We are a Happy Family

About a year ago, my sister-in-law Hannah and I were talking on the phone. We realized that it had been two years since our entire family had gotten together - the summer my brother Soren and I had gotten married (not to each other). We had made a habit out of getting together every few years for weddings, but after the last two of us got married, there were no plans to get together again. None. As Hannah and I discussed how tragic this was, we decided that plans were in order for a Michaelsen family reunion the summer of 2009. After countless phone calls, emails, pleadings with in-laws, date changes due to conflicts with school, childbirth, previously planned vacations, etc., we -finally!- nailed down a weekend when we could all get together. ALL 45 of us (plus my grandma and aunt). Admittedly I was VERY nervous about how things would go. I was anticipating drama that, thankfully, never materialized. I was worried about people having a good time, in-laws getting overwhelmed, my mom making us work instead of play, activites not turning out well, etc. I wanted SO BADLY for this to go well so that people would feel excited about the possibility of more family reunions. How did things go? We'll just let the pictures speak for themselves:

The Homestead

If you are going to throw a party and invite a lot of people, you gotta make room for them. My parents did a MAJOR renovation on their house this past year, almost doubling its size. What are they going to do with all of the extra space when we aren't there? The missionaries are now living in the furnished basement. Also, there is always an open invitation to ANYONE who wants to come and stay there. It's a nice pit stop if you are planning on visiting Nauvoo. My parents also live very close to Independence, MO if you are wanting to visit some church history sites. The house sits on twenty-six acres complete with...

A pond...

...and a zipline

There were plenty of other outdoor activites:

slip'n slide kickball

RC truck racing

The track that Kenta and the boys built

inner tube fun

and even some indoor ones, too:

Family swim meet at community pool

waterslide

The fish were biting....

Hadley defies the odds with her Barbie fishing pole and reels one in

Abe gets excited

Soren had the catch of the week - 14.5 lb. catfish

...and so were we

we threw a party for the girls...

...and one for the boys (plus Jenna)

...and we even threw a birthday party for EVERYONE!!

stories were told:

Grandma Madsen (my maternal grandmother) tells us stories from her life

talents were shared:

Grandma teaches Kristin how to crochet

Davis shows us his soccer moves

we sang

and we danced

we laughed

and some of us cried (a lot)

Cousins bonded

friendships were born

Thomas - 5 mos., Molly - 5 weeks, Grant - 9 mos., Owen - 9 weeks

When it all got a little too crazy, there were places to get away from it all and just be alone

Kenta working on his research

And Ben writing his thesis (or dissertation?)

But more often than not, we wanted to be together

After months and months of anticipation, we were finally all together:

And before we knew it, it was all over

I love you guys and already miss you!! See you all again in two years!

Mission Accomplished

Now that July is halfway over, I'm FINALLY getting around to blogging about something that happened in June. June is a very busy month for us. Each June we celebrate me getting a year older, us being married a year longer, Kenta being a dad and our "mission anniversaries". Kenta entered the MTC to begin his mission to Japan on June 20, 2001. Three years later, on June 16, 2004, I began the adventure of a lifetime as I entered the MTC to begin my mission to Lima, Peru. While we ponder almost daily the events of our missions, we take a little extra time on these days to reflect on what a glorious experience our missions really were. While I can't speak for Kenta, I would say (for me) that everything good that I have in life comes from my decision to serve a mission (a lot of people say that about their baptism, but I think my mission was the most spiritually defining moment in my life thus far).

For the men in the LDS church, it is not necessarily a requirement to serve a mission. However, it is considered an important preisthood duty or responsibility. There is an expectation that you will go, so your parents, church leaders, Sunday school teachers, etc. strongly encourage it. However, when it is all said and done, you still can choose whether or not to go. For the women? That can be kind of a touchy subject. I always encourage the young women that I work with to consider a mission, but to realize at the same time that it is not their responsibilty to do so. Many women marry before they turn twenty-one (the minimum age requirement for a sister missionary) and others just don't feel that it is right for them. Which is perfectly fine. However, if women desire to serve a mission, it is their privilege to do so. As for me? I always thought a mission would be a good idea and something that I might do, but just left it at that. That all changed when I was seventeen. My parents and my younger brother and I went to pick up my sister, Stephanie, from her mission in Argentina. Her transformation as a missionary was incredible. I saw the way she loved the people and the way they loved her back. I wanted to experience that. My mind was set. I had to go. The only thing that could have kept me home was if some awesome guy made me an offer that I couldn't refuse. That didn't happen (I was absolutely not expecting it to) so off I went.

My sister, Maren, came home from her mission in Chile a little over a year before I left on mine. When I asked her what a mission was like she said, "It's like condensed life. Every experience - every emotion - you could ever imagine is crammed into eighteen months". I loved listening to her mission stories and anyone else who was willing to share theirs. I gobbled it up and dreamt about where I would go, the people I would meet, my companions, etc. I was so impatient to turn twenty-one. Before I left on my mission, I had two close friends (both girls) who left on their missions - one to Brazil and one to Las Vegas. My little brother left on his mission to California about six months before me. Finally! It was my turn to go. I opened my call and saw the words - "Lima Peru North". Of course I was going to South America -duh!-that's where all the Michaelsen girls go (apparently). I was so excited to begin.

I will not lie. The mission was one of the hardest things I have ever done. At times I would get mad at my sisters and think, "Why didn't they tell me how hard this would be?!?!?!". I realized, though, that my mission was filled with experiences that I needed to have to teach me specific lessons that I needed to learn. I've thought a lot about those lessons that I learned in Peru, and I've compiled a list of sorts:

All I Ever Needed to Know, I Learned as a Missionary in Peru


1) I can live without a cellphone. Or a computer. Or a car. Or a TV.
It was actually refreshing to only have internet access for one hour a week to email family, use payphones only to call people for setting up an appointment, and use TVs only to show church movies.

2) People are bigger than dogs, so we shouldn't be afraid of them.
I only got bitten twice and both times it was because I stepped too close to dogs that I didn't see. Most of the time I ignored the mangey mutts or yelled at them if they got too close. One of my proudest accomplishments was never stepping in dog poo the whole time I was in Peru.

3) South Americans are Americans, too, ya know.
Don't ever tell a South American that you are "American" because-surprise!- so are they. Yes, they do live on a different continent and they celebrate Christmas in the summer, but that doesn't make them less American. Simply tell them you are "norteamericano/a" or, more specifically, "estadounidense"

4)When in Rome...or I guess I Should Say "When in Lima"
Flush your toilet paper?!? Nah! Not in Peru. That's what those handy little wastebaskets next to the toilet are for. (If you are still clueless about the purpose of the little trashcan next to the toilet, come find me and I will educate you.)

5) Montezuma's Revenge is not exclusively reserved for unsuspecting tourists in Mexico
Ahhh...yes. A sensitive subject, indeed, but one that must be mentioned. Nary a missionary makes it through their entire mission without getting some crazy Peruvian stomach/intestinal/bowel virus. The most memorable bouts for me? When my entire district in the Peru MTC got some awful not-quite-as-bad-as-dysentery-but-still-really-bad intestinal distress. (I blame the food). The other time was at the very end of my mission. My parents had come to Peru to see the sights and meet the people. We were atop Maccu Picchu and I felt my stomach begin to churn. I held it off for as long as I could. We were nearing the end of the tour and I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my mom's hand (I couldn't be alone - I had to have someone with me all the time) and ran for my life - actually, more for my dignity. There was a HUGE line of people at the restrooms looking for change in their wallets to get in (yeah - not free public restrooms). I knew beforehand that I would have to pay and already had the money in my hand. I yelled "Permiso! Emergencia!" ran past the crowd of people, slammed my money down in front of the collector, and ran into the bathrooms. Just in time. Instant relief.

This was the only toilet picture I had. This little guy was found in the toilet of some other sister missionaries that lived close to us. They named him Pez.

6) I will, out of necessity (or curiousity), eat anything you place in front of me
Alligator? Squid? Cow hearts? Cow tripe? Guinea pig ("cuy")? Rhinocerous beetle larvae ("suri")? A plate full of hot spaghetti and boiled bananas for lunch on a scorching day in the Peruvian jungle? I've had it all. And lived to tell about it. My only regret is that I never got to eat a chicken foot. All of my Peruvian companions got chicken feet in their soup, but they never gave one to me.

That's me with the cuy. The head is on the upper lefthand side of the plate.

I couldn't find the actual picture of me eating the suri, but this little dude looks very similar to the one that I ate. It does not "taste like chicken". I thought it kind of tasted like bacon (I think it was fried). The head was crunchy and you could see little insecty hairs on it....ewwwww....

7) Five shirts and three skirts can provide (seemingly) endless clothing combinations
I've never been one to care too much about what I wear. I was even less concerned about it on my mission. I realized that I really don't need that many clothes. Which is why I have a closet and three storage tubs full of them now.....

Some of us hermanas modeling typical missionary garb atop an Incan ruin

8) Quotation marks are very versatile language symbols
If your language arts teacher taught you that there are specific times only in which you may utilize quotation marks, then she must have never been to South America. These puppies show up in the most unexpected (or should I say "unnecessary"?) places.

This sign always made me wonder. Was it really a chicken burger or was it a "chicken burger"? I never found out.

This was not a picture that I took myself, but I saw plenty of examples like this.

9) There are still people in the world who have never seen a vending machine, eaten salad dressing, used dental floss, or slept on a mattress
And those people would be some of my mission companions. There are so many modern day (and some not so modern) conveniences that we have and take for granted. Have you ever had to worry about unsafe drinking water? Do you know anybody that has died from getting a routine vaccination? Have you ever had to worry about contracting tuberculosis? These concerns are just part of life for a typical Peruvian.

A street in Lima

A street in Iquitos

10) Sunday should be a day of rest - if you aren't a missionary
Sunday was the busiest day. Helping people get to church, going to all the meetings, teaching classes and giving talks on a moment's notice, visiting people, etc. - whew! - by the time the day was over, we were wiped out. Lucky for us, preparation day was on Monday, so we had time to recover before it all started over again.

11) "They that be with us are more than they that be with them" (2 Kgs. 6:16)
I felt invincible as a missionary. Not a reckless kind of invincibility, but more of a "We've got an important message to share, so the Lord will protect us" kind of invincibility. Like the time when a huge, bald, shirtless, drunk man was yelling English profanities at us and I was the only one who understood what he was saying. Or when two con-artists nearly got the best of my companion and I (they no doubt would have robbed us). Or when my companion and I found out that the route we had been taking home at night (in the dark) went through a park where there was a lot of drug dealing. The Lord truly does protect those that serve him. I heard many stories from others missionaries that were with me in Peru that were even scarier (one Elder was actually pulled into a vehicle, hit in the face with a gun, robbed, and dumped out on the edge of town), but we all felt protected doing the Lord's work.

The Lima temple. I always felt an amazing peace when we were here.

12) Distance really does make the heart grow fonder
Just ask Kenta when he really started to fall in love with me *wink, wink* (of course he NEVER told me about those feelings while I was on my mission)

13) The Lord answers our prayers - and sometimes He even answers them immediately

I learned as a missionary that the Lord really does bless His children when they ask Him in faith. I remember one time we were walking on a hot Sunday afternoon. I was sooooo hungry because our pensionista (the lady who cooked for us) was pregnant and sick and had her thirteen year-old neighbor cook for us and we really did not get enough to eat. We had to buy snacks almost everyday. We couldn't buy anything on Sunday and we had nothing and I was STARVING. I silently asked the Lord to either help me cope with my hunger or send us some food. Not ten minutes later, a member came out of our house and offered us some fruit as we were walking by. I was so very grateful. Another time, my companion and I had both gotten very, very sick and I needed some meds badly (specifically some chewable pepto tablets). The next day - I kid you not - a package came from my mom with the two things that I needed most - chewable Pepto and tons of knee-highs. How in the world did my mom know weeks in advance that I would need these things, when a) I hadn't yet asked for them and b) I hadn't been sick. All I know is that the Lord really does know what we need - even before we ask Him - and provides the means by which we can receive those blessings.

14) There will always be a ray of sunshine - even on the cloudiest day

There was a day when my companion and I walked around for hours and could not find anyone at home or anyone who would listen (okay - that was almost every day). We remembered that we had received a bunch of addresses of people who wanted us to visit them and we set out to look for them. Finally, at the end of a long, hard day, we found Hermana Amanda and her family. They were amazing. They were prepared. They were a ray of sunshine, not only on that day, but for my entire mission. Amanda was baptized soon after. By the end of my mission, three of her adult daughters and her son were all baptized. It was a beautiful transformation to watch.

15) The Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only cure for the world's ills
Could you imagine what the world would be like if we all truly understood who Jesus Christ is and what He did for us? There would be a lot less heartache and pain if we all understood that Jesus Christ is our Savior and acted accordingly.

16) Despite what you may think, Oprah's "Best Life" program is not the key to true happiness
Sure, Oprah's got some great ideas. Some of them I've tried myself. But there is no self-help book out there that will do more for you than sincerely studying the scriptures and making prayer a daily occurance in your life. The happiest times in my life is when I have been failthfully reading the words of the Lord in the scriptures and when I have been saying sincere, hearfelt prayers. The times I have been the most unhappy is when I have neglected doing those things.

Hermanito Jorge. The happiest kid I met. What you can't see is that he is wearing boots in the baptismal font. Jorge was born severely pigeon-toed and cannot walk unless he wears his boots.

So, that's a little bit about what I learned from my time spent as a missionary in Peru. It was an incredible, life changing experience that I feel privileged to have had. I feel that I am a better person, wife, and mother because of the important lessons that I learned. I can't wait to go on missions with Kenta once all of our kids are grown up and he's retired. Congratulations if you made it to the end of this ridiculously long post. You will be rewarded with - what else? - an adorable Thomas picture:

He didn't pose for this. Obviously.

My daddy is my favorite pal

My mommy has been sick for a few days, so she asked if I (Thomas) would update the blog for her. Seeing as how I have a lot of time on my hands these days since I'm not too keen on taking a third nap, I was more than happy to fill in for her.

Since Mommy's been in bed most of the past two days and can only hold me long enough to feed me, I've gotten to spend a lot of time with my daddy. I love my dad! He's the best.

I remember when I was born and Daddy got to hold me first and carry me over to Mom while she was laying on the operating table. After I got to meet Mommy, Dad and I went to the recovery room and spent some time alone there before they brought Mommy in and she finally got to hold me.

It was a little hard adjusting to life outside of my mom's tummy. I cried a lot that first night, but Daddy stayed up with me and talked to me and played with me. He hasn't stayed up at night with me since, but that's okay. I usually just want food when I wake up in the middle of the night and Mom's a lot better about taking care of that than Dad is.

I was so excited to leave the hospital and go see my house and meet all my new friends:

Even though Daddy didn't have to go into work for a few days after we got home, he still had stuff he had to do on the computer. That didn't keep him from spending time with me:

And sometimes we'd read scriptures together:

and take naps together

I actually used to sleep quite a bit back then. Now I'm getting to be a really big boy and don't need to sleep quite as much. That means I have lots more time to play with Daddy. We have lots of fun adventures together.

Dad took me to the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial while Mom was playing her harp at a wedding downtown.

The Survivor Tree

The Chairs

Daddy even decided that I'm getting big enough to race RC cars with him

He even let me steer!

Since my Obaachan (grandma) is from Japan and my dad served his mission there, he thinks it's a good idea to talk to me in Japanese as much as possible. I actually am learning quite a bit, thanks to some fun Japanese games:

Daddy always likes to do nice things for Mommy. Sometimes he lets me help out. We got up really early on her birthday to make her a tasty breakfast.

Remember how I said that I was getting to be a big boy? Well, now I am the one who's reading scriptures!

I love my dad so much! Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

Love, Thomas

One year older.....and wiser, too?

warning: the following post contains excessive use of exclamation points

Sooooo...it's my birthday! It's been an absolutely awesome day. I always get excited about birthdays. Every time I see "June 10" in writing, I get really giddy. When my birthday starts showing up as the expiration date on jugs of milk and cartons of eggs at the grocery store, I know it's getting close

(confession - I will actually sift through the dairy and egg products to find those that have my birthday as the expiration date so I can look at it every time I open the fridge).

Imagine my joy when I drove past the county fairgrounds and on the marquee in big, bold, red letters it said "WEDNESDAY JUNE 10 - FARMER'S MARKET". I was beside myself. I just love all things birthday related. And since our wedding (three years ago, yesterday) the birthiversary celebration has only made things that much sweeter. Add Thomas to the mix and, well, I've pretty much got everything I've ever wanted. Which is great for me - however, it makes gift giving pretty hard for Kenta. What do you get for the girl who has everything she wants/needs?

Despite my insistence that I don't really need anything, Kenta manages to surprise me every year. This year was no exception. On Tuesday nights, Kenta is usually up really late making last minute preparations for his Wednesday morning meetings with his advisors. As I was climbing into bed, he casually asked me what time I thought I would be waking up in the morning. I had set a goal to attempt a 6 mile "run" on my birthday, so I thought waking up at 5 :30 would get me back before it started to get miserably hot outside. Kenta kind of groaned when he heard how early I was getting up. I just assumed it was because he would be getting to bed really late and I might accidentally wake him up when I got up. Well, I was wrong.

After I had slogged through the lamest 6 miles I have ever traveled on foot, this is what greeted me at our front door:

I was so excited about the cold bottle of water, I almost missed the card. It was a birthday card for me from Kenta! I read it and realized that it wasn't just a card - it was a mini-scavenger hunt with a clue. I figured out that my next clue would be in the car and this is what I found -

Sweet! More Love Spell!! I no longer have to ration my old bottle. (I had actually hinted to Kenta weeks before that I needed more of this, so that he would have sufficient time to enlist one of his sisters to go into Victoria's Secret and buy it for him. There is no way on earth he would ever go in that store. He makes it a point to avert his eyes and stare at El Chico as we walk by).

But the fun didn't end there...another clue!! I figured this clue had something to do with food, so I went to the front door and knocked and waited for Kenta to let me in. He took his sweet time to get there because he was really busy making me......

A delicious breakfast!! Yay! Pancakes, cream, fruit and scrambled eggs just the way I like them (with little bits of spinach - I need all the antioxidants I can get if I want to live to be 100). Thomas woke up right as we sat down, so we ate together as a family. It was a great start to a fabulous day.

Later in the day, we celebrated over a little gift that I had actually made myself yesterday - leftovers!!! (Do I want to cook on my birthday? No way, man!) And in lieu of a birthday cake, we went to Coldstone for some birthday ice cream. Pretty cool birthday, huh?

I think the best thing about this birthday has been that I really did feel like my life was complete and not missing anything, so anything extra that I got was just icing on the cake. I guess you could say "my cup runneth over" because - really - it does. And for the first time that I can recall, I'm not sad for the day to end. I know that tomorrow (and the day after and the day after that) can be just as special as today. I guess becoming a mommy has really changed my perspective on life. I think I have found my true purpose - I love being a mom and that is, by far, the best gift I have gotten this year. Thanks to everyone for the birthday phone calls and messages! Happy birthday to me!!

Hair today, gone tomorrow

One of the big debates before Thomas was born (aside from whether he would be a boy or a girl) was if he would have any hair at birth. Hair is a precious commodity in my family. Most of us are born bald and it takes us a good three or four years to grow anything of substance atop our heads:

This is me at about age three (I'm the cute one on the far left). My lack of hair at this age makes my gender a little ambiguous. If I wasn't wearing that dress, I could easily pass for a dude. (I'm not even going to make excuses for my sisters. They are just innocent victims of being adolescents in the '80s).


If you are male in my family, you have about fifteen years to enjoy your hair before it will probably start falling out. Kenta, on the other hand, had more hair at birth than my dad did in high school:


He also claims that his uncles were the hairiest Japanese people he ever met. Despite his hairy Japanese heritage, I'm afraid that the inferior Scandanavian hair genes that Thomas inherited from me will determine his future hair growth. According to Wikipedia, the maternal line plays an important factor in the inheritance of male pattern baldness. Since I am Thomas's mother, I would say that his hairy days are numbered. Sorry, Thomas. The odds are pretty much stacked against you, son. Let's examine the evidence:

Grandpa Michaelsen (my dad) and Great-Grandpa Michaelsen (my grandpa)

I don't have the pictures to prove it, but I'm pretty sure both my great-grandpa and great-great grandpa were also bald. Baldness is a tradition that runs deep in our Danish roots. And now, Thomas, I pass these genes on to you. And from the looks of it, they are already beginning to manifest themselves. That nice head of dark fuzz that he was born with has been dimished to a stripe along the back of his head - pretty similar to the stripe of hair that my dad has. It's a look that is perfectly acceptable for a grown man, but on a baby, it just looks like some heinous hybrid of the Skullet and the Child Neglect:

I would cut it, but there's so little that I don't really know if it would make a difference. I would pretty much have to shave his head if I wanted to even things out anyway.

I've got issues myself when it comes to getting haircuts. I finally cut my hair last week for the first time in almost fifteen months. Going to get my hair cut just stresses me out, though I've only had one really bad haircut in my entire life. I had been out on my mission for almost a year and I decided it was time to get my ONE haircut that I was going to have for those eighteen months. It was right before my birthday. Every street corner it seemed had a peluqueria (barber shop) so my companion and I chose one near our home owned by hairdresser named Miguel Angel. Let's just say this guy was a lot more "Angela" than "Miguel". Anyway, he snipped off my sun-fried, dust-coated, stress-thinned hair and - voila! - I ended up with some horrible version of a Peruvian mullet. It was awful. When we got home, I had my companion take our dull little pair of scissors to try and even things out and minimize the visible damage. I didn't wear my hair completely down for the next seven months. Like they always say: "It'll grow back". Eventually, it did. But that doesn't keep me from stressing out about it. What if they cut too much off? What if I don't like it? What if it's just never the same again? I don't want to do something to Thomas's head that I would later regret. The more I look around, I realize that lots of babies are sporting bald spots on the back of their heads. So, I can justify my son sporting a skullet. Why not? Everyone else his age is doing it.

In other non-hair related Thomas news.....

.....tummy time was a success this week!

Well, sort of.