Running Red Momma

We had a jolly Christmas Eve party. (Just in case you might be wondering.) P's sister couldn't be there, so she visited us via skype.  We carried her through the house to join in the party; think Pam in New York on The Office.   I was so happy for the wonders of technology.  Despite my earlier rant, it can help us be more connected.  The internet connection was so strong she joined us in the car as we loaded up.  That night had been full of meatballs, stuffing, creamed corn, wings, cake, cheese cake, cheese balls, cream cheese, cheese roll, did I mention the cheese? Erlack! Sometimes cheese, as much as I love it, does a number on me. As I climbed my very full body through the car, I could hold no more and I let out a much needed post-party toot.  "Ew, gross!" I heard.  Oh, the shame of being caught in the dark privacy of one's own car.  Is no place sacred?  Isn't the car man/woman's last place of solace?  I think I will have to blame the excellence of the

With the advent of email, the joyous walk to the mailbox has been replaced by a shuffle for bills. As much as I appreciate the ability to easily connect within anyone in the world, the personal touch of mail has been lost. No longer do I get to see handwriting or mistakes or an individual choice of stamps. Instead, I get flyers and coupons. Hence, Christmas is a particularly festive time of notes from loved ones. I do a small skip to the box each afternoon. My husband and I know a family who sends sarcastic, witty Christmas letters. They actually cause us to read it more than once. This year, I saw the address and shouted to my husband "We have THE letter!" We gleefully sat down to read it together. I ripped it open and we settled down for laughter. It was a poem. It told us of how they were doing. The other spouse wrote it. Sigh. I don't think we finished it. Normally, I do read these kind of letters. We just felt so let down. I confess I don't write cle

On a snowy morning, I sat my kids down to see this, (sound seems a bit delayed): I clearly remember waiting for the radio to play this song. We would sit in the car and hope it would come on. This video is still my favorite Christmas message. Then, I was in the zenith of my young- teen- MTV-watching career. Every singer was a favorite and sooo cute. There you will find that Bono is young and hot. Boy George is funky before he channeled all the crazy. George Michael still looks sexy and innocent...well mostly. Simon Le Bon growls his lines and it is a fun tune. Bananarama, Paul Young and Spandeau Ballet are all there. The men display their full-color hair with eye make-up. (My daughter remarked the men look like girls/ the girls like boys. Bananarama was doing grunge before it was cool.) The bangs, tousled hair and glam of the 80s are delightful. They re-did the song recently. The newer version includes Cold Play and Natasha Bedingfield. Amy Winehouse is missing from it

Those words were at the top of a small, pink slip from my doctor's office.  The following note was attached :  "Unexpected billing system requirements and delays in filing claims with health insurances have caused a major delay in you receiving your statement....We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.''   Translation:  We don't know how to use our new computer system. Neither does the IT guy.  We were kind of behind filing the claims.  But there is not a darn thing you can do about it any way. So, enjoy. Wouldn't you love to be able to send notes like that?  I would love to write back: Dear health provider,  I lost my check book again, yes for the third time and I stuck my credit card in a pair of jeans...I just can't remember which ones.  In addition, an opportunity to take a trip of a lifetime to Cancun came up.   I sincerely apologize for the delay in payment and any  inconvenience this may cause.   We have had our share of exp

   I became a mom almost eight years ago.   When I first became pregnant, I wanted the whole thing taken back.  I was scared and unsure of how life would be as a mom.  I was working, attending a full-time master's program and helping in an after-school program.  In short, I found life to be busy and fulfilling.  I'll admit it.  The first few months of having a baby threw me.  I was grateful for this amazing creation.  However, I had time to do nothing. My brain didn't feel like it was always working.  I would wait by the door for 5:15 to hit. When my husband came through, I would attack him with all of my saved-up words.  The lack of sleep and structure drove me crazy!!!  My fierce sense of me as independent woman had been shattered by having my husband pick up all the bills.  (I hadn't been that dependent since I had been a young teenager...boy was that hard for me!)  Somewhere between then and now, I'll admit to something.  I  fell in-love with being a mom.  Her

My boy has been one to admire every job/hero he meets.  He loves carpet layers, plumbers, cops, fire-fighters and farmers--to name a few of the many possibilities.  He also tries to pay attention in church.  He must have been listening to the big people talk about the blessings of the kingdom of God or something like that.   While standing on the couch with a stick, he yelled, " I am the King of God !!!"  I dare you to match THAT super-hero.....I'm still waiting.  

Yikes!  I have been tagged.  I have been asked to list seven funny or weird things about myself. It quickly turned into a phobia list...but here goes: I am afraid of electricity.  So, installing lights kind of freaks me out.  Batteries, electrical plates, you name it. I am afraid of being shocked. I am claustrophobic...not the crazy kind in elevators and such.  I just hate things near my face.  The combination of being very cold blooded and claustrophobic makes sex in the winter a little problematic.  I love to steal food from other people's plates even when I have a full plate myself. I generally read from 3-4 books at a time.  But, sometimes, I go crazy waiting to know the ending. So, I will ignore the kids for a morning and finish one book.  My kitchen MUST be clean, but yet my master can become unbelievably cluttered and messsy. I  like trash/silly tv. Ah you know:  E! the story, Tyra Banks,  Ugly Betty you know great stuff like that...but somehow I don't like reality tv. W

Most people know I have a feminist bent.   I guess sometimes, I run with it too long.  My daughter has wondered why women don't change oil, lay carpet or install wood floors.   I told her maybe the women are on break or we just didn't see them that day.  While singing in church, she wondered why "the errand of angels" is just for women?  Hmmmm, I'm not so sure myself.  Finally, as I was getting dressed, she wondered why just women have breasts.  Doesn't that make them do all the work?  Honey, I thought, you have no idea!  Men love 'em, babies love 'em.... the day never ends.  I joke that I could put them in a box for my husband at work.  He claims that is not the same.  It was merely a suggestion.    I just don't know what I have created in my own home.  Have I made a monster? Probably.  But I still appreciate the funny observations.

I suffer from mild depression in the winter.  Just when I think I am going to not make it, a sunny day will give me a boost for a couple weeks.  So, as the winter and dark days approach, I realize the shadows are starting to creep into my psyche.  I become more anxious and less tolerant of failings in myself/others.  Today was a brilliant blue sky with bright sunshine.  I ran through the leaves with their crisp sound.  They had that "fall leaf"  smell that is a mix of musty-clean.  (I know that doesn't make sense.)  I lifted my head up to the sky and tried to absorb the light with its wonderful life.   If you are thinking ugg my life is hard lately, "I can't do this", my job sucks, I think I am going crazy...(or is that me ?) , go outside, run through the leaves, absorb light and breathe.  Go outside during lunch, go out during Saturday, take the kids on a walk, whatever.  It helps me to remember that light is there. Well, eventually the light comes. What do

This is gratitude month, so here is my perspective.   After a few days of not being able to read, write or use the computer, I complained about it to my in-laws.  All my sweet mother-in-law said was "I hear you."  Yeah, I bet she hears me loud and clear.  Although we rejoice in her recovery from ovarian cancer, the aggressive chemo has left her with neuropathy.  A YEAR later, and she can't write much, use the computer or wear her great shoes.  (She had great shoes. She gave them away.) This condition creates hands and feet that don't quite work they way you want them to.  They have very little feeling in them.  So, even things like walking, reading, writing or eating are difficult.  I am sure the list is much longer. I wouldn't know  because she never complains about the permanent altering of her life.  She just says, "I hear you."  Yeah, I thought, I should do some more "I'm listening." 

Hi! I just had PRK....a painful scraping of my eye tissue with some laser afterwords.  It takes a month to completely work like Lasik.  Why, would I be that dumb? Well, because I'm so blind I only can use this method. Hence, the ridiculous type.  After three days of weeping with the help of serious drugs and my mother's amazing help, I was a little functional.  Five days later, I drove a car without glasses or contacts. Amazing.  I'm back world...well if you can accept the use of large font and the adjustment headaches I still have.  It will only get better. Wahoo!!!

Yes, after all the talk, commercials, mailers and accusations it will be over tomorrow. Hurray. However, maybe you aren't sure for whom you want to vote.  Yes, I was worried about you. So, I would like to share a bit of information about my favorite candidate. This may help you decide.   He wrote the following blurb about his candidacy.  "There is no question that [I am] different. There are only 3 people on the ballot and SUPERDELL is the only one that is not a socialist. If you are unsure then fill your heart with love, completely open your mind and pray to God earnestly. You can't afford to get this wrong and will be held accountable for your choice." There you go. I hope that helped.

I got my eyebrows plucked a few days ago.  She was the master hair remover.  She told me she speaks Persian.  Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, she pulled out this string thing between her fingers and started removing my hair. I have read about this method before.  I have read about it in books about Iran and Iraq.  Wow! I did not think something was more painful than waxing. It kind of felt like a mix between a rug burn and a sticky rubber band.  The one wax rip is worse.   It was the tedious movement of the string that makes you want to cry "Oy enough of the rub already!"   Just to make conversation, I asked her if she did men.  Well, P. does get a monobrow sometimes.  She said, "oh just the eyebrows.  I do not do bikini or Brazilian."  Um, wait, what?!!!  What person thinks that looks good on a man?  Or more to the point, does she use that string technique?  

Speaking of raw and ridiculous, I have a nasty skin condition, psoriasis, which requires a yearly doctor visit.  It can be itchy and ugly.  Sometimes,  people may wonder if I fell on my  knees. It is just my personal pal--an ugly non-contagious skin condition.  During my yearly doctor inspection, I sat there under the bright lights while he checked all of my "areas".  As I sat in the gown, with my poor posture creating a mother-gorilla-sitting-in-the-zoo-skin-folds, I looked at the young assistant. I thought, "well, it can't get more embarrassing than this." Nope, I was wrong.   He also popped my underwear back, like a parent checking a diaper.  Yup! It doesn't get better than that.  Just in case you didn't know, psoriasis lurks on elbows, knees and bums.  So, watch out world.

I'm almost took that last post down.  It sounds so mean-spirited.  What kind of person says those things?  Well, besides me and teenagers?  I started this blog as an attempt to present another side to myself and maybe my kids.  It also feels fun to play with font/colors, say immediate things and add silly pictures.   Every time I read my journal, I think no one would believe that is me. It is  so pondering, meditative and serious.  Heavens, they might think I was some type of serious-spiritual pioneer.  Which of course, I am not.  It clearly didn't show all of me.   But, I also promised myself I wouldn't run from the ugly parts.  It just makes me feel kind of lame when I read other mother-type blogs.  They seem to rejoice in the journey, hug and kiss their young ones,  have homes knit with love and beauty, present beautiful photos of an idyllic world....and so on.  Me?  I am holding true to my promise that this venue will not run away from the bitter, sarcastic, immature,  

It has been a long ride lately.  Sometimes, my husband's company expects 60 hours, or more for a quarter of the year.  We are in that phase right now.  In addition, we are painting our kitchen. (Ha-ha to that getting done.)  Because of all that crazy, we try to combine family time, couple time and things which need to be done into one big errand.  I tried to go running, while talking to my husband and taking the kids along.  We picked a quiet part of the neighborhood.  As we headed home, we passed some young teenage girls. I looked at them and kept jogging along.    After we passed them, we heard them yell " put on some pants!"  I looked around the quiet setting. Hmmmm,  since it was just my family and those girls out there, it had to be me in my little running shorts.  Now, my legs were probably not shaved and very white.  I am knocking on the door of 40, so my skin is a losing a little firmness.   However, I am in great shape thanks. It took all of me not to march down

In my local church, I have been asked to spotlight a person of my choice.  I ask them about their present interests as well as some of their history. I got to know a person from The Greatest Generation.   This older woman has lived it all.  She had driven an old Tin Lizzy.  She watched her father die, in their home,  from cancer in his late 40s.  I'm sure he died without much pain relief or hospice care.  Thereafter, she supported her family for a while.   She told me she does not remember working for her family.  She just remembers not doing well in school that year!  Her mother reminded her she supported the family.   As I looked at her scrapbook, her husband recorded how he had never previously been asked to talk about his WWII experiences.  He was uncomfortable doing so, but shared some stories on paper. He had been a prisoner of war and had come home to live a full life.  This gentle, unassuming couple has raised a large family and lives a quiet life.  Their history contain

We decided to combine fun these last few weeks by having my husband work 70 plus hours and installing wood floors. This lovely combination has left me alone with the kids, eating out of my car and driving aimlessly.  Although I got kisses in the dark when I was half-asleep, we still weren't seeing that much of each other.  I felt a little sorry for myself and grouchy.   I have always been one for crazy dreams.  So, these lonely days created a genuine nightmare for me.  For some unknown reason, my husband was talking to me in a dream...don't know if I was married or engaged, anyway, he said it wasn't working out.  I tried to convince him otherwise.  I asked,  "who else would laugh with me, who would sit back and see the things I see, who would stick with me through everything, who would be my best friend?" I woke-up sobbing.  Fortunately, my husband was still there and I was so shaken that I sat in his arms and wept until I calmed down.   I was so strongly reminded

When I was a teenager, we used to hear the urban myth of a married couple putting pennies in a jar for each time they had sex.  Thereafter, in the years following, the couple should withdraw a penny for the same concept.  The idea being the jar would never empty.  I guess that is the myth part. Actually, I am relieved  it can still be great after ten years and three kids.    You never know how time, marriage, kids and health can impact your personal recreation.   However,  there have been a few books lately about having sex for 100 days or a year straight (what can I say, I fold laundry while watching tv).  Honey, I am not on that boat.  I don't see myself enjoying that kind of a commitment.  For me, the next morning is about smiling to myself, "Yeah, I got some."  It makes my whole day great and I think of my husband more that day.  I like the spontaneous nature of the whole thing; little else in my life feels off the cuff.  It don't eat ice cream every day either.  

We have had this grand goal of being more green.  Hence, we tried to go no car for a week this summer.  It failed after two days.  Biking with all of the kids in 101 degree heat did not go well.  Fall hit,  and I wanted to try again.  We were on day 3 of our no car pursuit.  I loaded the kids, sans cell phone and rushed to pre-school.  We were late and I was pedaling like a woman possessed.  (Yes, have I foreshadowed this enough?)  I bounced over the tracks and the trailer caught the edge of a pole.  No, of course the kids were not hurt.  The trailer slowly wobbled and squeaked.  I was only a half-mile away from my goal.  As I tried to slam the wheel back into place, a kindly older man helped me lift the cart and suggested a rock.   A few bashes later, we were on our late way.    After I picked IJ up from pre-school, I reminded myself to slow down and enjoy the day.  We took a bad brush with a prickly bush and we were done for.  Having no phone, duh, I had to figure it out alone.  I

I have been going to the local rec center for kids' swimming lessons. The last few nights I have seen two men swimming in boxers.  Why does that make me ill?  They really don't cover any more or less than swim suits.   Thank heavens they are not the peek-a-boo kind. Trust me, I checked.  Which says what about me?  I didn't stare at them forever.  So, maybe I was just lucky.  They are the plaid like joe boxers.  Yet, I kind of shudder and want to yell, "Hey we're all in this pool of bath water together here.  So,  let's have some mutually acceptable swimwear."  Maybe, I am being neurotic.  

A while ago, we had some extra money in our medical savings account which needed to be spent. I was feeling a little bold, so I picked my first pair of designer "Bebe" glasses. I was thrilled. I usually don't do extravagant things like that. So, it was fun. When I walked in the store to pick up my frames, I hopped to the counter to see my new, snazzy glasses. As I pulled out the "couture", I was stunned by how far my pathetic prescription lenses jutted past the frame. Did I mention I am unable to see the big "E"? Suddenly it seemed like a Prada bag was being stuffed with pork rinds. It dimmed the effect. Deflated, I tried them on my face. As I turned to the side, I felt all I could see were those HUGE lenses.  I was transported to those sad days when I would bring a novel to dances so I had company during the slow numbers.  Now, it may seem like an exaggeration to you. But, don't you have something that still kind of lingers from fourteen?

It doesn't seem kosher to add a political note to my current sphere of commentary. It seems LDS women stay in the family, humor and hobbies arena. What makes me nervous to comment on politics, is I am not as informed as I would like to be. I don't follow all of the specific newspapers or talkshows and programs. I don't have the time or motivation (if I were not being honest). I kind of skim and dip down and grab a bit of information. Therefore, this makes me unable to clearly explain things or provide support for all of my positions. That would be my first secret. When I am with a number of friends, whom I love, I have realized one can be drastically different in politics and yet really have the same values and beliefs. Strange as it seems, it can work. Let's accept that although I have may have personally conservative moral values, this can still steer me in a different voting direction. When I voted for John Kerry, I felt let down by the end. I don't w

I attended the funeral for a friend's mother yesterday. I was so moved by the deep love her children had for her. The stories were tender and funny as they shared personal events. Although the mother was described as being gentle, she was also a firm teacher. She didn't yell, she had humor and kindness. As I listened, I was not , as is typical of myself, let down that I would never be that kind of mom. Instead, I thought, "I could stop yelling. I could be that moderate mom who teaches by example. Heck, my kids are young enough they probably won't even remember me yelling if I stop right now!" As the dream was building in my head, I didn't feel disheartened. I felt uplifted; excited for change. My daydream stopped as my seven-year-old tugged on my sleeve. "Mom, you could probably work on the yelling." So, honesty apparently runs in my family. But, it has been one whole day and I am going to at least work on making the spaces between y

Last night, we held our closing ceremonies by turning off our over-head projector which has been on for two straight weeks. I'm feeling a lack of celebration and awe right now. So, I will give some of my highlights/observations. CHEERS A cheer to Michael Phelps for doing the impossible and really winning all those races. It really lived to its pre-race hype. He was bullied and raised by a single mom. Yet, he became a legend in one week. A cheer to Natalie du Toit for swimming 6, yes 6!, miles in open water with only one leg. A cheer to Nastia Liukin for being graceful, elegant, and showing her composure during that funky tie event. A cheer to Shawn Johnson for her cheer and indomitable spirit. A cheer to third place finisher, David Neville, for diving for a bronze in the men's 400 and being thrilled about it. It reminded me all about attitude. A cheer to Dara Torres for being classy and waiting for a stalled competitor. TEARS A tear for the sobbing almost medalist in me

Between family reunions, Breaking Dawn , Parade of Homes and the Olympics, I am experiencing a hang-over of monstrous proportions. I might return to my thoughts on Breaking Dawn later. I just wanted to make a big shout-out to all of the amazing women who are over 30 in the Olympics. We have Dara Torres the 41-year-old swimming hero, a 33-year-old vaulter from Germany, a 38-year-old mom winning the marathon and finally a 35-year-old making the finals in the open 800. Not only did these women qualify for the Olympics, they finished with medals. Hurray! Ladies, a new era has dawned. Find your dream and do it. Time and age are being redefined. These women are real mothers who have made real amazing goals. This is way better than any botox beauty in people magazine. Life is meant to be lived the entire time and not just the first twenty years. Man, I am inspired. Can you tell I am getting older this year?

I just returned from a lovely family reunion. Yes, we really did have fun. I have a much bigger problem to discuss besides family reunions. My niece taught us the great camp song about a moose. Yeah, you know, he drank a lot of juice. However, the only part I can really sing is : "Way-oh, Way-oh, wayo wayo way-oh". It has become the new rhythm to my dish washing and laundry folding. I keep muttering it under my breath. Tragically, this turrets of the song lyric s is a classic trademark for me. I think my husband generally finds it charming. Well...except for the time I kept singing one line from the Rent musical, "and pussy galore." I was at his family's house and as usual I kept humming that same awful line. He finally pulled me aside to ask me "if I understood what I was singing ?" That actually got me quiet. The list would be endless of all the silly lyrics I sing to myself. Some of my more classic song problems: Sweet Escape. I

I come from a long and hardy line of pioneer women. I am proud of all of them. But one of those proud families has left me with both a curse and blessing. I grew up with a story that has followed me wherever I went. One of these amazing ladies was on the plains and spilled her wheat somewhere en route. Being the resourceful person she was, she promptly baked bread right there. Brigham Young promised her and her family would never starve if they never wasted food. This legend still exists now. One could intellectualize this and say, "duh, if you don't waste you don't starve." However, I have always felt, possibly wrongly, that I have some special obligation to not waste food. So, I wince at quarter bits of hamburger, half-eaten apples and bits of yogurt. I hesitate and think before I throw. My fridge has been sadly filled with bite-size containers of left-overs. I imagined the bony hand of my grandmother slapping my hand if I did not take care of the small bi

I turned 39 yesterday. I wanted to embrace every year and celebrate who I am. Well, I thought about posting a picture of me in a bikini. Stop laughing now. It would be a symbolic concept of me embracing who I am. It would be bold. IT WOULD BE ON THE INTERNET!!! So, I didn't. Instead, I got up at five and tested out my new Garmin .Thanks Babe! I ate my favorite breakfast of raspberries, blueberries and strawberries with cream. Yes, you read that right--straight cream poured like milk. YUMMMMY! I then took the kiddos and did some weeding, rose clipping and porch scraping for new paint. Thereafter, I wanted to make sure I had my birthday just right. I made myself a coconut cream pie. J. thought I was a little pathetic to make my own pie. "Mom, shouldn't that be a surprise?" I explained that if one (me) is particular about one's birthday cake, one should do it themselves. I cut a quick slice, sang with the kids and then we jumped in the car for crazy day a

I have finally learned the ultimate in the difference between men and women. I had a dream I was driving an enormous bulldozer/steamroller contraption. I looked like a little Fisher-Price toy as I straddled the top of it. As I came up the street, I was stuck in a must parallel park situation. Some how, thanks to the miracle of dream technology, I parked it! I was so impressed with myself in that dream. I woke up with a sense of accomplishment. However, when I told my husband the story, he responded, "Did it have a double axel?" Hmmm, did he not just hear I parallel parked a bulldozer?!!!! I guess dream technology does not transfer to reality.

I have been going through a weird phase where I have been examining myself and trying to figure out who I am. Some of it has been reactionary to other things in my life. But, I have also noticed this declaration seems to be in the direction of what I am not . I really wonder if other mothers' children ever make them turn circles in the closet chanting dammit. Or, do others get so worked up in a spousal argument that one's own children declare "mom needs a time-out"? Even after all these life experiences and years of marriage, I still want and expect to be right and implicitly obeyed. Yes, I mean everyone. However, my husband has not signed on for that type of marriage. If I were honest with myself, I wouldn't want that kind of relationship either. I still have a lot of learning to do. So, while I am sitting here thinking of the what nots I am, I thought it might be more affirming to remind myself of what is . I am: Surprised by how much I enjoy bein

Yeah, you might be wondering how I did. I think some of the pictures say it well. " Please help me to live, please help me to live." See how excited I am? I know exactly what I am doing. Oh, the mayhem and craziness. I was kicked, hit, swum over by much greater beings. See how my BIL is running out of the water? My exit would be titled, "Thank you God! I have found the land!" I am so relieved to be finally running a race instead of biking or swimming. The swim was even tougher than I thought. No wonder swimmers look so bad. Those buoys never seem to get any closer. During the bike portion I was passed by crazy mechanical super athletes that whirred instead of making the usual bike noise. I really couldn't figure out how their $10,000 super bikes were passing my $149 Wal-mart special. (Those super-athletes were not super friendly either.) Anyhoo, the run felt good and I was able to pass people instead of erratically flailing about in open water. I had

I decided I  had to do something I have thought about for years.  I am doing a triathlon this weekend.  Really, I am a fool. I am a terrible swimmer and I hate swimming in cold, pool water.  So, of course swimming in a filthy, freezing local lake is just what I want.  I rented a wet-suit to keep me warm in the waters.  After squeezing into that thing, I have a greater appreciation for all of the batman actors/evil villains  who must wear those crazy costumes daily.   I am also not an idiot, I have been biking/running/walking for about 6 weeks.  It will be an adventure.  I have enjoyed getting out of my normal routine...so far  from my normal life.   I looked up swim times for this local race from last year.  I'm pretty sure I am going to be backstroking with the sixty-year-olds.  All of it will be a good learning experience. I think it will be very good for me to be the last person in an event. I know, you may be wondering about the lunch deal.   J. came home and wondered why all

For the last year my daughter and I have been locked in a battle over lunch.  I refuse to pack a lunch for a smart, capable elementary aged child.  When I do pack her lunch, I give her an extra job to do around the house. However, this has just given me more items to finish on my nag list.  So, I got an idea from my brother-in-law; pack a nasty lunch.  This morning I was almost gleeful to set my evil plans in motion. As I skipped to the fridge, I wondered what disgusting adult food I could give her.  I snuck out the creamy fruit parfait and chocolate brownie.  In their place, I put in a berry-fruit jello combination which she hates. I gave her a few cold, somewhat greasy twice-baked potatoes.  I ended it with some dry wheat bread and an apple.  The genius of this plan is so fun.  I am giving her food.  Hence, the school will not purchase a lunch for her.  I am not creating more nag items for my daughter. Instead, I am giving her the powerful example of action without words.  When I han

I have been gone for a while. I was gone trying to live an alternative lifestyle. I live in a community where all of the homes seem to be clean and well decorated. The women are cute and crafts abound. So, I attempted to really clean my house for a week. I had guests coming and a desire to feel more together. Oh, I scrubbed, wiped, mopped, dusted, vacuumed and worked. I was so tired! I felt like all I did was battle every day. In this city, it seems as if many of the women have the just right house, hair, clothes and kids with perfect hair. I just get worn-out from it. I am not that girl. I will probably never find the time/desire to paint my house all cute. I will probably still have to fight the urge to kick it in my sweats. I don't think I am ever going to have each room with a theme or produce items which hang on my walls and declare my life beliefs. I don't really like crafts. I don't do my hair and I prefer my kids to dress themselves. This obviously p

We have all been sick here, but we are trying to get our life back together.  My husband and I were having a dumb argument regarding "cooling the house techniques" a few days ago.  Think of it as Thermodynamics for the unlearned (me). J was observing us and commented, "Well, you should listen to Dad. Because he goes to work and you don't."  I sat there in stunned silence.  I had known the moment would come, I already had written a pre emptive journal entry to her. In that journal, I explain about my different feelings regarding women's roles,  my desires to work and be with my kids.  I  thought I had made the delicate balance between feminism pushes and my maternal pushes. However, it is in cursive .  Somehow, I thought the moment would come a little later.  Sure my husband lectured her; which he should have done.  It is just that it felt like a betrayal of what I thought I had set-up in my life.  I read. I discuss politics. I exercise.  I still sort of kno

A few years ago, I helped supervise a youth car wash.  I remember an older gentleman from our neighborhood zooming up in his red sports car.  When he rolled down his window and I tried to answer his questions, I was amused by is determination to keep listening to his cranked up Styx even when he was having a hard time hearing me.  The "concept album" was dead, but it still gushed out in its glorious combination of guitars/synthesizer and over-the-top dramatic vocals.   Although his car was red and music was loud, it struck me as all very middle-aged.   I chuckled to myself that he was not aware of how the whole scene was playing out. Time has moved on and clearly I have aged as well.  As I drove my daughter home from ballet, I found one of my great "angry anthems".   Alanis Morissette, in all her fury had once brought great comfort to me after a break-up.  I would holler along with Alanis to  "You oughta know" while driving late at night. As I zoomed up th

I am not a good person, ask anyone.  I do not possess inherent goodness.  According to Anne of Green Gables, I'm more like the person who could be wicked and isn't. I don't feel much different than any ordinary person who makes bad choices.   Perhaps,  I should explain. When I wake up in the morning, I don't sigh to myself and say, "hmmm, I need a beer or maybe I will fornicate."   However, I don't fear or shake from the concept of sin.  I just choose not to do it. Yet,  I can see how those foolish choices entice people.  Wouldn't it be a release to just say everything I thought or have some incredible anger tirade?  Or,  maybe it would be good to just be snide or openly jealous. You know,  think of any number of human desires and just give in to them.  For me, it is more about choices than desire.   That's what I mean, I fight the devil inside all the time.  The larger concepts of grand theft auto, drunkenness or immorality do stop me. Yet, once t

Last weekend I ran the half-marathon.  If one takes off the seven minutes I lost looking for a race course bathroom break, I did well.  I was pretty happy to be in the sunshine with my cute hubbie and kiddos.  However, I turned a corner and there he was....the only break-up that did not go well.  This boyfriend took  me quite a while to get over.  We talked for a while. I learned we have the same number of kids and he seems to enjoy his profession.  He asked me where I was right now.  Instead of just stating my location, I had to explain how fabulous my husband was at his job. Thus, we had received numerous job offers before we decided to be where we currently live.  Was the additional explanation of my talented husband really necessary?  Me-thinks I smell a defensive ex-girlfriend.  When I saw his sister, she told me I looked the same more than ten years later.  I replied, "Well, now I have a Masters and three kids." Did I have  to say that?  Why couldn't I have been sel

NPR has this cool segment in which people write an essay regarding a strong belief of theirs.  Well, I'm neither an English major nor strong writer. However, my essay would start woefully predictably like this: I believe in marathons . Yes, this cliche, grueling sporting event still evokes the strongest of emotions in me.  It is not a race I would recommend for everyone to try.  Nevertheless, each person can benefit from it in different ways.   One can stand and watch lithe runners string together twenty-six 4:48 miles.  Yup, you read that right.  You stand right on the street and not even hear them run by you. They seem more gazelle than struggling human.  I will never attain that kind of grace.  I love seeing it manifest in others.   On the other side, one can sit hours after the laurels have been distributed and watch moments of deeply personal triumph. I have watched people slowly cross the line with cheering friends and family.  Their faces show power gained in the battle ove

Many of you know that IJ was in a Special Ed program for communication delays. He tested out of the program last year. Each day when we chat, I consider our lives to be very blessed. I still was concerned regarding his progress, so I enrolled him in a peer pre-school program with children having developmental delays. These last few years I have watched amazing special education teachers deal with children who scream, require wheel chairs, have break-downs, require oxygen, you name it. I have seen worn-out parents looking for some sanity,  learn coping tools. I have seen these teachers tenderly lift small children into wagons while giving parents the confidence and belief that they will make it. They perform miracles each day. If you have never been, go to a developmental center and thank someone today.

So, I couldn't think of a more clever title, but I'll get back to that. You know what I learned after being in a sunshine state of bliss for seven days? Well, I must add that I did not have my kids. Marriage is a lot easier without children. Marriage is a lot easier with maids. You know, on second thought, I need to make a list. Marriage is a lot easier : without kids with maids without cooking without snow without laundry without cars with sunsets with oodles of leisure time with enough sleep with enough money (or just ignoring the bills for a week) with lush beauty surrounding you with naps with holding hands each day with laughter I know we have made it through ten years of life. We have seen each other through children, unemployment (twice), medical scares, sickness, post-partum, life-doubts, fear, anger, bad days or months, family-problems, funerals and more body-fluid incidents than I care to describe. So, these seven days of idyllic calm were so simple and joyf

A while back, I mentioned I decided to be insane and get up early and run .  Well, I did it :)  All of those early mornings have paid off.  I am running the Salt Lake Half-Marathon to celebrate a wonderful mother-in-law.  She has had such courage during her Chemo and surgeries.  I would put a picture of her here, but I don't think she would like that.  Instead, please celebrate her remission by donating to the Huntsman Cancer Institute .  For some of you, this is a repeat plea, but thanks anywhoo. 

I think there are two kinds of swearing.  There are really offensive words or tasteless words, which I avoid.  Or, there are the power words one can find in the bible.   I used to give myself full permission to use power words--don't look if offended easily--which are hell and damn.  However, I'm rethinking my position.  Yesterday, I kept it cool when IJ pushed a stick in the spinning bottom of a vacuum, stuck a stick in his sisters face to tell her he was going to "kill her",  got mud all over his new suitcase,  and peed in the garage. Yes,  I was fine.  However, it was the demonstration of his new found racquet ball which put me in the power play.  He threw the ball so it landed right in my rising rolls. If the videos in heaven got it fully, I would admit to letting a shriek, followed by heaving the ball across the kitchen with a power dammit/forceful removal of one child.  I felt awful. He cried while I apologized.  It just doesn't feel good.  Maybe I will leav

I was in the store with my youngest, when I heard a loud intake of breath with a squeak. A woman bounded over and yelled, "Oh my gosh, it's Suri! Are you her Nanny? Are you married to Tom Cruise? Is this Suri?" She was so exuberant that it took her a while to understand I had no connection to famous people. Actually, I wondered if she were a little "sloshed". However, she had already taken a picture of my daughter as we had stood there. Should this worry me? But, more importantly, does she look like Suri? I'm not sure these are the best examples. Feel free to suggest better ones.

After watching one of those movies where no one stands up for the weak, I promised myself that I knew enough to not be part of the herd.  I promised myself I would be courageous for my beliefs and to look out for others.  The other morning a woman at my local rec center said we better hurry or, "We are going to have a black president."  I was stunned for a moment.  I whispered my promise in my head, but I wasn't sure what to do without just having a lecture.  Yes, I am sadly oriented that way.  I looked at her, with some arched-eyebrow and asked, "Why?"  She told me she wasn't ready for one yet.  "Hmmm, " I said.  That was it!??? I didn't defend the defenseless, I didn't put her in her place like I see in the movies.  I was stumped and that is all I said.  As I sat in my car, a dozen other helpful comments came to my head.  (That's too bad.  Or, I voted for him.)  Those all would have been good starts.  Why is it so much harder in real

After my fun a-ha, I wanted to have fun more often.  With all of the kids off school, we went skating with the family today.  I used my razor and sailed around the rink.  The music was pumping old tunes like Ghost Busters and such.   I had that great moment again where I found myself in a zone floating to music and wearing a big smile.  It reminded me of all those joyful moments of roller skating when I was a little girl.  I would just happily hum to myself and practice my turns in people's driveways.  Today I sang really loudly and grinned.  I would keep pushing my legs harder and harder to see how fast I could go.   I've been reading that women sometimes have a hard time remembering who they were before marriage, careers and kids.   I found that bookish girl with glasses today.  

Some of you know my special son...which he is, of course. About two weeks ago, he asked me how horses go to the bathroom. I should have stopped right there. No need to post photos. I guess in some twisted world I appreciated his sincere desire to "keep it real" like the horses out there. So, imagine my horror last night when I saw dark, brown chunks of something by his door. My first thought, was much like Better Off Dead , "please God don't let be a booger." Except, I feared much worse. I solved it like any other stupid mom. I smelled it. It was chocolate. I realized it was a chewed-up version of my much coveted, secretly-stashed Lindt chocolate balls. As if poo weren't enough in my life!

Yeah, so my sister mentions that you are the "funny one".  Except, I'm not.  During the holidays we played this fun game where one created some funny line to accompany an empty New Yorker cartoon.  (Yes, typical family style, we think for fun.)  Thereafter, one reads all of the lines and people take turns voting which is funniest.  My father, the sometimes stern sometimes preacher father, received multiple votes on a variety of turns.  Yup, this foreshadowing is obvious. I didn't get one vote! I sat there in my wounded silence and thought to myself, "I don't even have funny."  What is left?  Instead of arias, sonatas, points or esoteric PhDs, what am I? Hmmm, loud and crass?  Sure, my sister can mention that I was not lost in the family.   But, what a talent and jewel, you couldn't  ignore me if you tried .  I'm going to go on America's Got Talent. I'm forming my posse now. (That's an artist's profile of Better Midler, you get the

Every family creates identities for each member. Whether you want to or not, it seems to happen.  It can be as simple as the athlete, artist or brain. But what happens when you have eleven children?  The details get more specific.   My family covered all the places: obedient eldest,  singer, pianist, flutist, dancer/singer, uber-brain, uber-popular, super-runner, rebel and so forth.  What about the child who doesn't do any of these things?  And you are not able to combine any of these, like a super combo of a theater major, what do you do?    I can do some of these things. I do them only well enough to appreciate who does it better.  Hence, I was not THE designated go-to-person for that area of speciality.  Because there are so many of us, it was easier for people to sort us into these categories.  Yes, we could discuss how everyone is an individual and that isn't fair, but let's be honest.  People do it.   My sister had a friend over, who was trying to sort out all the kid

You know those ugly things we do? Alone, when no one is watching?  Come on admit it, a pick or a scratch.  Maybe you smell your belly button lint or you take pleasure in popping a zit.  Whatever it is, it is what makes us human and vulnerable.   You really don't want anyone to know about it. But, you still do it.  I know it took several months of marriage before I was generally comfortable with my husband being with the REAL me.  The transition was necessary and funny.  However, I still kept a few tricks up my sleeve.  If some of you read this and wonder about the multiplicity of my bad habits, consider yourself more evolved than I am.  My husband saw me doing something I would prefer only the videos in heaven see. Well, I am stunned by his compassion and love.  He wasn't phased by it.   I didn't know he loved me that much.   I guess love is a miracle worker.  But, I guess I have some evolving to do.  

Two lovely people have tagged me. I didn't know one could get busted multiple times. Because one is my sister, I really have no new random facts to share besides her list. Anyhoo: 1. I still think I haven't found the sport that will perfectly mesh with me and land me in the Olympics. (ideas anyone?) 2. Although I would like to think of myself as a great intellect, the kind with radical ideas and who attend liberal universities, I'm not. My grades were not great and my grammar is lacking. I don't like Opera. I can't seem to read poetry for enjoyment and I really like People magazine. 3. I dream of climbing Mount Everest. However, I am afraid of heights and get cold easily. 4. I still adore reading a book in one delicious sitting. I have 3 kids, it's more of a fantasy really. But, I adore the concept of lying in bed and reading until 3 am. I do it once a year and generally regret it the next day. 5. I am a "boob-man". I would get them if

Slowly, as the years go, you don't notice that you have started quoting your mother or complain about taxes. But then, it hits you, " I am getting old". I went walking with my sister a few days ago and we slid in the snow. I decided to roll around like a dog and just get snowy. You know what my face looked like? Yeah, a BIG smile. And my mouth just laughed. I love New Year's Resolutions. I need to have more fun. I need to have more fun with my husband, my kids and myself. When I think of some more laugh-out-loud fun, I will share it. Maybe this will be the Year of the Fun .

It may be pms right now, but I have cried over the current political coverage. It was actually the good kind. You know, like Hillary. I was folding laundry and watched as Obama got up and hugged his wife and kids. I was riveted by the picture. I felt full of hope watching him. You can respond with all of the nay-saying you want. But, give me a chance. When have you seen such an open, dynamic race? One can believe the dream. Folks, we have: a woman, a Mormon, an African-American, an Italian whose father was in the mob, a POW semi-independent voter, a preacher and short man married to a hot, much taller woman. Get out and get excited.

As a young child, I didn't see myself becoming more and more like my mom. She never warned me there would be days like that. You know how it is, you sit around and tease your mom for what she says or does. (Well, unless you are sensitive and kind; which I am not.) But then, life slaps with the reality of who you really are! My 3-year-old wouldn't go outside in the cold. I found this lazy and boring. I couldn't convince him until I realized had the power of Mom in me. I simply told him we are going outside. "Get your gloves and boots on!" What power I felt. When he questioned, I responded, "Because, I said so." I evoke that phrase often and then mentally shake my fist at the heavens for the transformation in my life. As a teenager, I thought my mom was nuts to get up so early. Sleep was my God and mom was NOT a believer. She used to get up at some crazy hour of 5 am to study, exercise and have personal time. I never got it. A few weeks