Happy Birthday Dad.

Today my dad turns 67 years old.

That's 24, 455 days. Those days have been spent in many different ways.

Ya know when people ask you if you could go back in time, "when" would you go? I always thought it would be so much fun to pull a Marty McFly and see my parents as kids and teenagers. I would especially love to watch the moment they met. I would love to be able to actually see those days that shaped him into the man he is today. I'm sure I would giggle on the day that he got on the school bus and then get off at the next stop to play hooky with his friend all day. Or the day that he swore and his Uncle Morris got after him. So little Johnny made up his own 'swear word'. I 'll try and do it justice here...*ahem*...

"Doggone, rickelfritzen, son of a gun and crackernottin, jitten belly, no good for nothin', dog breath nipper"......whew!

I don't recall ever hearing my dad use bad language. An occasional bible swear here and there but nothing offensive. I think you'll agree that this catchy little phrase would suffice in getting your point across.

I'm sure most of his childhood and teenage days were spent laughing and playing and making mistakes and learning from them. I'm sure he watched those around him... subconsciously allowing their influence to mold and shape him. I know my father was surrounded by good, hard working people. People who knew what was important. People who stood for things that mattered. Imperfect, but decent, loving people.

Although I did not 'see' him on those days of his youth, I am the lucky recipient of the lessons he learned. The days that I have seen of my father have been filled with knowledge to last a lifetime.

The majority of our days are like pearls strung together on a lovely necklace. But occasionally, there are jewels thrown in there that break up the monotony and make it stunning.

My dad's necklace is overflowing with jewels.

Many of those jewels stick out to me and remind me of the wonderful man my father is.

Like the days he spent fixing a neighbor's faucet, building trophy stands for the scouts, or taking me to visit some widows with him. The days (years) he would work 2 jobs to provide for our family. The day at Disneyland where he lugged around that Buick sized Video Camera so we would have memories recorded. The days he would take us to "help" him install a flagpole. The days he would spend planning big family camping trips. The days he has spent encouraging the youth of the world. He really has been blessed with a gift of understanding and love for troubled souls. They are drawn to his compassion. Or the night of my first date, when he came to my room with a white rose and told me how much he loved me and that I should keep myself like that rose. The day he sent me off on my mission. Or the day of my wedding when he sweetly put me in the care of another man. The day when I miscarried and he just held me and cried with me. The day of each of my children's birth. Today when I called to wish him Happy Birthday and he sounded like a little kid.

Days that he has surely forgotten but that are burned into my memory. Days where he not only told me but showed me. I know he is not perfect....but he's pretty close to it.

It would be impossible to count the number of people who have been blessed by, influenced by, or loved by my father. I was aware from an early age that I am lucky to have a dad like mine. I have known that not everyone does. I don't know why I got to come to his home, to be his daughter... I only know that I am so very happy to be.

He was the first man that I loved. The man who made me very picky about who I dated. The man who continues to teach me with his generosity, guide me with his example and show me that indeed, it is not about counting the days, but making the days count.

Here's to several thousand more days.

Love you Poppy John John!

Love, Sister Bug

The one where I'm humbled.

So this morning I woke up to get ready for church. I looked outside and saw the several new inches of fresh, heavy snow. My shoulders fell a little and I just wanted to get back into my warm bed. The thought of getting my five little ones ready and out the door by 8:55 a.m. was daunting.

I was having an unusually bad hair day. I didn't love my outfit. Olivia didn't like how I did her hair and Ethan didn't like my breakfast choice of cold cereal. Lindsay couldn't find her other dress boot and Tyson would not let Makenna get him dressed. I was frustrated and half thought to myself...would anyone even notice if we just stayed home?

Anyway, we got it all together and managed to get to our bench with a few minutes to spare. (even though I got snow in my shoe and now my toes were cold.)

As I sat there trying to keep the kids noise level at a dull roar, I heard a plunk and then a dragging noise. Again, and then again. I turned around to see a beautiful woman with silver hair pushing her walker down the aisle. She wore a pretty red coat and comfy shoes over her nude colored hosiery. She was assisted by another white haired beauty and came to sit in the row in front of us. I found out that these ladies were the speaker's mother and grandmother.

She was 96 years old.

As I sat behind her and looked at her newly curled hair and noticed her wrinkled hands, I wondered what efforts she had put forth to get ready for this special day. She had to drive in that horrible snow and then get from the car to the building using a walker.

I was instantly overcome with gratitude for the opportunity I had to be there at church to worship the Savior and feel of the spirit. My hair didn't seem as bad and I didn't feel quite as frumpy as I had before. I thought of all the people in the world who walk for miles to get to church. People who go to church alone without any family. People who don't even know about Jesus Christ. I was sufficiently humbled and I'm so grateful for the sweet little stranger who strengthened my testimony simply by making the decision to get out of her warm bed.

What's wrong with this picture? Church Edition

So everyone knows that sometimes church can get boring right?
Oh stop it! You know it does.

Since Greg was put into the Bishopbric, I am now in charge of getting
5 children and myself ready and to church by 9:00 a.m.
It rarely happens. We usually stroll in around
9:04...ish.

So for those lucky people that get to sit by the Dibbles
at church, I have created a game to help them stay awake.
It's called the "What did Mindy forget today?" game.
It allows our fellow hard chair patrons the opportunity to
notice what is missing from either me or one or all of my children's wardrobes.
It's fun.

couldn't find Kenna's matching ribbon.


No tights for Olivia.

Where are Ethan's shoes?

Who ironed Lindsay's skirt?

Not me.

and no one's happy when Tyson's treats are forgotten.

(This was not part of the game and will never be ignored again!!)

I'm just trying to serve my fellow man.

I do what I can.

Your welcome.

I'm sure there will be many more editions to come.