frazzled & frumpy

My week without media was eventful. Honestly, if that's what's  going to happen if I cut TV and internet out, then you can rest assured I will be spending lots of time surfing and watching. Here's an update on my week- ER Visit #1 Monday, Max fell off his skateboard. On the one hand it's weird  because he's sooo good, on the other hand, not so much. He's always on it and is quite the daredevil. ER/Instacare Visit #2 Tuesday, Jacob started complaining of an earache.  I was a bad mom and told him we'd wait a day to see how it was. I figured it'd go away. His doctor gave me a piece of humble pie along with his diagnosis- a very serious ear infection. This was our couple bonding activity this week.  Since the Handy Man and I were reading the same one, I got a copy from the library.We both finished it. (Have I mentioned what a genius Brandon Mull is?) "Max, why do you have your church pants on?" "Ninjas have to wear all black...or all white

I'm putting myself on a diet of sorts.  The thought came to me last week that I should have a 'media-free' week. When the thought came to me again and again, I knew it was more than a thought. So, here it is.  Thanks to my DVR, the shows I really love will be waiting for me next week.   That way, I won't miss this- The thing that concerns me most about no TV is the news. I watch it everyday. Sort of gives me anxiety to think about missing it.  Guess I'll have my husband keep me informed. No video games. Oh, yeah, I don't play them.  No radio. This will only effect me in the car.  It'll be just me and my thoughts.  Kinda scary. Here's the big one- This means no facebook. (Eeek!) You mean I won't know what clever, informative things my ex-boyfriends, cousins, and distant friends share? Breathe, breathe. No e-mail. Yep. If you want to contact me, you'll have to do it the old fashioned way- And, lastly, no blogging. What?!?!?!!? I know. It's

Dad on the dairy. Summer nights in Arizona were made for children.  The heat of the day cooled and we played outside way past sundown.  It was an age of innocence without fenced yards, where neighbors watched out for each other. It was on one of those nights that I played with my sisters and friends in our front yard.  Our tan legs raced around in a game of tag, while the adults sat inside, talking and drinking cold bottles of Pepsi.  In our game, one girl ran around the side of the house, then raced back.  "There's ghosts back there!"  Our hearts pounded at the very thought.  Following her, we peaked around the house into the back yard.  Large, white sheets hung on the clothesline, swaying in the gentle breeze.  Their movement was just enough to set our imaginations afire.  We squealed and ran back to the front. The next several minutes were spent daring each other to go look again.  On our last foray into terror, we somewhat boldly peered past the side of the hous

My grandpa's truck smelled like leather and hay.   He wore hats any time he was outdoors, ball caps and fedoras.  He would sometimes come by and ask if anyone wanted to ride with him. It was such a treat to go with him when he had to drive to Twin Falls.  We'd stop at his office where he'd show me off. After his co-workers oohed and ahhed, he'd open the magic cooler and get a soda for each of us.  The glass bottle was ice cold in my hand.  I don't know what we'd talk about on the hour-long drive.  I know I'd try to make my Dr.Pepper last as long as his did. His lasted the whole ride. Mine lasted 10 minutes.  Sometimes, on the way home, he'd buy us a burger. Heaven. My grandpa was a CPA.  He had an office in his home and the walls were covered with pictures his grandchildren made for him. He'd let us use the adding machine and I felt so grown up listening to the clack-clack of the old machine. My grandpa loved his grandkids.  He spoiled us. Loved h

Not him, I LOVE him! I do my best writing in my head- at about 10:23pm. OK, maybe the time is a bit too specific, but you get the idea. It's always as I'm laying in bed trying to sleep.  My mind starts to wander and then, it starts to write. I write brilliantly at this time. Maybe it's because I'm relaxed.  Maybe it's the quiet house.  Maybe it's because I can finally think without being interupted.   I try to tell myself that I'll remember all the inspirational prose in the morning.  I'll remember it. Word. For. Word. Yeah, doesn't happen. I tell myself I should get up and write it down. Get out of the bed and turn on your computer!  But, I'm so comfy and warm. And, if I get up, it'll be even harder to get to sleep. (I'm finding as I age, the whole sleep thing is more difficult to come by.)  Instead, I repeat it in my head, sure that I will have total recall in the a.m. Sun rises, mind is blank. I had the best idea for a post

(Taken out my bathroom window on one of the busy days last week.)

I think I've figured it out.  Of course, it could be that my life isn't as interesting as these other women.....Nah!  That can't be it.  So, after studying their blogs, I came up with the real reason my blog is still unknown. I don't have a creative, quirky name for my husband.  Seriously.  They all have one.   nienie has her Mr. Nelson.   cjane 's hubby is Chup (sounds like 'soup', but I still say it like 'cup' in my head. Can't help it.)    The Mom writer-Ruth- calls her husband Sir Scott. And, my favorite nickname?  The Pioneer Woman has the Marlboro Man.   See? Cute. Fun. I've tried some different names, but nothing has felt right.  So, I'm trying to come up with something. Here's a few ideas- The Spider Exterminator -  this is accurate, it is what he does, but it seems a bit long and not very catchy. Vanilla Ice - because he likes vanilla ice cream-really, it's his favorite. But, I think this one is taken. My Guy

Last night I was telling Max his birth story.  I tried to make it entertaining, which wasn't difficult. I sort of skimmed over the part where my water broke, leaving a lovely green stain on my bed. (He had nasty meconium in the water.) I also left out how because of him I was catheterized before my epidural. My husband will attest to how fun  that was for me.  I did tell him that when he came out, he was covered in green (he loved the fact that he'd pooped inside me and that it was green).  He laughed and laughed when I said that the doctor called him the jolly green giant. I'm not sure he appreciated the fact that he was the largest baby my doctor ever delivered, and he'd been delivering for over 30 years.  I told him he was FAT, fat face, fat arms, fat legs, fat, fat, fat. All 13lb. 6oz. of him. He made me retell the part where the newborn diapers didn't fit him and they had to tape two together until they could send someone to buy bigger ones. What a difference

Growing up, Saturday mornings had a distinctive aroma. The morning smelled all yeasty as my mom began the day of baking bread.  I remember her arms buried in her big bowl as she mixed the bread by hand.  (Way before bread machines!)  In the afternoon, our house smelled like heaven . What I imagine heaven smelling like, anyway.  Long, golden brown loaves would grace the counter, just waiting for a knife and a huge slab of butter.   I grew up baking/cooking from scratch. I'm not sure I even knew there was such a thing as mixes.  We made treats every Sunday night. Brownies, cookies, cakes.  Always with a recipe and lots of ingredients. The first time I remember making a cake with a mix was when we baked them for my sister's wedding. I was 15.  Since I've been a grown-up, this is how I bake-   My kids are all very talented at following the instructions of the back of a box. And, we always have one or two on hand. But, lately I've been thinking about my upbringing and feelin

(This was written yesterday. No surprise, I'm a day behind.) This afternoon, Noah begged me to push him on the swing. I dragged myself outside to help him. No underdog, he informed me. I complied .  It only took a couple pushes because (hooray!)he’s learned to pump.  I stepped back and laid on the warm, black surface of the tramp.  The backs of my eyelids blazed red as I soaked up some much needed vitamin D.  I laid there, listening to the creak of the swing, taking deep breaths,  thinking about my day and how much more relaxed I felt than the day before.  I’m not made for being a chauffer.  I counted a total of 7 trips I made on Wednesday. (Almost a half tank of gas! Ga!)  I came home angry and frustrated.   I growled at my kids and was prickly to my husband. Once dinner had been served, I parked my car-seat-shaped-butt on my bed, announcing that I was not moving for the rest of the night.  I didn’t.  When I said my prayers, I’m ashamed to say, I was still cranky. Lucky for

How many kids will our old tramp hold? At least 7. Isn't summer wonderful?

I think my behind is going to mold into the shape of my car seat.  That's because I've spent so much of the last few weeks sitting in it. I'm so tired. Why have I been driving around Layton/Kaysville, you may ask? OK, here it goes. Confession time. My oldest, who should be graduating in two days- isn't. Why I'm so embarrassed to admit this here, I'm not sure. My family knows. Pretty much my whole ward knows. I've brushed it off like it doesn't matter. "It's no big deal. He'll get his diploma, just not with his class." I can't count how many times I've said that. I don't believe it. It IS a big deal.  Your kids work for 12 years for this day and to have them miss the mark is painful.  I feel like I've totally failed as a mom. Like I should've pushed him harder, stood over his shoulder, forced him to.... what? Care? Understand the very long-reaching effect his actions (or lack of them) would have? Some things can&#