frazzled & frumpy

The last few months, every time I thought about my birthday, I thought about turning 55. Then, one day I realized–I AM 55. What? I’ve never minded my age, never feared getting older. But this whole nope-you’re-already-55-you’ll-be-56 has thrown me for a loop.  So, what does one do when they feel like they’ve lost a year? How do you celebrate a birthday? What do you do with this year?  I’ve pondered this during the last week, wondering about goals or a theme word for the year. Then, while mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels I saw a clip from an interview with Brene Brown and Oprah. Brene was talking about vulnerability and joy. She told a story about a man who said he was always afraid of the joy-filled moments because he was waiting for something bad to happen. So, he stayed ‘in the middle’, never being too joyful so that if something bad happened, he was ready. If something good happened, it was a nice surprise. Then, in his 60’s he and his wife were in an accident and his...

Dear Oregon, Amid the chaos that has gripped our world, we decided to keep our plans and take a much needed break from everyday life. We loaded up van and cars and took a road trip of a life time. And, I'd like to thank you.  Thank you for rocky lakeshores and sandy ocean beaches, breathtaking waterfalls--for trees and rain and sunshine in perfect quantities.  Thank you especially for memories-- -of my granddaughter chasing ocean waves and running across green lawns, splashing in the hot tub and yelling "Papa" down the hall.  -of my grown and almost-grown children talking, laughing, playing in pools and lakes and ocean. -of shopping and souvenirs and seafood -of scary moments that turned out okay and sad-missing-you-moments that turned into surprise arrivals. -of lazy mornings waking when we wanted and unhurried days of exploration and adventure. -of long drives through a canopy of trees--a thousand shades of green speeding past on both sides,  -and an enormous, wind...

Me and Sadie I wrote this poem for a poetry class on Walt Whitman. At the time, my daughter was expecting her first child--a daughter. I decided to share this poem as a Mother's Day gift to my mother, my daughter and all the mothers and daughters. There is a unique and priceless link between mothers and their daughters, it has been that way since the beginning and will always be. My grandmother, Julia, with my sister Heidi, me, and my sister Ellen. Four generation, Me, Sadie, and my mom, Diane, holding Aurora. (Rory) Mothers and Daughters My grandmother died thirteen years ago, at death, not the woman she had been. Julia was a gardener, she grew petunias, raspberries and children. She loved roses and jewelry and my grandfather…not in that order. She was short, petite, fierce. My mother is alive,  a fighter. Diane is a baker, a singer, a gardener. She loves my father, her grandchildren and sewing…in that order. She takes care of others, bef...

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...

Last week was my birthday. It wasn't a "big" one that ended in a zero. All the same, it felt big. Maybe because the one ending in zero is next year. And that zero will have a 5 in front of it. Yes, it's true. I turned 49. And honestly, I'm wondering how the hell it happened. No, I'm not kidding, not being glib. I really don't understand how I'm suddenly an 'older' person. OK, maybe it wasn't so sudden. I've been 'older' for a few years now. But, this year, I feel it. I could blame it on college. I walk around campus in the ant-like crowds and can't miss the age differences. I'm fully aware of the smooth skin and tight everything on those kids. They're overly stylish even in their I-don't-care fashion. They talk about dating and roomates and who just got home from what mission. I walk among them as invisible as a tree--something to maneuver around. But it's more than my new-found student-status. It...

(One of my classes today.) Today I started a new chapter in my life. It's called, Your Mom Goes to College As my first day at Weber State ended, I realized there are a few things that might happen if you return to school after twent--mffshh *ahem* a lot of years.  If your mom goes to college she might assume that buying a parking pass means she'll just arrive and find a place to park. When she spends 35 minutes trying to find a parking spot, she might start swearing. A lot. She also might almost hit another car. And then, when she realizes she's already late for class she might just park illegally on a residential street screaming "Screw it! Give me a ticket!" and then run to class.  She might arrive at her first class ten minutes late. Arriving late might give her anxiety * .  Then she might spend the next hour trying to pay attention to the teacher while also wondering how much her parking ticket will cost. If your mom goes to college she mi...

There has been a lot of tragedy in our lovely state this week. Several families were altered forever. Lives were changed. Futures suddenly uncertain and dark. The story of the Bear Lake accident was all over the media, both locally and nationally. It broke our hearts and made us all hold our loved ones closer. Thing is, tragedies happen everyday--quietly, without any fanfare or notice, except by those affected. Whether public or private, one thing remains the same--we all experience heartache. As a member of the human race we all go through trying times. We try to avoid it, but Heartache is the master at hide-and-seek. It finds us. It squeezes our hearts, wringing them out till we feel drained and lifeless. But, it isn't so. It is the pain that reveals how very alive we are. It is the intense, immense love in our lives that allows for the ache, fosters it. It is hard. It is hurtful. It is meant to be. Grief and sadness, trials of all kinds, are the things that make us wh...

Today's all-alone-at-7am-on-the-freeway-so-no-one-can-hear-me-sing-at-the-top-of-my-lungs songs- You should have heard me. I was awesome. Well, not really.  I think I had a pack of dogs following me. I love 80's music. That is all.

The Handy Man came home from work today, took one look at our room and said, "It looks like the dryer threw up on our bed." (Maybe I should fold some laundry.)

(This was originally written four years ago. Funny how time passes, but the feelings about motherhood stay the same.) This afternoon, Noah begged me to push him on the swing. I dragged myself outside to help him. No underdog, he informed me. I complied .  It only took a couple pushes because (hooray!)he’s learned to pump.  I stepped back and laid on the warm, black surface of the tramp.  The backs of my eyelids blazed red as I soaked up some much needed vitamin D.  I laid there, listening to the creak of the swing, taking deep breaths,  thinking about my day and how much more relaxed I felt than the day before.  I’m not made for being a chauffer.  I counted a total of 7 trips I made on Wednesday. (Almost a half tank of gas! Ga!)  I came home angry and frustrated.   I growled at my kids and was prickly to my husband. Once dinner had been served, I parked my car-seat-shaped-butt on my bed, announcing that I was  not...

(Original here .) She She is not hidden, silent or withdrawn. She is there, if I seek Her. She is in the craggy mountain peaks, Snow covered, tree lined majesty. I see her in the brilliant blue of sky, She lives in the curve of my body, And, the soft lines on my face. I hear her voice in the song of wind Lifting poplar leaves. She is in the call of hawks, grand and resonant, She echoes in the sweet, simple sound of my child’s laughter. I smell her when the breeze Carries the scent of spring, Cherry blossoms, lilacs, petunias. She is there in fall, In the crisp air, the fragrance of earth preparing to rest, The taste of tart apples, sweet plums, A bountiful harvest. She is in the taste of salty tears Filled with sorrow or joy. I feel her in the cool of rain on my skin, In the warm sun, the tingle of breeze, A lover’s touch. She is in my heart, each and every beat, I feel her reflected in the love I have For family, friends, Nature. She is not hid...

Some days, ideas come to me like a spring rainstorm.  Thoughts drop and pelt my brain until they flow over into my fingers and onto my screen. I cannot type fast enough as my thoughts race ahead of me, looking back, urging me to hurry. Other day, ideas avoid me- wild, feral cats who want nothing to do with my tame brain. I chase them, getting oh, so close. Just as I'm about to touch one, grab it's striped tail, it scurries away and hides beneath a rock. Then, I sit, hands still, hoping one of them will wander over and join me. They stay back, watching me warily,  sending an occasional hiss my way. Today is a cat kind of day.  And, I really don't like cats. (I'm definitely a dog person.)

If my dog ever runs away, I'll know it's because when he tries to jump on our bed and fails, we laugh at him. (It really is funny.) My son volunteered to wash dishes last night. (*ahem* teenage son)  This makes me so happy I can hardly stand it. As soon as I leave the room, the Handy Man turns the TV to ESPN or some other sport-report-clip-thing. When he leaves, I turn it to news.  Or search to find an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Or Friends. All the times that I've gotten a flat tire, only once has it happened on the road. Every other time, it's been at home. I'm just lucky that way. Maverick now has styrofoam cups for my diet Coke. I feel a bit like they did this just for me. Because I'm probably their best customer. I am obsessed with Sam Smith. Ob. Sessed. I have four of his songs on my phone and I listen to them daily. It makes me feel a bit less 'out of it' and old. (This one is my favorite!)