The JL McGregor Family

Last Monday our friends, the Garn and Julie Smiths, invited over for FHE to make some graham cracker houses.



Here, the whole gang is making their respective houses.


Joe's house.


Julie Smith's house.


The kids and their houses.


This is Grant's house. Grant used more candy than other kid, but none of it made it on his house. Rather, it went straight into his mouth. And when the candy ran out, he disassembled his house and started eating the walls of the house. Maybe he'll get it next year.

In this picture, Madison is featuring a present she made in her Pre-K class. Her classmates crafted their presents for their parents.

Madison informed us that we would not be the recipients of her present; instead, the beneficiaries of her skillful art would be her grandparents.

"Why don't I get the present?" Jenny inquired.

"Because your present is that you get to see me every day. They don't."

So I posted earlier today about how Grant couldn't keep his socks on. When I gave the little stinker (quite literally) a bath tonight, he wouldn't take them off.

I have a cold, and can't smell a thing. Grant had just had his diaper changed, so it didn't occur to me--or my nose--that he could be dirty . . . again. So I stripped him down to his socks and diaper. To my surprise, Grant had a dirty.

I ignored the socks still on his feet and rushed to clean his bottom. While I was disposing of the wipes, he climbed right into the tub. Socks and all.

Grant has been loosing socks. Granted, his socks are small, so we thought that perhaps they were getting stuck in the dryer, or hiding in someone's shirt sleeve.

Yesterday Jenny put a fully socked Grant down for an afternoon nap. When she returned, he didn't have socks on (but he did have a smile). She jerked the sheets a few times to hopefully toss out the socks. Nothing.

"Granty, where are your socks?"

The devil pointed to the back of his crib. Jenny pulled the crib back a foot, and lo and behold, Jenny didn't just find Grant's socks. She found a whole hive of socks.

Sorry that we don't update the blog very often. Jenny insists there's little going on in our lives worth posting about. She's probably right.

But this Thanksgiving we made it out to Jenny's family in PA. As you long-time readers of our blog will remember, I absolutely love the beauty of western Pennsylvania, and enjoy our trips out there. Highlights this year included:

1. Jenny's brother and sister each brought their fiancees home (both couples are getting married towards the end of the year). That was an interesting experience.

2. We shot guns. As noted elsewhere, I'm a little concerned that my father-in-law is teaching my wife to aim a gun. She does, though, look pretty sexy when aiming a shotgun. Just saying . . . .




3. There was tons of stuffing at the Thanksgiving dinner. And unlike my family, there were no rice and beans beside the Turkey.

4. New Moon. The entire family went to see the audition to determine if we would join Team R-Patz or Team Jacob. For both Jenny and I, it was clearly Jacob.

On Halloween night Logan and I utilized our Coldstone Creamery birthday passes.




Some dudes in Cleveland spent the last year assembling these replicas of Optimus Prime and Bumblebee. Logan is way into Transformers, so we had to drive out and see.

On our way back from our latest foray into the wilderness (to visit Jenny's family), we passed this:

On October 23, I finally got to see probably my favorite band, The Get Up Kids, play at Cleveland's House of Blues. I enjoy their swift blend of punk/hardcore melodies. To me, they were the last band of an entire genre. The modern day "emo" scene is disgraceful.

My mother-in-law forced me to go.

The first few songs playing on this blog are TGUK. Check 'em out.

Anyone else think ....sorry, this has been edited.

My brother and sister announced last week that they are getting married. (Not to each other!) My sister has planned her wedding right before Christmas, and my brother is planning his wedding right after the New Year. In different states. No one in my family lives in either of the states. The holidays will be right in the middle. We're kind of not in the best financial spot right now. Maybe we could make it to one wedding... but definitely not both. And we can't choose sides--we'd start a family feud (they are already upset about each others' wedding dates).

There were 3 classes at the stake enrichment activity I attended today, and in one of them we talked about stress. Boy, my life has been stressful lately. Anyway, someone made a comment about how blogs were so stressful because we only read all the great things people are doing and it makes us feel bad. The teacher, Jessica Peterson, made this great comment that I CAN'T get out of my head. She said something like, "Yeah, when we tell people how many things we got done that day, they say 'good job' or 'you're amazing!' If I were to tell people I had dirty dishes in my sink, they might be like, (in a quiet voice) 'that's nice.'" So I'm going to brag about what I did not get done today:

When asked where she's from, Jenny often quips, "I'm from the middle of nowhere." She may be right. Jenny's family sports over 100 acres, over 80 of which are heavily wooded, of prime Pennsylvania wilderness. Church is half an hour away, her neighbors still drive horses to work, and they just got the Internet this summer. But we love it, and we finally decided to take full advantage of the land's beauty and tranquility.

Earlier this month we and two other families--the Russells and the Yearsleys--decided to camp in the wooded acres. Jenny's family has developed a campsite for local stake functions. It was particularly nice that we had to set up no tents, didn't have to fetch water, bathrooms were nearby, and yet no one was in crying baby distance.

The next morning we loaded up some canoes and took a nice leisurely trip down the Allegheny River.



Speaking of the crying baby. Grant thought it would be a good idea to not sleep. That's our tent in the background.


Logan getting ready to embark. This is his "vato" look. We work on it.


Madison.


Unfortunately, we gave the leaky canoe to the Russells. Yes, that's Jon Russell bailing water with his hands.


Jenny's mother, Connie, made a scrumptious chicken pot pie for dinner, and brought down the tent with her famous earthquake cake.


The whole crew ready to launch.


I told Jenny to paddle at least once, just for the camera.

That's the Yearsleys in the background.

In 12 hours I fly out of DFW back to Cleveland. I've been here in Texas for about two months. Here's a brief summary of what I did, and what I've seen.

1. Took the Texas bar. I can't say whether I passed or not. I can say it was about twice as difficult as Ohio--something I wasn't expecting.

2. Visited my home ward. I haven't visited the ward since my mission homecoming (I think) because my family now attends a Spanish branch, and my home ward is actually now 2 wards. So many new faces, it's hard to feel at home there.

3. Salado, my hometown, has also grown a ton. It felt good, however, to see one of my neighbors with a full-size batting cage in their back yard. You have to appreciate Texas values.

4. My cousins are incredible. My cousin Chris and his wife Whitney invited me to stay in their spare bedroom while I studied for the bar. They were amazing hosts.

5. Texas is hot.

6. Got to spend some quality time with my partner Bryan, I got to meet some people that have offered to refer us work, and we picked up our first client.

7. Every hour is rush hour in Dallas. There so tons of people, but there are also tons of members of the Church there as well. I don't think they drive any better than the next car, though.

8. I got to visit about a dozen different wards while I was ward-shopping. It's amazing to see the differences between how wards greet a visitor. It varied from a lonely and silent spectator in Frisco, to getting mobbed by a ward in Richardson. Even the primary kids were telling why their ward was the best, and why I should m0ve into the area.

9. Finding somewhere to rent is difficult. In Dallas, I would find a house on the MLS, I'd visit it the next day, call to ask for a lease, and then learn that it got leased out that very afternoon. It was frustrating. I spent a ton of time in the process, and I came away empty handed.

10. My wife is amazing. I'm not sure how she did it, but Jenny survived with three kids alone. It was incredibly tough on her, and Jenny is the type of person to endure her pain in silence (unless she's talking to me, of course).

Fortunately, we had some very caring friends that noticed her suffering and served her. It has taught me a lot: Don't ever miss another month of home teaching, always follow up with someone whose spouse is out of town, and find ways to serve in silence. Our friends have reminded us of the true meaning of religion, and how it's practiced in its purest sense. Thanks.

Being away from my family was a terrible experience, but hopefully good will come out of it. Thanks for all the support and prayers.

jlm

Why is there adversity?

We’ve heard myriad answers in church. Is adversity a tool of the Lord to make us stronger?

I don’t think so.

Gaining strength is a byproduct of adversity. You don’t have adversity because you need to get stronger. You get stronger because you have adversity. (Hopefully)

If adversity is to have any “purpose” in the grand scheme, it is to keep us mindful of what God gave us. Whenever we let our guard down and pity our situation or station in life, we should think about the problems we don’t have.

Proverbially, stress from adversity is like air pressure; it takes the shape of the role we cast it.

For instance, once upon a time Jenny complained that she didn’t see me enough in the day. Sure, twelve-hour days are hard on a mother of three. But now she would give anything to have those days back! She spends twenty-four hours a day without a husband while other wives are tortured with the loneliness of an eight-hour day. And although Jennifer’s husband is absent, at least she has one.

As students we heard the frequent murmuring against being poor. But student life is temporary. Jenny and I saw in China people that will live a lifetime of poverty, despite working their hands to the bone.

I complained about Cleveland’s bitter winter. But I moved. What about those who cannot move from the Sub-Saharan sun, or the parched earth underneath their bare feet?

What about those that will never enjoy the char of a burnt steak; those that will never enjoy the pleasure of a “bad” restaurant with “poor” service; those that, once you’re done with your “old” clothes, proudly wear your out-of-season fashions?

And as unqualified as I am to mention it, what about focusing on the pains of child birth while Mother Nature has left others unable to conceive? What about those that complain about their cough, but can afford medicine, and who are ailed with a germ that knows medicinal defeat? Dare I incriminate myself: What about the father that gets frustrated when his kids grind him with questions; kids with eyes to observe the world, with lips to inquire about it, and ears to hear a response? (And kids with healthy legs that enable them to sprint away when I tell them to ask their mother.)

Adversity inspires selfishness. It ties our shoelaces together; so even if we notice our neighbor’s trials (unlikely, since our eyes are focused downwards) we can’t respond with agility.

Whatever my adversity is, someone has it worse. And, lest that person become prideful, someone has it even worse off than him. And so it goes, until we find that person bedridden at the end of the adversity continuum, probably humble. And probably grateful for what he does have here on this Earth. After all, he has life. And life is one of the only two gifts humans are bestowed with that they were granted whether they wanted it or not. The other: how we choose to view it.

So next time you struggle with adversity, think of someone with more. Not to pity them, but to thank them for teaching you to be grateful for your small problem, however the size.

This day, eight years ago, Jennifer was kidnapped from a sorority house by masked gunmen as she entertained advances from a roomful of suitors. The bandits bound her hands behind her back, squeezed a blindfold around her eyes, and rolled her into the back of a rusty van with a desert scene painted on the side.

As the eastern sky glowed with the sun's imminent appearance, the van kicked up a 30-foot high rooster tail as it careened through the Idaho desert. Finally, after 3 long and bruising hours, the van stopped.

No sound.

Suddenly, the back of the van vaulted open. She was pulled out and ushered, surprisingly gently, down an unseen path. Her captors haulted. They sliced away her bindings and untied her blindfold. There she was, atop a remote sophomore-sized peak in the middle of Idaho. And there, standing in front of her, was Joe McGregor.

The scene was breathtaking. The man was not. She knew this guy. That same Joe McGregor that loafed through Chinese class. That draped Texas flags on his apartment walls. That made fun of grown men that danced to N'SYNC. That Joe McGregor . . . that had no promise in life.

Standing next to Joe was a bearded man dressed in a suit obviously made for someone in junior high. He held a bible in one hand and a license issued from the State of Idaho granting him authority to bring together lovebirds into the holy bonds of matrimony in the other.

"What are you doing?" Jennifer asked Joe, as if the scene needed an explanation.

"We're getting married," Joe responded with the deepest warmth.

"But you never asked me to marry you."

"Will you marry me?"

"No! You've never even asked me on a date."

"This is kind of a date." Joe was slightly confused--and nervous; after all, he knew girls got cold feet when it came to marriage--but he maintained his toothy smile (there was, after all, a photographer on hand).

"Joe . . . I'm not going to marry you."

"Why not?"

The crowd (of 5) was getting nervous. Drama at any wedding is expected, but this was tying knots in everyone's stomach.

"Well, why would I?"

Joe had no response. He had thought the same thing himself.

"I'm leaving!" She stormed back to the van.

"Oh, Jennifer," Joe called out with a voice accepting of the devastation that was now his heart, "There aren't enough seat belts for you to ride back with us."

"What?!"

"Yeah, there's me, the priest, my roommates, the photographer, and the caterer. Sorry," a word Joe would come to use with frequent regularity, "I guess I didn't plan very well."

"You thought a hot dog stand guy should cater your wedding???"

"Jenny, I think that's besides the point right now. Listen, I'd love to give you a ride back, but that's only possible if you sat on my lap, where I could keep you safe. Now, that would be an entirely inappropriate arrangement for a man and a woman not married."

Jenny saw the writing on the wall.

As the sun peaked over the horizon, the two joined hands in holy matrimony. (The "kiss the bride" part didn't go over so well with Jenny, however.)

AND THEY LIVED ALMOST HAPPILY EVER AFTER

THE END

Happy Anniversary, Jenny!!! It's been a wonderful 8 years (probably more for me, I guess). You're amazing, and you're an excellent mother. I knew you would be.

And you're highly agreeable.

I love you.

Tell your kids that if they finish their dinner in 10 minutes they can watch a movie?

Logan came to me 5 minutes later and asked if he could help Madison finish her food.

When I said, "That's nice, but she really needs to eat something," he went into her and said,

"Sorry. Mom says I can't help you. But I'll feed you."

They watched WallE.

Joe surprised us and showed up last Wednesday. He had arranged with some friends to watch the kids while I studied at the library (still trying to finish up my last 3 credits before Sept. 1). I had been at the library just long enough to gather about 30 nonfiction books to look through when I got a text asking me if I was studying at the library. A few minutes later some guy wrapped his arms around me.

At my parent's home this past weekend the thought crossed my mind: What if this house burned down and I lost all these childhood photos?

So I pulled a few off the wall. I would have done more, but the scanning process took too long. So, here are some film photos I scanned. Welcome to Joe McGregor's life.


Jennifer. This ended up at my house after my parents used it in a piece at our reception.


Baby photo.


9 Months.


First Haircut.


4 yrs Old. We lived in a trailer house and ate rabbit.


1st Grade.


3rd Grade.


Mission. Pasadena, CA. December, 1998.


December 2004.

I drove back home to Salado TX for Father's Day. I figured at least one father in the family deserved to have a son present.

But my family attends a Spanish branch in the same building and at the same time an English ward meets. I grew up in that English ward, and its been a very, very long time since I've attended. So I sat in the back pew.

Naturally, the ward has changed. I recognize very few people. By the same token, very few people recognized me. At the conclusion of the Sacrament service, the deacons passed out the customary Father's Day gift. The deacon passing out the gifts to my row certainly didn't recognize me, and apparently didn't recognize me as a father. So the brother I shared a pew with got a gift. The brother right in front of me got a gift. I got nothing.

I've debated over the past 3 weeks whether it's harder to be a father without a family, or a family without a father. I'm sure most days it's the latter. But yesterday was tough. I miss my family.

Seeing Grant pull the toilet paper off, wipe his bottom (ok, usually his side or leg), then throw it in the toilet. Flush.

I sure miss my family, and these past few weeks have been wringing.

But if there's one thing to cushion the despair, it's this:


What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a Texas-style smoker. In this finely-hand-crafted work of art is composed melodious aromas of live oak-, mesquite-, and pecan-smoked BBQ brisket. REAL bbq!

Shortly after getting to town, a good friend of mine welcomed me back home by holding a small bbq for me. Brisket, potato salad, Mrs. Baird's bread. I can still taste it.

And that's what's beautiful about Texas. This pit lives in his backyard, and is carted to and fro behind his pickup truck.

A beautiful life. Can't wait for my family to come and partake of heaven.

I'm here in a public library in Ft Worth, TX, and I needed to transfer some pics on my phone to my computer to create memory space. I found these two, and can't think of any clever and supporting themes, so here they are:



Here, Madison will NOT be distracted by others when there's a picture to be taken. Jenny will have to help me out with sorting the girls, but I believe we have Halle Pearson, Kaelyn Mathews, and Mishayla Waite.



There's not much to be seen while driving across northern Arizona (my apologies to the Gilmore's). So when Bryan (my business partner) and I passed through Holbrook, we made sure to detour and catch this famous Route 66 establishment. Bet you wish you could have been there.

Do you remember how Tom Sawyer always carried his treasures in his pocket? My end-of-day treasure: