frazzled & frumpy

Did you know your toes are called phlanges? (I thought that was just fingers.) Or that the big toe is called Hallux? The middle toe, kind of like the middle child, doesn't get a cool name. It's officially called #3. It's sort of overlooked. Like Edith* on Downton Abby. It's the left-at-the-altar-not-as-pretty-as-your-sisters toe. Sad, yes? I wonder if that's why the Handy Man's #3 grew that awful mole. For attention. See? Tiny. Then, huge. (Sorry for the close-up.) The doctor even told the Handy Man that he 'wouldn't even miss it'. Poor toe. Ignored in life and not missed when it's gone.  If it had been the baby toe, like **Sybil, we would have cried to have it torn away from us. But, no, not #3. He'll walk and work just like before. On its way to California for testing, we'll never see it again. I'm grateful, though, for Middle Toe. He sacrificed himself to keep my sweetheart alive. In my book, it's the best t

We contemplated the ride for a while. Knew it had breathtaking twists and turns. Knew we couldn't really afford the trip. And, so we turned our backs, pretended it wasn't there. July 23, 2013 Voldemort We haven’t said the word. Sort of like Harry Potter- “Don’t say the name.”  We’ve talked about the ‘mole’. We refer to his 'toe'. I set up ‘the screening’. But we are loathe to say it. To verbalize the word would make the possibility all too real. It stands there just beyond my reach, taunting me with billboards and ads and facebook posts. It is the ghost that haunts my days and keeps me awake at night. Worse than anything in the closet or hiding under the bed, it is brazenly mocking me in broad daylight.  And, then, the roar of the wheels could no longer be ignored. Reluctantly, we got on. July 31, 2013 Screening Four a.m. his alarm jolts me out of a fitful sleep. I lay there, in that ignorant moment, wondering why there’s a heaviness in my stomach. Then

The Healing Group is a group of professionals who promote healing through counseling, therapy and education. Part of their goal is to--" strive to create a safe place that enables our clients to talk about emotions and to seek therapy for life’s challenges. We help clients overcome the social taboos against sharing their struggles and emotions regarding mamahood, sex and relationships, mental health and navigating the many transitions life presents." Also, they were sponsors of Listen to Your Mother- pretty awesome in my book! Today, they've features a guest post written by little old me. It's about how I sometimes don't like my kids. Can you relate? Click on over (HERE) and check it out. While you're there, check out the rest of their site.

Stop. Right now. Whatever you're doing. Tell someone you love just that- I love you. Text it if you must.  Pull your child to you in a bear hug. Kiss your spouse. On the mouth. Smile at a stranger. And, please, please stop thinking anything awful about yourself. You are a child of God. A divine being with beauty and potential. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. This life is hard. Disappointments abound. Heartache is rampant. Nothing, I mean, nothing is fair. We are busy and bitter and negative.  And, yet, it is beautiful, this existence. It can be difficult to see the beauty, to appreciate all that we truly have.  So.. Stop. Take a breath. Watch the sunset. Count a few blessings. Be kind. Sing out loud. Send that email you've been putting off. Forgive someone. And, kiss your sweetheart, again. None of us know how long we have. For just this moment, be grateful for the gift of being here.

I was sitting yesterday, eating my Shredded Wheat and watching GMA.  I was waiting to hear about the twelve year-old who found a 5 carat diamond at a state park, (so I can plan my next vacation), when I saw a story about the Hyperloop. (Elon Musk/Tesla Motors/SpaceX) If you haven't heard, the Hyperloop is going to be a *super-duper-fast mode of transportation. Basically, you climb into an over sized bank tube and it shoots you across the country. The inventor, Elon Musk looks kind of like a movie star, not a leading man, but the guy who is friends with the leading man. (Plus, he has a Hollywood name- Elon Musk. Really?) When he was explaining his idea, he said the Hyperloop would be a combination of a Concorde, a rail gun and an air hockey table. What? Is it just me, or did he just name off three really random things? Is that what you can do when you're super-smart and uber-successful? Then, after all the hype and talk about his idea, he says, "But, I'm n

I am a rock, sharp and uneven. I know my goal- smooth, polished, shiny- and I am so far from it.   But, the process to get there is not an easy one.  The past two weeks at church, I've heard and taught lessons on trials. We spoke of the early saints and the persecutions they endured. Specifically, Zion's Camp. They were a group of men (in Ohio) organized to help the saints in Missouri. After embarking on their thousand mile trek, they were tried by aching, bleeding feet, lack of food and water, oh, and cholera.  Weeks later, the discovered that their original goal would not be reached and they went back home. The journey, it turns out, was a test of their faith. I asked the kids in my Primary class (ten years old) why we have tests. I got several answers, but my favorite was, "To find out what we know and what we need to know." I believe we are given tests as a gift. Not one that we would put on a list at Christmas or our birthday, but a gift all the same

This is Hunter. He's 12. Hunter was diagnosed with high-functioning Autism when he was four. We've passed the days when he wore the same clothes for weeks at a time and when he cried over a change as small as rearranging furniture. He's a smart kid, he does well in school. On the academic side. He struggles with social interactions, but he's learning. He makes me laugh. A lot. For example, just today. We went to the doctor's office for the required booster shot for 7th grade. "You mean I can't go to jr. high without this shot?" "Yep, that's the rule." He was almost shaking. I tried without success to reassure him. When we got into the room, he looked like he might melt into a puddle on the floor. I had to hold his arms. "Just look at my face and count with me." He squirmed. "Hold still. Count. One. Two. (Shot goes in.) Three. Four. Five. Six." Done. "What, done? You're done?"  The nu