frazzled & frumpy

For a long time, I've wanted to write a book with that title. There are so many books out there about people and their lousy childhoods. It might be refreshing to hear about someone who was actually happy growing up. I was. Don't get me wrong, we had our struggles. We were very poor, we had lots of kids and we moved alot. We never went on a fancy vacation, lived in a big house or drove nice cars. But, somehow, amid all that, my parents managed to raise us in a happy household. I often look back and try to figure out their secrets, because I want my kids to feel the same way. I think the biggest thing was that my parents have a sense of humor. We laughed-a lot. We still do. I thought I'd share some memories from our amusing adventures. We moved when I was in the 8th grade. We left Arizona and landed in a small town in Idaho. My dad was hired to run a dairy farm. We had about 200 cows. Now, we had lived in Idaho before, but this was our first experience on a farm...

I feel sorry for men. Don't get me wrong. I love and respect them. I have many amazing men in my life-husband, sons,father, brothers, brothers-in-law, the list goes on. I just feel a little bad for them. Why? Because they're not women, of course. I'm sure they don't feel that way. If they had to go through what we do every month-I shudder. There would probably be a federally mandated week of sick leave monthly. Then there's pregnancy and labor, suffice it to say, with the nausea, vomiting, backache, weight gain, pain and more pain, families would consist of one child. But, that's not what I'm talking about. Men will never know sisterhood. I know they have their male-bonding, or whatever. Having never experienced it myself, I don't know for sure, but I don't think it's the same. For some reason, I envision a lot of scratching and burping. Maybe that's because I'm surrounded by boys. I just know that they can't begin to grasp ...

" So, Mi-chelle! What are you up to? " "Oh, okay. Um, I invented Post-Its. " I've had a couple reasons recently to look at my life and what I've done. Mid-life crisis? I don't think so. Don't those happen in your 50's? Well, then your life would be 100 years. We normally live to around 85, so mid-life would be 42 or 43.....crap. Ok, maybe it is mid-life and it does feel a bit like a crisis. Here's the deal. First, I had to write a resume. Blech! I haven't had to do that for a really long time, and for good reason. I wrote it, thanks to the internet and 'Resumes for Dummies'. It was PATHETIC. Other than a few part-time jobs that lasted a year or so and my interpreting-which was a hundred years ago- there was nothing. I've been a stay-at-home mom for 15 years. That doesn't look great on paper. Luckily, I don't think my resume will really affect my chances with the publisher. It was a bit disheartening, though. Second,...

Ah, the honesty of children. My son, Taz, had a friend over this morning. I was cleaning the little boys' room when the friend asked me- "Are you having a yard sale?" "No, I'm just cleaning." "That's a good thing! Your house is really dirty."

Countries go to war over it. People sacrifice their lives in pursuit of it. Songs are written about it. Speeches expound it's virtues. Evil men try to destroy it. Brave men and women stand in harm's way to defend it. Freedom. Independence. Liberty. It's no wonder we cherish it so. The Declaration of Independence refers to it as our inalienable right. It goes much deeper than that, though. Freedom is one of the first and most basic gifts we were ever given. It's something we fought for in a time so long ago, we can't remember it. We stood together and faced the first of many who would take it away from us. Our Father, in his loving kindness, knew we needed to be free to choose for ourselves. He knew that there was only one way for us to be happy. He could forsee that we needed to find out for ourselves what was right and wrong. That in the process, if we chose right, we would be entitled to the ultimate joy. He trusted us with this amazing gift. Then, a...

dig-ni-ty: The quality or state of being worthy of esteem or respect. The word of the day is dignity. Not because I have much, but because I think it's overrated. We all want it. We want people to respect us, to think well of us. You know, 'life, liberty and the pursuit of dignity'. For me, it seems, the more I pursue it, the more elusive it is. Like a wet bar of soap, just when I get it in my hands, it slides right out again. Take church, for example. You do your best to be dignified there. You walk in, you're feeling pretty good. You remembered to shave your legs, that skirt that was too tight fit just right today. Your kids all have on clean, pressed clothes, and you remembered the treats to bribe them to stay quiet. Yes, all is good. Then, in the middle of the meeting, somehow your 3 year-old gets away from you and is suddenly in the aisle. You give him that look, the one that says, "Don't you dare!" And he returns it with his own, the look that says, ...

And they called it puppy love, Oh, I guess they'll never know, How a young heart really feels, And just why I love her so. *Sigh.* If I ever had to write up a parenthood resume, one of my developed skills would be that of "Watcher". It starts when they're babies and you watch them while they sleep, just to make sure they're breathing. Then, when they're toddlers, you watch to make sure they don't hurt themselves as they learn how to walk. When they get to school age, it seems you watch them as they walk away-to the bus, friends' houses, scouts. With teenagers, watching takes on a whole new meaning. Both of my teenage boys have girlfriends. This new development has brought on some seriously conflicting emotions. The 16-year-old's (Chip) relationship is much less serious than my 15-year-old's. Also, he's away for the summer, with no telephone, computer, etc., so his communication with her is completely cut off. I can't say that this is a ...