frazzled & frumpy

I've been working on a birthday post, but until that's done, here's one written for the Write on Edge prompt for this week- 'What are your goals and aspirations for your writing?' "Julie wrote a poem. Would you like to read it?" These words were music to my ears. My parents, ever the supportive ones, would brag about my writing to friends and family.  I would shyly stand by, waiting, hoping, praying that someone would say yes. From the moment I began writing, I wanted to share it. I never did it just for myself.  Like any art, it's meant to be enjoyed, and appreciated.  But, unlike other 'art', writing isn't as easy to share.  You can't frame it and put it on the wall, or sit down and play it for a crowd.  It was always awkward to try and share my gift. Enter the blogging world. Suddenly, I had people reading what I wrote. And, some of them liked it. It was empowering. As my readership grew, so did my confidence. My goals a

I've been sailing along for a while, enjoying the smooth, glassy surface of the water. I'd put my head back, feeling the sun on my face. So caught up, I was, in the tranquility, I failed to notice the warning, the gathering clouds, the distant rumble of thunder.  To me, the storm seemed to come from nowhere.   Suddenly, I found myself among choppy waves and rain stung my face.  The wind stole my breath and threatened to tip me over completely. Tossed to and fro, I was unable to see the shore, or anything, other than the clouds that surrounded me. All I could do was hold on and pray for calmer weather. When you're weary Feelin small When tears are in your eyes I will dry them all I love this song. Always have. I recently found a version of it on youtube and have listened to it everyday. It has brought me much peace. I'm on your side When times get rough And friends just can't be found Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay m

Scarlett stood in the back of a group of children. She wished she were in the front. The first kids always got the best hiding spots.  Her heart pounded at the thought of trying to find a place away from the searing eyes of Wolf.  There he was in the corner.  Standing on his hind legs, walking like a man, Wolf turned his big eyes toward her.  He grinned, showing his pointed teeth.  He winked. Scarlett shrunk back behind a tall boy who smelled like sweat. She hated this game.  “Go!” Just like that, they were off. The children scattered like so many cockroaches, running through the big house. Every place Scarlett looked was occupied.  She knew her time was running out, and her heart threatened to stop all together. The library door was open and she hurried in.  She slid against the hardwood floor and pushed herself between the mahogany table legs.  Praying for the cover of darkness, she huddled as far back as she could.  Footsteps.  No ‘ready or not’ for t

I was planning on writing a short story for the Write on Edge prompt (Clue) today. I got distracted. See, three weeks ago, I rearranged my bedroom. In a fit of anger-driven energy, I moved my bed across the room and changed the placement of the desk, and added the extra dresser. I loved the way it looked. I loved that it gave us more room. I loved it. Until... I had to make my bed. I may be a lousy housekeeper, but I make my bed every day . And, the new set up made it more than challenging. My side of the bed was against the wall, so I had to clamber across the mattress and sort of fling the sheets and comforter over. It was a joke. Also, when I got on my bed, I had to crawl on from the bottom. It was dumb. I put up with it because changing back would be a royal pain. And, I made this decision on my own, so sure that it would be great.  This morning, I decided I'd had enough. I admitted I was wrong, and began the process of changing things back. I was moving along, the de

I started working out a few weeks ago.  My friend asked for a workout buddy and I jumped up and down, yelling, "Pick me! Pick me!"  We meet at the gym at 6am. After some cardio, Brigette puts me through a strength training session that leaves me groaning and sweaty. I've noticed a difference.  I have more energy, and my clothes are loose. Just yesterday, the Handy Man commented on my bicep, which I flexed for him.  He pronounced that my muscles are bigger than his. It's not true. He carries around huge cabinets and sheets of wood on a daily basis. He has nice muscles. Mine are puny, but getting bigger. Ever since I 'finished' my book, I've taken a bit of a leave of absence. My writing muscle has turned to mush.  I feel all squishy and soft. My mind is jumbled and I find myself avoiding the computer. I have no writing energy and I'm overindulging in junk thoughts. I need to write. Often. I am looking for inspiration. Something to spark my imaginat

It's Friday. Here's my life in a nutshell. Because I'm nutty. I made it through two weeks of school. At least three of those days, we had a morning-long fight about whether or not Max could stay home 'just for one day'. (He didn't.) When things are going well, do you worry about the next trial that's just waiting to fall? Do you wonder and speculate what it might be? Are you ever right? Yeah, me neither. I've been working out with my friend, Brigette.  I haven't been this sore since I tried out for dance team in high school. I love that I'm at a point in life where I don't mind being the only woman in the gym. One reason I love being a grown-up? Telling a bunch of high schoolers that- 'No, that isn't the end of the line. The end of the line is waaay back there, behind me and all these other people who've been waiting. So move!' I also love when my kid's friends walk past me in the school and call me mommy. My

Remember that feeling, those fluttery dips and drops in your stomach when 'he' walked by?  He could drive you to distraction with a mere smile.  Where is he now?  Maybe he's in the next room, tied to you with a golden band and a couple of kids.  Mine is miles away, living with his wife and children that I've never met. It seemed he had such power, the future wouldn't be without him. If I saw him now, there would be no coming unglued. I might not even recognize him. There are butterflies taking flight inside me today, though. They have nothing to do with any boy. They have everything to do with my future and the people who, today, are holding it in their hands.  They have the power, with the click of a mouse, to either reject me, sending my hard work to the recycle bin, or to change my life forever.  Do they have any idea how my life hangs in the balance?  That they can tip it one way or another with a yes or no? It's a courtship of sorts.  She is my boo

Brigham City, Utah Temple (Photo from lds.org) Our family had the opportunity to go to the Brigham City Temple open house a week ago.  This is a great experience, one that I didn't want my kids to miss out on. Temples are so beautiful, and while pictures of them are nice, there's nothing like getting to walk through and see the lovely architecture and decor first hand. Plus, there is spirit there that is very unique.    (The morning of, Max let me know that he was not going.  It would be boring.  Walking is boring.  Temples are boring.)   This temple was so gorgeous.  There is much attention to detail in these buildings.  From the hardwood floors with inlays of cherry blossoms, to the staircases' intricate banisters, and the stained glass windows-- it was amazing.  I realize that our temples seem to be shrouded in mystery.  Because they are different than regular churches, not everyone is allowed inside once they've been dedicated.  What happens i

Adam's first day. On my oldest's first day of school, I stood at the corner.  We were surrounded by a miniature hoard, small bodies dressed in new clothes, kicking rocks with nervous shoes. The bus arrived and the little ones marched on.  With a smile and wave, he was gone. Other moms wiped their eyes and hurried to their minivans, a parade of Dodge and Ford, following the bus, anxious to see their babies arrive safely. Me? I jumped in my own family van, but I detoured and went the other way, dropping Jacob at his preschool.  Sadie sat in the back, chattering away, waving at her brothers.  Number four sat miniscule inside me, sending waves of familiar morning sickness my way. There was no time for tears. Sadie's first day. The one time in her life she was too busy to pose. Six first times, each one a bit different, each with their own anxiety-ridden morning.  But, each time, I've returned to my home to care for the ones left behind--be it nursing babies