Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

49 is Fabulous

Last week was my birthday. It wasn't a "big" one that ended in a zero. All the same, it felt big. Maybe because the one ending in zero is next year. And that zero will have a 5 in front of it. Yes, it's true.
I turned 49.

And honestly, I'm wondering how the hell it happened. No, I'm not kidding, not being glib. I really don't understand how I'm suddenly an 'older' person. OK, maybe it wasn't so sudden. I've been 'older' for a few years now. But, this year, I feel it.

I could blame it on college. I walk around campus in the ant-like crowds and can't miss the age differences. I'm fully aware of the smooth skin and tight everything on those kids. They're overly stylish even in their I-don't-care fashion. They talk about dating and roomates and who just got home from what mission. I walk among them as invisible as a tree--something to maneuver around.

But it's more than my new-found student-status. It's my children getting older, leaving home, having babies. It's the aches that don't go away and the wrinkles that appear and mock my moisturizing routine. It's seeing movie stars my age and saying, "Wow. They've gotten old." and realizing, so have I.

And it's the number.


Over the weekend, the Handy Man and I went 'away'. I know, a few miles down I-15 to a different city may not seem exotic. (It wasn't.) But a couple days with no kids is a vacation in my book. And I had an epiphany--being older is not bad.

We went to a dear friend's reception.(She's my age.) We sat in the beautiful garden, ate the tomato pesto soup and pineapple coconut cake, My friend and her new husband (who knew each other as teenagers and reconnected all these years later) grinned and held hands. Young love may be nice, but this, new love after years alone, this was bliss.

We slept late because we could. We didn't worry about the kids at home because they can take care of each other. We sat in the hot tub, silently intimidating the teenage boys to vacate after just five minutes. We went to the movie in the middle of the day. We ate dinner where we talked about personality tests and where we'd really like to vacation. (Puerto Rico is at the top of the list.)

And as we drove home, I thought about my age. And decided to own it. I've earned the wrinkles and the stretch marks. I've lived through happy times and moments when my world seemed to end. I've raised my children with love and the gospel. I've taught and I've learned, tried and failed and succeeded.

And the thing is, I'm nowhere near done.

Monday, August 31, 2015

Your Mom Goes to College

(One of my classes today.)

Today I started a new chapter in my life. It's called,

Your Mom Goes to College

As my first day at Weber State ended, I realized there are a few things that might happen if you return to school after twent--mffshh *ahem* a lot of years. 

If your mom goes to college she might assume that buying a parking pass means she'll just arrive and find a place to park. When she spends 35 minutes trying to find a parking spot, she might start swearing. A lot. She also might almost hit another car. And then, when she realizes she's already late for class she might just park illegally on a residential street screaming "Screw it! Give me a ticket!" and then run to class. 

She might arrive at her first class ten minutes late. Arriving late might give her anxiety*.  Then she might spend the next hour trying to pay attention to the teacher while also wondering how much her parking ticket will cost.

If your mom goes to college she might search through the crowds trying to find someone, anyone, who isn't young enough for her to have given birth to. She might not succeed.**

She might wonder  if she's the only one whose feet hurt because she wore those damn flip-flops. Because they were cute. Then she might notice that about 89% of the students wore flip-flops. She might try to ignore the fact that the 89% have young-enough-to-be-your-kid, non-plantar-faciitis feet.

If your mom goes to college, she might run to her car after class, prayingthat she didn't get a ticket. She might see a parking meter-maid (who is not a maid, but an old, gray-haired man) just three cars away from her minivan. Upon seeing said meter-man, she might run to her van to get there before he does. Then she might jump in and drive away as fast as possible, laughing and thanking heaven for small miracles.

If your mom goes to college, she might arrive home ready for a nap and hopeful that day two will be less stressful.

*I am a habitually punctual person. Like OCD-punctuality. Being 5 minutes early is late. Being ten minutes late--I might die.

**With the exception of my second professor. His salt and pepper beard comforted me.

(If you don't get the Napoleon Dynamite reference, I highly recommend you to find the movie and watch it, preferably late at night when you're punchy.)

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Hold On

There has been a lot of tragedy in our lovely state this week. Several families were altered forever. Lives were changed. Futures suddenly uncertain and dark. The story of the Bear Lake accident was all over the media, both locally and nationally. It broke our hearts and made us all hold our loved ones closer.

Thing is, tragedies happen everyday--quietly, without any fanfare or notice, except by those affected. Whether public or private, one thing remains the same--we all experience heartache.

As a member of the human race we all go through trying times. We try to avoid it, but Heartache is the master at hide-and-seek. It finds us. It squeezes our hearts, wringing them out till we feel drained and lifeless. But, it isn't so. It is the pain that reveals how very alive we are. It is the intense, immense love in our lives that allows for the ache, fosters it.

It is hard. It is hurtful. It is meant to be.

Grief and sadness, trials of all kinds, are the things that make us who we are. Because we love, we hurt. Because our lives are full, we feel the emptiness when it comes. We must taste to bitter to appreciate the sweet.

And, these things, this agony, link us to each other. We may not all have the same experience, but we all experience suffering. We can hold hands and hold each other. We can show up, give hugs, pray.

These are also the things that link us to the Savior, the One who bowed below all. He who knows the most about love and pain has paved the way for us. He is the One who understands. He is the source of our Hope.

The hope He offers is a shining beacon of light. It is a life preserver thrown just within our reach. Grab on. Hold on. He will keep us afloat. He will pull us to safety.

He alone understands the tears and the heaviness. He has experienced the lonely hours and endless nights. He will share our burdens and lift up the hands that hang down. He is the light of a new day.

So hold on, the Light will come.

Friday, May 29, 2015

80's Music Rocks

Today's all-alone-at-7am-on-the-freeway-so-no-one-can-hear-me-sing-at-the-top-of-my-lungs songs-

You should have heard me. I was awesome. Well, not really.  I think I had a pack of dogs following me.

I love 80's music.
That is all.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Frazzled Confessions

The Handy Man came home from work today, took one look at our room and said,

"It looks like the dryer threw up on our bed."

(Maybe I should fold some laundry.)