Mina, our youngest, loves to dance. Whenever she hears music she starts to shake her diapered booty. Here she is dancing at a corn maze we visited earlier this year. Isn't she cute!

 

Most people who know me know that I served a religious mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints shortly after I turned 19. For the better part of 2 years, I lived with and served the people of southern Chile. My mission was the greatest experience of my pre-Jenna life. It was amazing to live with and serve those wonderful people and I often miss it. Unfortunately, I don't miss their food much. Most of it was bland and the rest of it was ... well, let's just say it wasn't my favorite. Those who saw me not long after I returned home thought I had caught a parasite or something because I'd lost so much weight (I have since gained it back with interest--maybe I should go back to Chile). There were a few exceptions to my not liking the food. For example, I love completos (Chilean hot dogs) and empanadas. And, of course, there was all the food I ate while living in the house with the professional chef. The other day, I prepared my family one of the dishes I had in that home: Stuffed Acorn Squash. I've made it before (all from memory--mostly of how it tasted rather than how it was cooked), but this time it was better than ever before. So, before I forget what I did, here is the recipe:

Stuffed Acorn Squash

Makes 8 servings (1/2 squash = 1 serving)

Ingredients*

• 4 large acorn squash
• 4 cups cooked rice
• 1 pound hamburger
• 1 can sliced mushrooms (or 1/2 package fresh sliced mushrooms if you prefer)
• 1/2 medium onion (diced)
• 1 large can cream of mushroom soup (or 2 small ones)
• 1/4 cup shredded cheese (we used cheddar, but you could probably use anything. My guess is that Monterey Jack would be awesome)
• 1 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
• 1 tbsp Montreal Steak Seasoning (this stuff is a must in any kitchen)

* All measurements are estimates. I really don't measure things when I cook.

Instructions

1. Preheat the over to 400°.
2. Cut the squash in half, lengthwise (tip to stem).
3. Remove the seeds and the stringy stuff from the squash.
4. Put the squash on a large bar pan with the yellow side up. Add about 1/4 of an inch of water to the bottom of the pan (this will help make the squash nice and tender).
5. Put the squash in the oven and cook for 30 minutes.
6. While the squash is cooking, add the hamburger, diced onion, mushrooms, Montreal Steak Seasoning, and Worcestershire sauce to a pan and mix over high heat until hamburger is browned.
7. Add the rice and cream of mushroom soup to the hamburger mixture.
8. Cook the hamburger-rice mixture on medium-low for several minutes, stirring occasionally, until it is thoroughly warmed through.
9. Let the hamburger-rice mixture warm until the squash is cooked.
10. Remove the squash from the oven.
11. Fill each squash with some of the hamburger-rice mixture (it should create a small dome over the top of the squash).
12. Sprinkle the top of each squash with about a tbsp of cheese.
13. Return the squash to the oven (make sure that there is still water in the pan) for 30 minutes.
14. Serve and enjoy.

We served it with a Chilean salad made from 1/4 cabbage (shredded), a little vegetable oil (about 1 tbsp), a lot of lemon juice (about 3 tbsps--add to flavor), and a little salt. It was very good. Believe it or not, my kids, who aren't very fond of squash, loved the meal and most had seconds. So it looks like we have a hit on our hands. It makes a great Fall dinner. Enjoy!

You mean, Cleveland?

[caption id="attachment_281" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mina Brooke Moulton"] [/caption] Today Jenna and I went to the hospital where Jenna gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Name: Mina Brooke Moulton Born: August 31, 2010, 6:06 PM Height: 21.5 inches Weight: 10 pounds Mommy and baby are both doing great. [caption id="attachment_288" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy and Daddy leave for the hospital."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_274" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy says hello to her baby girl."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_273" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mina wraps Daddy around her little finger."] [/caption]

[caption id="attachment_275" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy, Daddy, and Mina"] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_276" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Aren't I cute?"] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_277" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="The kids meet their youngest sister."] [/caption]

[caption id="attachment_280" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Our big little girl."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_283" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mommy and her 5 kids."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_284" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Miranda and Mina."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_286" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Joey and Mina."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_285" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Chissa and Mina."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_287" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Hayden and Mina."] [/caption] [caption id="attachment_293" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="The girls."] [/caption]

We recently returned from a week-long trip to Disneyland. It was a lot of fun and the kids loved it, especially because Jenna and I had tricked them into thinking we were going to Denver and then left a half-day earlier then they were expecting. But, while rushing from line to line and spending a few minutes on the rides are all fond memories, I think I will most remember something I saw Charissa, our 7-year-old, do. It was while we were in California Adventure waiting for the Grizzly Rapids ride. Jenna and Hayden, who couldn't ride because they were too pregnant and too short respectively, were off having fun elsewhere while I waited in the interminable line with the other three. The ride is one of those rafting rides that takes you through simulated rapids and waterfalls. It is a lot of fun, but what I will remember most happened long before we ever boarded the raft. One part of the line crosses a bridge that overlooks the tail-end of the rapids trail. Previous rafters float under the bridge on their way to the unloading station. As we were paused indefinitely on the bridge, I was watching Joey and Miranda goof around, then realized Chissa had fallen a bit behind. I looked back and found her standing on her tiptoes looking down at the rafts passing under the bridge. As each raft passed underneath, she grinned her biggest grin and waved at them. The interesting part was that, whenever someone in the rafts noticed her, their faces, which were already happy (I mean, they were in the "Happiest Place on Earth"), lit up. It suddenly took me back to the day, several years earlier, when Chissa, then 1-year-old, caught her finger in a van door and we had to rush to the hospital. The tip of her finger was all but severed and, as you can imagine, she cried a lot. But, as hour after hour passed in the emergency room and we still waited for a doctor, her tears dried and she started wandering about, looking at the many different kinds of people there. It was fascinating to watch her as she walked from person to person, just wearing her diaper and with her arm bandaged all the way to the shoulder. She would pause at each person, lean over, wave to them, and smile. Immediately, the faces of those she observed—even the handcuffed guy standing in front of two imposing police officers—lit up as they waved back at this little girl with a bandaged arm. I've often thought about that moment, and every time I have, I marveled at the amount of joy that one little child brought to one of the most depressing places anyone can ever visit. I often wonder at how she was able to put aside her own pain and take the time to notice people—to smile at them and make their lives a bit more bearable. It makes me wonder, how much better would life be if we all followed Chissa's example and really noticed those around us and took the time to do something as simple as smile and wave to them. Maybe it wouldn't be enough to change the world. But perhaps it would be. Isn't it worth a try?

Last Wednesday, Joey had one of "those days" at school. It was so bad that his teacher emailed us to let us know that he'd had a particularly rough day, especially in his math cluster, where he goes for more advanced math (he's very good at math).

When Jenna picked him up from school, she said "Joey, your teacher emailed us today," and he immediately responded. "Oh, it was about math cluster, huh?" Jenna nodded and told him that we would talk about it later.

A few hours later, after I got home from school and from taking Miranda to ice skating (she's becoming such an ice princess), we sent the other kids to bed and sat down with Joey to discuss the problem.

"Joey," I said, "what happened today?"

There was a long pause as Joey glanced nervously around before blurting out "I don't remember."

After a grueling, hour-long session with him, trying to get him to fess up, we finally got part of the story. But as I sat there watching him, I kept thinking, this is just like me!

I remember, very vividly, sitting his his place while my parents tried to get me to admit to something I'd done wrong. I remember the thoughts and even the facial expressions. I remember my parents frustration and my own terror that they would discover what I'd done (funny that I don't remember what it was, just the interrogation).

And then I realized that now I'm the parent!

So, today, I just want to tell my parents that I am so very, very sorry for everything I put them through.

And now I can only hope that Joey has a kid just like him. Ha ha ha! Sweet revenge.

Eight years ago, I was diagnosed with a somewhat rare - about 1 in 1000 of people with eye problems have it - eye condition called "keratoconus" (literally "cornea cone"). It means that my corneas - the clear lens on the front of the eye - are thinning. As they thin, the pressure of the eye pushes them out, which forms a cone on the front of the eye. As can be expected, the cone distorts vision, mostly by causing light to flare out. Sometimes, the condition is called being "blinded by light."

The condition is progressive. It tends to start in the late teens or early 20s (I was 23 when I first discovered it) and progresses through the 40s or 50s when it usually stops. Currently, keratoconus cannot be cured or stopped. Hard contacts can slow it down, but they can't stop it. Laser eye surgery is not an option (in fact, it would be dangerous for me because my corneas are too thin). The only way to really fix the problem is to do a corneal transplant, where they cut out the cornea and put a different one (from a deceased donor) in its place. But that is only used for extreme cases. Most of the time, contacts work just fine.

On Wednesday, I learned that my left eye had progressed so far that it is likely beyond help from contacts - it pops the contacts right out because they high-center on the cone. That means that a corneal transplant has suddenly become very real possibility.

Since I found out, I have been going through the Stages of Grief. The stages include: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They typically focus on grieving for someone that has been lost or is dying, but they can be applied to any tragic situation. Losing a job, for example, can send someone through these stages (Frasier once did an episode with this as the theme). Going through the stages can happen very quickly or it can take years.

I think I am somewhere between bargaining and depression right now. I think I skipped right over anger.

Wednesday morning, I was most definitely in denial. When the doctor told me, I was just fine. It was like hearing the most normal thing in the world. As If saying "I think that you may have to have a part of your eye cut out and part of a dead person's eye put in its place" was as common as saying "the sun came up today." When I called Jenna afterwards and told her about it, she gasped, and her reaction made me think "I should be more upset than this, shouldn't I?" I wondered if something was wrong with me.

It wasn't until I was taking Miranda home from ice skating that night (she is learning to figure skate and is amazing!) that it first started to sink in. I was explaining to Miranda what a corneal transplant was and I suddenly realized that I was talking about myself! The thought, "In order for me to see well again, someone has to die," hit me pretty hard and really shook me.

After that, I slid into bargaining. That night and the next morning, I prayed very hard that the contacts will work (we're going to try one more time and there is at least a sliver of hope, but even then it will only be a delay tactic, not a solution). It was odd. I've lived with keratoconus for several years now and I thought I had accepted the inevitable. But this has suddenly made it more real than ever before.

Last night, I went to Westminster College to be measured for my cap and gown (yay!) and stuck around to attend an awesome presentation on the Geography of Buddha by Jonathan Duncan, a fellow student of the MPC program. The measuring only took a few minutes so I got to the presentation very early. As I waited for it to begin, I slipped into depression - mild depression, but depression all the same.

I began to wonder about things I've never thought about before: Is there a waiting list? How long will it take? Will it be painful? Will I have to stay in the hospital? Will the world look different afterwards? Can I just ignore it like I've ignored contacts for the past 8 years (I have a terrible fear of putting things in my eyes)? Eyepatches are cool, aren't they? Maybe that will work instead?

It is a weird, existential experience to think of having part of someone else physically grafted into your own body. It is so different from when they added a titanium plate and several screws to my leg. That is man-made and artificial. This will be "real." Over the past two days, I have often thought about the donor, who I will likely never meet. I don't know how the donor process works for corneas, but my guess is that the person is alive right now - a living, breathing human being that, whether they know it or not, is about to die. There are so many questions: Are they sick and suffering? Are they healthy? Are they a good person? Are they the scum of the earth? What kind of life have they lived? Do they have a family that will miss them? Are they anticipating death or will it come quickly? Will it be peaceful? Will it be violent?

So many questions . . .

I know I'm jumping the gun somewhat. After all, there is still a chance that contacts will still work for me. And, even if that fails, I don't know how long the process takes or if there is a waiting list or really anything about it. I've been living fine without contacts for 8 years already, so maybe it won't be a big deal for a while. But it makes you think, you know?

And in my case, it apparently makes me grieve.

I hope I reach acceptance soon.