kid had a heart of gold.  He was the one that, as high-schoolers with no money, would buy a bag of burgers from Arctic Circle with his money because I was hungry and then let me eat more than him.  He was the guy any farmer in Fairview knew would help when they needed an extra hand, no matter the chore.  He was honest.  If I said or did something he thought was stupid, he'd let me know.  Joe was a great father and he worked as hard as anyone I know for his family's happiness.  He was a loyal friend, he displayed more loyalty than a lot of people deserved, myself included. 

I think of Joe a lot.  Today, I was leaving my mom's house to go out to the Fairview Cemetery and visit his grave when my sister suggested I leave an Easter egg on it.  My first thought was "No.", but then I thought about it for a second.  Eggs represent new life and, in turn, the resurrection.  I picked up an egg and a marker and wrote on the egg: "Can't Wait" 

Thanks, Dad

for instilling in me a love for the outdoors.
for explaining to me at an early age that "if you can't use your left hand, you're only half a ball player."
for discerning when I didn't need punishment additional to my own feelings of remorse.
for setting an example of looking out for neighbors.
for always interrupting Saturday cartoons to make me work.
for showing me that we can bounce back from our mistakes.
for driving your truck and trailer to Albuquerque and back to bail me out of a bad situation.
for criticizing my grammar when it weren't good.
for being my friend.
for expecting me to abandon stupidity (and kicking me in the butt when I didn't).
for waking up early every morning to take me to basketball practices so I could do something I loved.
for convincing me the driveway should be shoveled now, not later.
for demonstrating that man is bigger than his struggles.
for letting me have a b.b. gun.
for noticing my accomplishments, big or small.
for not buying me a Nintendo.
for expressing it when you're proud of me.
for assuring I could do man things like change my oil and drink Pepsi.
for finding opportunities for the family to spend time together.
for helping me realize that wealth is in experiences, character, and relationships, not possessions.
for your part in giving me two brothers and three sisters who I wouldn't trade for anything.
for being sure that I spent enough time at the farm to appreciate my incredible grandparents.
for making me proud to be an Olson.