frazzled & frumpy

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,...

The Powerball jackpot has reached $360 million. Three. Hundred. Sixty. Million. I'm thinking that might be enough for me to live on. Comfortably. I'm also thinking about what I could buy with that much money. I'd like a new car. I know, I know, I just got one. And I love it, I do. But, even my new-to-me Sienna has a few drawbacks. Like the fact that three kids have to sit next to each other. This results in the whole- "He's touching me" issue. Forget that they will fall asleep on the same couch, arms and legs draped over faces- even the slightest graze of a finger in the van is horror. I'm thinking something like this- Then, the kids get, not their own seat, but their own row. Of course, with that kind of money, we'd get a new house. Eight bedrooms would be nice. And a bathroom for each one. But, there's no way I'm cleaning that many bathrooms that are used by boys.   I'll have to have a maid, or two. One to do general ...

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'.)

"I have a dream."  How many times, in the almost 50 years since Mr. King spoke them, have they been repeated?   Did he have any idea the power those four words carried? For me, his words are more than just his dream.  They are an invitation, permission if you will, to have our own dreams.  Because, what are we, really, without our dreams?  It is in our nature to aspire, to reach and stretch.  If we don't dream, we stagnate, stuck in a pool of sameness, and stinted in our growth. Dreams give us freedom, they are our wings. Do you have a dream? Is it something you share and shout out loud? Like my author-dream?  It used to be something I kept inside, covered and sheltered.  I feared to share it, sure that in the sharing I made myself more vulnerable to not achieving it. I've found, though, that speaking, saying it out loud, does not diminish it's shine and sparkle. It is still there, waiting, watching as I reach out to touch it. I h...

"These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life" Those dreams, those middle-of-the-night-head-heavy-on-the-pillow dreams, are not the ones I enjoy. I'd rather skip the ones where I'm sitting in church, surrounded by my neighbors, trying to listen to the lesson, while no one around me notices that I seem to have forgotten my bra. And my shoes. And my dress.  I don't like the dreams where I'm running from a madman in heels. (I'm in heels, he has on supersonic tennies.) I have no control there in my nighttime world. I am plagued by the weird and unexplainable.  I wish I could be more like the Handy Man, who rarely remembers his dreams. Mine always come back to me in perfect clarity. There are other dreams, though. The ones I conjure up on my own. Those come to me in those sweet moments when my head first hits the cool pillow. It's quiet, peace has settled upon our home.  Here in the twilight, I can b...

When my kids have a bad dream, they always come to me. Never dad. I know it's probably the whole mother-nurturing thing, but I think it's also partly because dad never remembers his dreams. He thinks it's weird that I remember mine, I think it's weird he doesn't. (And there you have the secret to our relationship- we're both weird.) So, he doesn't have the empathy about bad dreams. He's had them, I'm sure, but if you can't remember being chased by a little green martian (true dream from my youth) or having a bald head sticking out of a wall and biting you (also true), then you can't really understand what kind of terror will send a kid running to his mother's bedside with pleas of sleeeping in the safety of her bed. They're all getting a little big to 'climb in', so I usually make them a bed on the floor. I've warned Chip that he isn't allowed even that. At 6'4", I figure he's big enough to deal with night...