frazzled & frumpy

My garage has become a graveyard. For a week it housed not one, but two dead dryers. I tried to keep the door closed. No need for my neighbors to wonder about whether I'm developing appliance-hoarding tendencies.  We got rid of the dryers. Hallelujah. We can park both cars again. Then my car died. It's been sitting in the garage for four weeks. It blocks my path to the 'storage wall'. That's the place where we stow all of our very-important-totally-necessary-never-to-be-thrown-away junk. I add to and take away from that wall on a fairly regular basis.  So, I've been tossing stuff on top of my car. What? It's not like it's going anywhere.  Then, the Handy Man stopped parking his car in the other stall, I'm not sure why. But that has led to me tossing stuff onto the garage floor. That led to my children following my very excellent example. Now, we have a broken bed frame, an extra mattress, three bikes (one of which is in riding condition), a box...

That they will be happy, and confident. That the draw of home will be stronger that the pull of the world. That their minds will be full of memories-- happy, silly, and overflowing with laughter. That they will accept others as children of God. That their testimonies of Jesus Christ will be strong. That they will have families of their own. That they will never doubt who they are. That they will give me grandchildren, so my home is never completely quiet. That love will be the overriding motivator  in everything they do. (This post was inspired by the prompt from GBE2- BlogOn .  This week's prompt was 'Dream'.)

Her house is stifling.  The fan above her clicks a rhythm and she lays as still as she can, hoping for relief. She pushes herself up, forcing movement that reverberates in her head. Walking through the rooms, she checks windows, praying for the breath of a breeze. She loves this house. Here she nursed and nurtured her babies.  The walls show signs of life-- fingerprints and smudges.  Smiling faces, captured and framed, adorn the walls. But, the walls are closing in and she retreats to the sanctuary of her room.  The thoughts are pressing, intensifying the pain in her head.  She tries with all her might to force them out. You're not welcome here . Still, they come. Persistent, they are. The fan beats in time with the judgements- ' not e-nough, not e-nough, not e-nough'.   She puts out the welcome mat, hoping for sleep.  Instead, she cries, curled into herself. But, the day is like any other, demanding, not to be ignored.  Amazing how ...

Some days, when I look in the mirror, I'm shocked. Who is this woman with her tired eyes, and, what the hell happened to her skin? I honestly go around most of the day thinking I still look like this- Me. 1987. Kill Devil Hills, NC Ah. Youth. We take it for granted because we think that somehow we're going to be the one to hold on to it. We look at our elders, feeling pity for their gray hair and wrinkles, so glad that it isn't us. Then overnight, Father Time steps in and does his dance across our bodies.  Parts that used to point heavenward are now gesturing to the grave that is standing at attention. Smooth, perfect skin wrinkles and creases under his aging polka. He cha-cha's across our joints, leaving them achy and dry. Last of all, he siphons out all the energy and vigor, draining just enough that we feel like we can do something, then lose steam halfway through. What is up with those bangs?? I miss that girl. She loved trying new things. She danced ...

This week's GBE prompt is "Take Two: A Fresh Look", where we are asked to post something from the past. This post originally appeared on  May 6, 2010. You Have How Many Kids? It seems whenever I run into someone I haven't seen in a while, the conversation always goes the same. "How are you?" "I'm fine." (I don't like that response and have made a goal to say something else, like 'fabulous') "So, how many kids do you have?" "Seven." "Oh. My. Gosh. I can't believe you have seven kids!" "Yeah, some days I can't believe it either." It's not like you start out your family thinking about the end result, anyway I didn't. We always said we wanted six kids, but did we consider the logistics? Nah. We just really wanted a baby. So, we did. And he looked like this- He's cute and sweet and you love him soooooo much. So, what do you do? Yep, you have another one. A...

The Handy Man's parents still live in the house they bought when he was in kindergarten. Each room holds memories for him. The basement where he helped paint his mother's freezer.  The backyard is where he played and ran from the torments of his older brothers. He can name the families that live in the houses up and down the street.  If we went to church with my in-laws, there would be many worshipers who could tell me stories about my husband and his childhood antics. They'd smile and resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.  My family moved a lot when I was growing up. A lot. There were two very long trips between Idaho and Arizona that I remember well. Laying in the  way-back of our green station wagon, watching the sky fly by at a brisk 75 mph.  Mom packed lunches and wet washcloths in plastic bags for the long journey.  Stops at the rest area were mini adventures where we were left to explore the rocks and cactus. The house where we lived dur...