frazzled & frumpy

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...

This girl has my heart. (Yes, all of my children do. Of course.) But there is something undeniable about the connection between female hearts and minds. Our spirits are entwined in eternities. A golden thread binds us. From the moment the ultrasound tech said those magical words, "It's a girl." my soul has known her. My daughter. My sister. My friend. A couple of years ago Sadie decided to go on a mission. Often, when people heard this, their reactions were heavily seasoned with doubt. "Oh, you're thinking of going?"  "Yeah, we'll see." Or her favorite, "You'll be married by then." Others may have doubted. I never did. And neither did she. After months of getting 'stuff' done, including getting her wisdom teeth pulled, her papers were finally submitted three weeks ago. And then we waited. One week ago, the big white envelope arrived. Now, most missionaries have some place they hope to go. Most of them are...

Please excuse Julie for missing school. She was ill. This was the standard note my mother would write for me to take to school after I'd missed a day. It was in her neat, curvy handwriting on a half-sheet of paper that I would carry carefully to give to my teacher. (We did not carry backpacks. Papers sent home were entrusted to our teeny hands and often lost their way before arriving home.) In my years as a parent of school kids, I've written my share of notes. When I first had to write one, I automatically copied my mom's style. But, then I realized, people don't really use the word, 'ill' much, so I updated it. To 'sick'. And, I always tried to make the absence sound reasonable, 'he had an appointment' or 'she didn't fell well'. I've started thinking, though, that maybe I should be more honest, make my notes longer and tell the whole story. It wouldn't change anything in the 'being excused' department, but it mi...

My name is Chandler.  I'm a dog. This is Sadie. She's my girl. She's my favorite.  (I used to be little.) I like to jump on her and lick her face and take naps with her.  I like to chew stuff.  Chewing is my favorite. I chewed all the couches and  20 shoes. I'm good at chewing. This is Patrick. He's a dog, too. He's my very best friend. He's grouchy. I try to play with him and he growls at me. I think that means he likes me. I like to bark. I bark at people and cars and the sprinklers. Barking at night is fun. I'm a very loud barker. Barking is my favorite. Mom doesn't like when I bark and chew. She makes me stay outside. She's grouchy, too. She's my favorite.

I am a woman of faith. This is what I believe. I grew up going to church, praying, reading scriptures, I even served a mission. All because I believed.  Throughout my life, my faith was tested. But, I always came out victor-through trials and tests, my faith got me through. One test though, I wasn't ready for. It happened when Sadie was a newborn. She was my sweet baby girl, a gift of ease after a couple of trying boys. Her birth was easy, she nursed like a champ, and slept only in her own bed. Then, one day, I woke with a strange hardness in my breast. The lump was red and hot. Just touching it brought me to tears. Without a computer, or the ease of the internet, I turned to our medical book, scouring the pages as I was too embarrassed to call my mom. What I found was that I had mastitis--a nasty breast infection. This terrified me, not because I feared medical treatment, but because I feared the cost. We had no health insurance and I knew we couldn't afford a doct...

On Tuesday, our state celebrated Pioneer Day. It's the day we commemorate the pioneers arriving in the valley.  I like it because we get a day off, we barbecue and watch parades and fireworks. (None of the things the pioneers did.)  I like it because I would've been a lousy pioneer.   I know the other pioneer women, and especially the men, wouldn't have appreciated my whining or my sarcasm.  "You know what I love in the morning? That gritty-dirt-in-your-teeth feeling. Makes me look forward to the whole day." "If I could just train these mosquitoes to sting my cheeks, then I'd be all rosy and attractive." "Man, I slept so good last night. The rocks are soo much more comfy than the mattress I left behind." Then, when we got here, and Brigham Young announced that "This is the place",  I probably would've looked around and said, "Seriously?"  Then, I would've sat on my rump and cried.  ...

e-the-re-al: delicate; heavenly There was a moment when I was a very young mother. I was sitting on our long couch, my newborn son in my arms as my oldest toddled over my legs, begging for the attention he’d so recently lost.  As I sat there, I got a flash, a picture, a vision perhaps. It was of me surrounded by boys.  This knowledge didn’t upset me, on the contrary it was comforting.  I saw what my future held and knew that this is what I would do. Eighteen months later, I lay on a bed in the doctor’s office, a paper sheet crinkling with each movement of my rapidly growing body.  The room was dim and the tech moved her magic wand over my slick and slimy belly. She pointed out fingers and toes and I watched the little heart as it fluttered.  “Do you want to know the sex?” she asked.  Sure, though I thought I already knew.  Then she said the words that would change my life in so many ways. “It’s a girl.” Four months after that, we were i...

Sadie got asked to Prom. She'll be 16 next week, and this will be her first date. (Our kids have to be 16 to date.) It's all very exciting.   Getting her 'response' ready.  "If there's more M&M's- it's yes, more Reeses- no." I'm pretty sure he'll know the answer without counting. I asked her if she wanted to wear my dress. What do you think? Maybe her date could find a super-cool, baby blue tux.  (Holy Smack! I wish I were still that skinny!) Do you love his mustache?  I'm not sure what I saw in him.  It was actually a lousy night. We broke up a week later. *sigh* I do not miss high school.

My paternal grandma was short and sweet.  She loved her grandkids. She was a great cook and was well known for her cinnamon twists. She always bought us gifts, though she couldn't afford it. She lived for 18 years after her husband died. Her apartment was small and neat and she had these great pillows on her couch.  These are things I know about her.  What I don't know is why she didn't like her name. I do know  that she told her children they were not to name their children after her. They all complied with that wish. It didn't apply to me. Or my niece.  When we were in Idaho, we went to the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. We took this sweet picture of Sadie and Rowe- Somehow, I don't think Grandma minds that she has these two beautiful girls bearing her name.

 As I drove up to girls camp on Monday, I listened to the three girls in my car. It made me smile, hearing them talk and sing to the radio.  I love all our young women. I do. I'll be honest, tho', when I say that I have a favorite.  Sadie was only in YW for 9 months before I was called. So, most of her experiences have been shared.  I know that I'm lucky.  Not only do I love being with her, she loves having me there.  She sits next to me in class on Sundays. Often, she'll lean her head on my shoulder.  Oh, how I want to freeze these moments.  I'd preserve them and put them on a shelf.  The label would read, "Precious Moments with Sadie." Then, someday, when she's all grown and her attention has been captured by  some handsome, dark-haired man, I can remember what it was like for her to sit next to me, her love radiating like sunshine. (Sadie with a wig on. Doesn't look much like her, does it?) All week, I watched her as she interacted...