frazzled & frumpy

cabin fever  (n) -a state characterized by anxiety, restlessness, and boredom, arising from a prolonged stay in a remote or confined place. Last night I went to WalMart at 10pm. We still didn't have Halloween candy, so it seemed a good time to go. I wandered the aisles for 20 minutes. I didn't want to go home. I've been home a lot . Now, not having a car and being home has its perks. My house is cleaner (not much, but some.) And, with National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) looming, I have plenty of time to write. And, I'm all caught up on Downton Abby. There are problems with being home, though. Not the least of which is--it's getting colder. Which means I can't leave the windows open. So, I breathe all this stale air. Air filled with dust and skin cells and many, many kid-germs. *cough-cough* I'm thinking it's the stale air that drove artists crazy. You know, staying inside their studio, breathing in sculpting dust, or paint fumes, or Whi

"O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt." Mathew 15:28 There has been much talk recently about women and the priesthood. Why we don’t have it, why men do, what it all means in the scheme of things. I realize I’m coming to the conversation a bit late. (Story of my life.) There is a reason for my tardiness. First, I’ve been thinking and pondering and asking. Second, I have been discussing it, but only with my husband in the privacy of our bedroom, where I often regale him with my spiritual thoughts and ideas.  After much thought and some conversation, I decided I needed to share my thoughts and my reasons why… Why I do not want to be ordained to the priesthood. There are two reasons, mostly. The first, quite briefly, is that I believe in revelation—that this church is led by it. I believe this is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints . It is not the church of President Monson , or the church of the brethren. So, attempts at petition

I've noticed a trend. Moms who are confessing to being 'less than stellar' on the internet. They tell the story of whatever it is they are/aren't doing, then their confession goes viral. They get interviewed by the news. People support them, hate them, shun and embrace them. Well, hell, I'm a bad mom, too. I mean, really, aren't we all? With the exception of a few celebrities who claim perfection, we're pretty much all in the same boat. Oh, our sins will vary, of course. Where one may not bathe her baby everyday , or another might multi-task till her kids are in danger , none of us does it all to perfection. Don't believe me? Case in point- It's 11am. I haven't dressed or even showered. There's a good chance I'll still be in pj's when my kids get home from school. I make sure my kids brush their teeth at least once every day.Or two days. (Their dentist loves me.) Our afterschool snacks all wear the name 'Little

They say the road to hell is paved with them. If that's true, then I need to add 'Road Paver' to my resume. I apologize to the real NaBloPoMo-ers, who blog every day for a month and take this seriously. I tried, really I did. And, to my 6 readers, a big huge THANK YOU. I don't know what brings you back here time after time, but as a writer, there is nothing better than knowing someone reads your stuff- willingly. So, since it's the thought that counts, here's a virtual hug and a big bouquet of flowers for each of you. Much love, the Slacker

Seven minutes ago a fly landed on my glasses. On my face. Only at that distance, which is the distance only the Handy Man is allowed to get to my face, it looked like some enourmous bug. Or spider. And we've already discussed the effect of spiders on my person. Yes, I jumped up, threw my glasses on the bed and did the "there's-a-bug-in-my-hair" dance. Sadie and Noah looked at me like they thought I was crazy. "What's wrong Mom?" they both laughed. Why are you on my bed? Go away children, Mommy is having a breakdown. I discovered it was a fly because two minutes ago, it landed on my nose. Honestly. Something happens to flies this time of year. The inside flies are a bit crazy and schizophrenic. There's one in the bathroom that flies around as fast as it can, smacking into the mirror. Pretty sure he thinks it's his evil twin and he's trying to kill him. I think it's because they know all their friends on the outside are getti

My day started at 5am. I stumbled through the dark for glasses, phone, sweatshirt. Following the Handy Man into the garage, then the car, I tilted my seat back and closed my eyes. Celine Dion serenaded us as he drove down the quiet highway. Every few minutes, I would open my eyes. My thoughts were going back and forth like the red and white lights that broke the darkness. In a few hours, I will don my Sunday best and take Max to his first funeral. His best friend's father died last Friday. Max has been melancholy, but mostly seemed unaffected. Then, yesterday, he said, "Wes is too young for his father to die."  Yes. Ten is much too young for your father to die. This last week has stripped me of my invincibility. It has reminded me of how fragile and uncertain our lives are.  On Thursday, my friend's husband died after a battle with leukemia. Shirley and I have known each other for 25 years. Neal (her husband) was only one year older than me. Two deaths in

Hey! I'm getting my Survivor recap done before the next show airs. Yay me. (Come on, we have to celebrate our accomplishments, even the little ones!) So, last week started off with a bang! Colton had a breakdown, mainly because he wasn't getting his way, and no one wanted to play with him. (That's him wiping his eyes.  Funny, I never saw an actual tear.) What do I have to say to him? Bu-bye.  Look, I've been watching Survivor for as long as it's been on. I get that people are backstabbing and lying and being all kinds of devious. It's the game. But, Colton? He was just plain mean. That's uncalled for. As Colton was blubbering, and Jeff was getting ticked (he HATES when people quit), Jeff said, "Lots of people like to watch adventure, it doesn't necessarily mean they really should get up off the couch." This describes me to a 'T'. I do much better watching from the comfort of my family room. Where it's warm. And dry

The Blogher prompt for today was- if you were an apple, what kind would you be? I thought about being very philosophical or lyrical about this. But, my head is splitting, so we'll go with the easy answer. If I were an apple, I'd be this one- Why? Sweet, a little tart, and just a little bit sinful. What about you?

Some of my favorite quotes from this weekend's conference. Happy Sabbath!

This country is filled with beauty of all kinds. I've lived in the desserts of Arizona, the farmlands of Idaho, the lush, tree-filled hills of New York and Virginia. I've traveled a little and have seen both the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans and climbed the sand dunes of Kitty Hawk.  But, in all the places I've been I feel lucky to say that I've made my home in my very favorite place of all.

(Excuse my re-post. It's been an interesting couple of days. But, when I found this one, I knew it was perfect. I wrote it a few years ago about General Conference . Since that's tomorrow, it seemed right.) What I Know I know that I love conference weekend. When I was a kid it was the time when we got to stay in pj's on Sunday. As a teen, I remember taking notes for Seminary (hated it!). As a missionary, it was a much needed boost and a weekend free of the stress of normal missionary activities. Now that I'm a 'grown-up', it's much different. I guess I take it more seriously than I used to. Maybe in my 'mature' state I've finally come to realize how important it is to have the opportunity to listen to a prophet's voice. I know that we can have personal revelation. It still amazes me how so many people can get so many answers in the  same  scriptures. Conference is like that, too. We are incredibly blessed to have a prophet

A couple nights ago, my husband was in the bathroom and I heard a weird sound. (Not THAT kind of sound. Gross.) Then, he said, "Come see the spider that was on my neck." Do I have to explain how many things are wrong about that sentence? I went in, and, sure enough, there was an eight-legged monstrosity climbing around in the sink. (Maybe monstrosity is exaggerating. But, she was creepy.  If she had a name it would be Desdemona, which means 'of the devil'.) *shudder* Then, the Handy Man said, "I think it bit my neck." I looked. Yep, two red welts just below his hairline. Hey! I'm the only one allowed to bite his neck! "I wonder where it came from?" the Handy Man said. "Probably the garage."   Lots of spiders there. I think they're attracted to my minivan. Can't blame them, it is all kinds of awesomeness.  They probably all get together and just look at it. "Probably." I said farewell to Desdemona as she

My post for today got put off because I was asked to be part of a Google+ hangout with Mom it Forward. So, let me just share a couple thoughts. I read this book a few years ago. It's great. Mr. Carnegie is infinitley wise. I'd like to drop him onto the Survivor island so he could give the castaways some advice. “Any fool can criticize, complain, and condemn--and most fools do." You're on Survivor. It's hard. It's meant to be unpleasant. You're gonna be cold and wet and hungry for the entire time you're there. If you thought you'd signed up for the Real Housewives of Fantasy Island, you were wrong. Just. Stop. Complaining. “When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but with creatures bristling with prejudice and motivated by pride and vanity.”  Oh, they're bristling all right. I don't think the vanity comes into play, since they're all living without mirrors or showers or toothpaste. But, p

I grew up watching Miss America pageants. I loved the beautiful women with their coiffed hair and fancy evening gowns. they walked the runway so graciously. And, then, at the end, Burt Parks would crown the winner and sing, "There she is, Miss America..."  I just knew that someday, I would be Miss America. So, when I was a senior in high school, at the ripe old age of 17, I entered the Miss Mini-Cassia Pageant. Crown jewel of the southern Idaho pageant circuit.  I went to rehearsals, met the other contestants and worked on my talent. I practiced strutting in my swimsuit and heels, turning just the right way, and speaking clearly when I was introduced. What I should have worked on was filtering. You know, the process where you learn to stop and think about the thought that just burst into your head before you actually let it out of your mouth? Filtering. It happened in the interview. This was one aspect of the pageant that scared me most. Our coordinator had schooled us