Within these walls...

It was a wonderful trip back to Lynnwood Drive.

Spending time with my brothers means something so much deeper now.
They always took care of me when I was small.
I remember the relentless teasing but with faded edges...
like the time I had a crush on a boy named Steven Underwood.
My brother Jim would chant things about underwear I think.
And he had a nickname for my best friend Carrie - Pipe the Snipe.
Where did that come from? He still calls her that now.
And there was a nickname for me but somehow I don't really remember it.
Faded edges.


But I do remember vividly the time I was walking home from school as a first grader.
With a hairdo I loved.
Mom always fixed my hair just so.
It was a perfectly Dippity Do'd slicked back ponytail,
spun into a beautifully rolled bun,
bobbypinned to stay in place with a hair never to come undone.
I arrived home from school with tears streaming down my round, rosy cheeks.
Along the way some mean, ugly boys told me I looked like I had a piece of poop laying on my head.
Oh the hurt to my seven year old heart!
I retold the story to my brothers.
They immediately asked who it was and marched back along the route,
intending to "destroy those little jerks!"
I didn't know who they were...
lucky for them.
'Cuz my brothers would have carried out their threat.
It's one of my favorite memories of Lynnwood Drive.

I also remember the night before I was to leave on my mission.
I was sitting on the bed in my mom and dad's room.
Jim came in and closed the door.
He sat down on the bed beside me and we just talked.
Having served a mission to France he knew a lot about the journey I was about to take.
He talked about being in a foreign land,
living among strangers,
not speaking their language,
about being homesick,
and about the feeling of wondering "what in the world am I doing here??"
But then he talked to me of faith,
of prayer,
of scripture study,
and of love.
His love, my parents love and the Savior's love.
It's one of my favorite memories of Lynnwood Drive.

I also remember a time when I was a sassy preteen.
I had spoken something or used a tone of voice that was not acceptable.
My dad had sent me to my room with a promise to give me the "lickin' of my life."
I sat in my room waiting for the punishment.
My dad came in and told me to bend over and touch my toes.
Oh man, this was going to be bad.
I hesitated, staring at him with pleading eyes.
Once again he told me to bend over.
So I did but suddenly I was wrapped up in his arms.
Enfolded in strong arms of love and forgiveness.
Both of us gushing "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's".
It's one of my favorite memories of Lynnwood Drive.

Mostly I remember Mom.
Everywhere...
whether physically there or not.
Once we were mad at each other.
Or rather I was mad at her.
Now that I'm a mom, I'm sure she was trying to help me.
But I couldn't see it that way through my young, inexperienced eyes.
I stomped dramatically to my room.
Yelling. Crying.
And I slammed the door.
LOUD!!
I threatened to run away.
I opened my closet door trying to decide what I would take.
All the while, rambling about how mean and unfair my mom was.
She let me get it all out.
It took awhile.
And then with the perfect timing of my mom,
she quietly knocked on my door,
peeked her head inside and asked very gently,
"Do you need some help packing?"
I threw myself into her arms.
It's one of my favorite memories of Lynnwood Drive.

And I saw that smile and heard that laughter twice upon this visit with her.
It makes going home so bittersweet.
She is everywhere...
Within these walls.