frazzled & frumpy

I’ve thought about what to write about the world right now. I decided I would write a letter to my granddaughter who is 18 months old. She will only know about this virus and the chaos it brings through stories. She won’t remember the fear of getting sick, or the panic of shoppers clearing the shelves. She is blissfully unaware and happily cocooned in the protection of toddlerhood. Lucky girl. Dear Rory, Today you came to my house for dinner. It’s Sunday and this is what we do. Your hair fell in your face because there was no church and your mom didn’t want to bother you with pulling it back. As usual, when I held out my hands, you fell forward into my arms. This is the best part of my week. Our world is topsy-turvy right now and I wish I had your sense of none-of-it. To you, all is the same. All is well. You are fed and played with and held by so many loving hands. Your uncles fight over who gets to shower you with attention. In the end, Noah wins because he is your favorite. ...

As an *ahem* older person, I have what some call "life experience". It's true. It's one of the best things about getting older. (There are a lot of not-so-great things, but we won't discuss that today.) As part of my experience, here is what I would say to all the 20-somethings out there, with all their hopes and dreams and plans— Your life is not going to turn out like you think. Oh, I’m not saying don’t make plans. Make them. Have dreams and do your darndest to achieve them. And hope, yes, please, have hope. You must have and do all of these things. But, in the end, things will change. And that’s ok. Maybe you’ll dream of having 6 kids, yes, 6 is the right number. And then you have 6. And, then, BAM! you find yourself pregnant with number 7. It wasn’t your plan. Or your dream. But, then you have that 7th child (and he’s not the girl you’d hoped for), but he turns out to be so much more. You sit now, with that baby number seven ready to enter junior high,...

I have one New Year's Resolution for this year. One. Because I seriously suck at resolutions. I thought maybe I could do one. Because I'm really good at peer pressure and all the peers have resolutions and they're pressuring me (without even meaning to) to make one. So, OK already. Stop pressuring me. Ready? Here it is- I resolute resolve determine (whatever!) I'm going to write everyday   more.  I know blogs are sort of passe, but this is an easy place for me to write. And, yeah, no one reads them, but it's more about me, you know? Because I'm all selfish like that. (I'm not. Or I try not to be. If I am, will you tell me?) I have about a hundred classes* and I have to write for ALL of them, which you would definitely not want to read,(technical writing-blah.) but I need some creative stuff, so yeah. Here it goes. *I'm the queen of hyperbole. I actually have 5 classes. But it feels like a hundred.

Sadie just minutes before entering the MTC. Our church is big on preparation. Prepare for your future. Prepare for catastrophes. Prepare for you callings. Be spiritually prepared. We are taught it all our lives. Prepare. Sadie was trying to prepare me. Or Someone was.  From the beginning, my girl was ok to leave me. At the tender age of two, she toddled off, holding my sister Ellen’s hand as she left for a sleepover. No looking back, no tears or requests to ‘come home’. She chatted all the way to Ellen’s house and happily spent time with her, only sad when she was returned to me. At eight, she went to Girl Scout camp. A week with her BFF in the Utah mountains, making boondoggle and singing songs. Still no homesick tears. I have let her go over and over. Girls camp. Youth conference. Scout camp. I should have been prepared. We are all prepared, we Mormon parents. It isn’t like it’s sprung on us. A mission- SURPRISE! We know they’re going. We talk about it as they...

Gah!! I am so out of practice with this blog-writing thing. I start a post, then erase it. Start another and erase it too. Then I go on other blogs to get inspired and all I get is discouraged because they are obviously not out of practice.  Sheesh.  Here's the thing- I'm going to be in Listen to Your Mother . (Which, if you don't know, is a nationwide show that celebrates motherhood. It's amazing. You should go. It's May 5th.) And, if you go on the site and click on my name, it brings you here. To my blog. My very, very neglected blog. (If my blog was a kid, someone would call DCFS.)  And, though I doubt tons of people will be clicking on my name, if they do, they'll see my sad blog and think I'm lame.  (I am lame, but I really don't want to have verifiable proof.) So, I'm trying to get back into practice.  If my announcement about LTYM seems familiar, that's because I've done it before. Three years ago. It was incredible. L...

As I scrolled through my facebook and Instagram feeds this morning, I found myself feeling a bit overwhelmed. My breathing quickened, my heart raced and I thought I might be having a panic attack. What was wrong? you ask. (Thanks for asking.) But, really, nothing. Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. So. Very. Right. It was...Perfect. Yes, I'm talking about the "Christmas of 2015" posts. Holy crap! You all had a great year! And as I looked through all the pics- fancy tables, gifts piled around the tree, beaches, and Disneyland- I realized how lacking I am. I mean, seriously, I suck at Christmas. But then a little voice whispered (I hear voices, don't judge), "No one's life is like that all the time." Oh, right. It's the social media bear trap. You know, where everyone posts all the best stuff in their life while behind the scenes they're just as screwed up as the rest of us? I'm guilty of it. Yeah. I delete pictures and crop and fi...