frazzled & frumpy

I have simple needs. Sleep, food, diet Coke, the Handy Man. These are basic needs in my life. Basic. Without any of them, I would very quickly stop functioning. Oh. I forgot laughter. I need this. Every. Day. There are scientific studies about the benefits of laughter and how it increases endorphins and makes your brain sharp and cleanses your colon- or something like that.  (Maybe not the colon part.) I can tell you very unscientifically that laughter makes you feel good. Take tonight for example. I spent three hours with several friends who I don’t see near enough. We talked about families and jobs and babies and maybe a little about sex. And we laughed. Oh, man, did we laugh. (Because sometimes sex is funny.) But we’re friends, so that means we also talked about the other stuff. The hard things and struggles. The things that make us doubt ourselves and those that make us cry. It’s good to have friends who understand, (and who, if they don’t understand, nod and smi...

If someone asked me if I was a good cook, I would answer quickly, without hesitation. (I might even puff out my chest a bit.) “Heck, yeah, I am.” I have no problem admitting that. None. Yet, if someone asked me if I was a good writer, I’d pause. “Well… other people have said that I am.” Then I’d probably follow up with, “I’m not published or anything.” Why? Why not say what I want to say- “Yes. I am a damn good writer.” (Because I am.) I think there’s too much self-depreciation in our humility. We’re afraid that if we say we’re good at something others will see us as conceited instead of confident. But this kind of humility doesn’t do anyone any good. One of my favorite quotes supports this idea- “We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.”* Perhaps we should ask ourselves what God would think of our false humility. Since He is the One who gave us our gifts, who knows better than anyone ...

(I originally wrote this two years ago. But, the message is still true- the light is on its way.) Darkness terrified me.  As a child it was all that was wrong.  You couldn't see and in the midst of that unseen world were monsters.  Real or imagined, it didn't matter. A child's mind has trouble differentiating between the two.  I avoided it, hid under the covers and ran from it. Now, I can handle physical darkness.  I can find my way through the shadows without so much as bumping my shin.  I don't mind the night, there are times when it is welcome. It's the other darkness that worries and overwhelms me. The kind that comes from within. This year has been one of joy and discovery.  I've made new friends and learned so much. Yet, amid the happiness and good things, there was also some blackness. It slinked in without me knowing and suddenly I was enveloped in the gloom. My blood ran like ink, making my heart heavy and slow.  My hands hung down...

Shhhh. My house is empty. It's so quiet. I am all alone. If I'm dreaming, please don't wake me. I'm not dreaming. My boss asked me if I could work a later shift today. I told her yes before even considering what it meant. It meant a morning to myself. After I agreed, the numbers hit me. The kids would leave for school and I would have two and a half hours all alone. That's 150 minutes with no fighting or food fixing or remote finding. Just me and the dog and whatever I chose to do. Oh. My. What to do? I could deep clean the kitchen (that fridge!). I could fold clothes. (hahahahahaha!) There's some crafts I've been wanting to get to and I could paint without little fingers wanting to help. I. Could. Sleep. The possibilities were almost endless. But, in the end there's only one thing I wanted that is so much easier without all those distractions I love so much. I could write. And, so I am. I'm writing here. (Does this mean a return ...

23 years ago I woke on a sunny December morning, butterflies abounding. Wedding day. Is there any more thrilling day in the life? Our courtship had been short and fast-paced, starting wedding plans after only a month of dating. Now, the dress had been borrowed and altered, the tuxedos ordered and picked up, the cake made and the church reserved and ready for decorations. Just miles away, the temple stood waiting.  That young woman is so very different than who I am today. I wonder, if I could sit with her that morning as she rushed to put on makeup and do her hair, what would I tell her? Would I explain that the man she would soon kneel across the altar from was a good man? Should I tell her how he adored her and how he would do just about anything for her? Perhaps she already suspected this, but I know she didn't understand the depth of his adoration. Could I whisper to her that he was not, in fact, perfect? That there would be times he would disappoint her, and that she...

I hate daylight savings time. Forget the 'extra hour of sleep'--I can get that on a lazy Sunday afternoon while my kids watch Nickelodeon. Daylight savings is a sleep schedule ruiner. It throws all of us off, and sleep schedules are important. You learn this from the moment you have children. People ask- "Is he sleeping well?" "Is he sleeping through the night?" " Is he on a schedule ?" My babies were never on a schedule. I figured that babies are intuitive beings. They are moved by need- they need to eat, they eat; they need to sleep they sleep; they need to poop, you know, they do. And, I met their needs, my own be damned.  While they were infants. Now, however, they are not babies. They are old enough to have schedules. And daylight savings has messed it up- again. My kids are early risers. 6am is a normal waking time. I try my very hardest to get them to stay in bed till 7- "See this clock, when it says 7:00 you can get out...

My dad had back surgery last week.  The Sunday before, we gathered at my parent's home for dinner. Dad sat and explained the surgery. How they would open his stomach, push his organs aside and work on his spine. They would put everything back and sew him up. Then, after turning him over, they would open his back and work on him from there. He explained this rather casually. I'm sure he'd heard it so much and was used to it. For me, I was shocked. It seemed so incredibly invasive. I know he needs it, he's been in chronic pain for a very long time. But it just seemed like so much. I went in to see him after the surgery was over. I stood next to my sister and looked at my father. He was pale and frail. The man who had carried me on his shoulders as a child, provided for us, led us in family prayer, and seemed to have an answer for anything, had been reduced to laying on a bed, his breathing labored, eyes closed against the pain. Time can be cruel. It beats us d...