Running Red Momma

I'm sitting here in my mom's house thinking of the past month and year. I have learned some good stuff this month. Some stuff: I realized my husband loves high heels. I know they make me stick my small butt out and make me taller--sheesh they make my feet hurt. But, he pointed out some crazy shoes that I thought were for runway models. It must be all about the hot lady, heel walk. I thought that shoe thing was a stereo-type, or at least my guy is a stereotype. In addition, I guess our marriage has been based on recurring Little House on the Prairie scenes. Our basement was flooding, I donned rubber boots and began to use a bucket for the window well. As the rain pounded on my head I couldn't lift the window grate to get to the water. After struggling to move it I began shouting in the wet dark. Finally, I stormed in where my husband was calmly setting up a pump system with his drill. "Why must you always resort to turn-of-the-century-prairie techniq

Reader's Digest recently published a list of words which are passe. For each phrase you use--give yourself a point. 1. bling I was never a fan 2. talk to the hand 3. been there done that 4. cutting edge 5. hipness 6. not As in That is so cool! NOT! 7. totally awesome Been there done that ten years ago and haven't been back 8. like She was like sha and I'm like blah 9. sell-by date I'm not sure about this one. Doesn't everyone check their milk date? 10. neat-o Maybe in the 50s! 11. diss 12 dude I use this word all the time. I use it when I'm frustrated, to sound folksy with people at cash registers and plumber/repair type people and in every day conversation. Could I sound more pretentious? I'm thinking what a dead give away of an older-white lady thinking she is "with-it" 13. with-it ouch 14. my bad uggg 15. girlfriend guilty sometimes 16. don't go there 17. bummer My score so far is 8 out of 17. So, sort of out of it. How

My mother is a product of the Depression. She has a difficult time throwing away plastic bags, envelopes or other useful items. When I was younger, she sewed my underwear (yes in junior high--which is another story.) She reused elastics from older undies to give old sheets a new life. I have noticed zig-zag stitching on a shower curtain to make it last another year. Today, I found contact lenses which e xpired in 2007 . Before you might think I find her methods amusing, which they sometimes are, I find her awe-inspiring. As a young child it felt like the big sins were murder and WASTE. I clearly understood the concept of limited resources. I was grateful for what I got. When we rarely went out, all the shakes and fries were shared. It was a big deal for me. Jeans were patched, haircuts were "bowl cuts" by mom and money was carefully spent. My mom could bargain like a swap meet hero. That woman doesn't pay full-price for much of anything. She could get more out of

Some thoughts: I want to be super thankful and uplifting in blogs, but I sometimes rant and my life is not always uplifting. I am LDS and I go to church regularly. However, that never seems to cross into my discussions here. I have some reasons. I want to swear sometimes and not be a hypocrite. I might want to mention sex (in a broad sense). Those ideas don't seem to connect. In addition, I find my faith journey to be up and down. I would worry about being a sincere person on this front. I want to be real and not be harmful in the world of LDS bloggers. (Who are we kidding? I swear almost all bloggers are LDS moms.) I am pretty sure I complain too much. You women who go forth joyfully, I read you and I rejoice with you. Keep it up. Me? I am working on finding the funny. I don't mention my blogging on facebook. I am afraid of people, who I truly respect (this would include older and much younger people), wondering about what they are reading. Then, I think stop,

In one of my favorite tv shows of all time, News Radio, the very smart hyper prepared Lisa Miller can't do a word jumble. She wonders if she is losing her smarts: Lisa Miller: Well, it's finally happened. Dave: What? Lisa Miller: I'm becoming stupid. Dave: You don't say? Lisa Miller: The brain starts to deteriorate after age thirty. Dave: Where did you hear that? Lisa Miller: I don't remember... See? See? Her solution is to eventually retake the SATs to prove to herself she is not stupid. The episode also involves arcade games and a sandwich machine...but I digress. Ever since I had the fourth kid or the "I turned forty, wow even", I have been noticing leakage. My brain is just weird. I'll be talking to the kids and lose my train of thought. I am not in the middle of a college lecture. Nope, it is more like "how did that sucker get on my butt. We really have to.....what was I saying?" I recently read a story (fiction) about a famous prof

A few days ago, my son asked me if AIS was a swear word. Feeling I was in the moment of teaching and openness, I said, "No, son. A-S-S is a swear word." Guess what my son wrote in big caps with giant chalk and lots of glee? Drrrrr.

It is late at night, but life is like a sitcom. My husband has a buddy at work. They get along great. So, we have a first date tomorrow night. He sent me a link of the wife's blog. I immediately found out she is crafty. Not like has some fun hanging and making stuff. NO! She designs pillows, quilts, repaints things and makes them cuter. Picture after picture of gorgeous designs like you see on design mom and itsy (or whatever that thing is that is sooo not me.) My husband then tells me she can program software. My response "great, not only is she crafty, she is smart." I've got nothin'! No hand. My fall back is usually claiming I am smart. Really, it is a back up to the fact I have no other talents. It is like a big smoke screen. But, if you ask my kids--well, husband is funny and I am good at having kids. Yes, stop,slow it down. I am good at having kids . I noticed they didn't even assign me gender typical talents of cooking, cleaning or nurturing

While strolling through my favorite blow-some-money-wonder-where-it-went-store (Target), I blankly smiled at some twins as I walked by them. Suddenly, their faces were clear to me in a flash. I recalled their names, personalities and the time of day I knew them. A long time ago, I taught in less than ideal circumstances. It was a trial of FIRE I tell you. Kids came in high after lunch, some were on parole. Many of them acted like they had never sat and learned. These twins exasperated me. I didn't have much control and was glad when the year with them ended. I picked myself up and tried to be a better teacher. No, they didn't apologize when they graduated and I never grew to love them. I would not describe them as my arch-enemy. Yet, my brain did say oh the "_______ twins" from 5th period! That was over 15 years ago! Immediately, I checked myself in a full-length mirror. I wanted them to know I had moved-on. I was happy and not in some kind of therapy for &q

It has been quite a while for me here in blogland. What have I been doing? Oh, getting all sorts of stressed and reading parenting books. I need a good laugh ya know. I was going to share a small vignette about my yearly lady exam. But, then hark...what if I were to run for political office? What if I were in some position in a spritual/church setting where this would be bad? (Well, let the laughter subside.) Instead, for now, let me share two lists of words. Words I like or like to say: brouhaha luminescent--so descriptive "swear words" yes that phrase. My children always ask me if I am actually swearing hooha sheesh epistemology-makes me so smart. Wait, what did she say? "mom time is over!" algorithm Words I can't say or don't like saying: crotch--personal ugg word omnipotent--who else says Omni--potent? Penelope--Penny Lope rad--as in "that is so rad" I was wrong--I prefer well....... Relax I have put myself to the challenge of finding five f

Forgive me oh beings of financial fitness, I have sinned. I lost a $10 dollar rebate check this week. It makes my .30 coupon I used for yogurt fade. I still have two wedding gift cards I was supposed to give a YEAR ago. I have two birthday checks on my desk which should have been cashed over a month ago. It shows such a total lack of respect for the great need that surrounds me. I really don't want to know how much money and pain I have created for myself over the years. The blogosphere is full of self-revelation I know. This is more of a call to change or a plea for help. How did I read those five books last month?.....Well, that should be obvious. Life and motherhood are about choices.

The anal part of me wants to have some kind of entry for August. Playing in summer is hard work! We have been doing swimming lessons, basketball camp, letter-boxing, running and a family reunion to San Diego. School is less than two weeks away. We probably need to think about it. My three-year-old is NOT going to pre-school because she refuses to use a toilet. So, I have come up with a plan to celebrate school anyway. She is a great little hiker. So, I am going to load the wee-ones and we will see what trails we can explore during the fall. That should help take the sting away from not doing school--they would have loved her. I am pretty sure the sting is for me. My half-marathon was fun. I did a little better than I thought I would. I did most of the race with my cousin. I rarely get the chance to talk with someone uninterrupted. That was one of the best parts of the race. My kids and man were great to cheer me on at the end. Surely, they are over watching mom run. I

We were driving along listening to the great song "(You gotta) fight for your right (to party)!" I found myself talking back to radio like some crazy old lady. For example: "Living at home is such a drag." Me: Don't let the door hit you on the way out! You wake up late for school and you don't wanna go....you gotta fight for your right to Paaaaaarty! Me: Yup. Good luck with that job you're going to get so you can party hard! I'm just waiting for the time I kick kids off my lawn and yell "lousy kids!" I remember sweaty days of dancing to loud music thinking I was so anti-establishment. I'd yell out lyrics while dancing thinking I was an edgy "waver"---cue safety pins, black t-shirts and over-sized trench coat. Suddenly you're an old fart talking back to the radio.

We have been enjoying our summer. Sort of. I must confess to really being stunned by how little I get done. I had visions of my summer being like this: house project day, yard work day, field trip day, library day, craft time and laundry day. Instead, I sort of find myself coping and driving kids in the car to some class. I unloaded laundry only to see my son chewing on my flip-flop. Did I stop him? Nope, he was happy and I was behind. My house kind of sits in a state like this: I wish I could better show the stacks of crap which sit around my house. We did go to Nebraska. My lovely sister joined me in Cheyenne for the adventure. As we came over the horizon, I clapped with glee when I saw the water towers, green fields and grain elevators. I had forgotten what this place had looked like.The kids saw my old house, high school, cross-country running roads, elementary school and some of my favorite places. My son sat crammed in between seats and luggage. The kids were patie

I was born with uncoordinated stamped on my butt. I couldn't jump rope until I was in sixth grade. Whenever we had relays of any kind, I would brace myself for the inevitable sighs when I was placed on a team. Volleyball made me sick to my stomach. My prayer was "please go over the net, please." Ms. Compton, the caustic gym teacher, would keep asking my brother to practice with me. Jumping jacks still sort of elude me. This all combined to give me a distrust of my body. I loathed relay games or anything involving a ball. Yet, I had this dream of being a ballet dancer. I would turn on music, close my eyes and dance to my own imagination. With my eyes closed, I could be as graceful as I hoped. Although music is consider a universal medium, dance seems to be the real communicator. Clearly it uses music to guide the experience. As I watched my daughter's ballet recital. I was awed by the beauty of this powerful art form. Music is generally experienced by

My husband is leaving for France on a business trip. He is going to be gone for two weeks. Not only do I expect a fancy French outfit, I expect I will be mopey and sad. I really don't want to be in THAT place. So, I am debating a great road trip. America is in love with a great trip. Isn't that where one finds their soul and purpose in life? However, I will be doing this alone with four kids ranging in age from 9 to 6-months. I'm not sure the nursing baby is going to make it. I thought we would visit where I grew up and go see some friends. It is a slow meandering course which almost goes two weeks. My thoughts so far: Pros: I can't wait for life to happen. It is now and can't wait for everything to be just right. If I keep waiting for all the kids to be a perfect age or for my husband to travel less, I might still be typing away thinking thoughts. I want to focus on my kids and spend significant time with them. I'm too good at being a lazy mom. It wo

Although my children are getting older, I still like to sneak up and cuddle them while they sleep. I watched my five-year-old fall asleep as I cuddled him. I couldn't believe how big he is becoming. These were the same hands I held each night when he was in NICU. The dimpled, fat hands have been replaced with mud, cuts and nails that need clipping. If a genie lamp had been there at that very moment, I would wish to hold each child as a young baby for one more long time. As I sat there pondering the brevity of it all, I got weepy. I have tried to relish my time as a mom, yet it can be so fleeting. Tears were quietly falling on his blanket as I looked at him. Suddenly, he turned gave me his firecracker smile and started picking his nose. Did he know just what I needed to stop crying? Yup, I got up, removed my hands and got on with my life.

My brother sent this picture around to my family last night. He then explained it was how I (me) would look if I had been raised by red-necks. After a tired week of kids, I got a big horse laugh from it. Some family members were concerned I would be hurt by it. But, if you knew me in my glory of youth, I did have a mangy beast of crazy hair. One friend called it a brillo pad. The look was complete with glasses and braces. Yes, I did bring science fiction novels to dances. Bring on the jabs of my looks a long time ago! I earned it. Thank heavens you can have a good chuckle at your past. It makes me feel a little more mellow and self-confident. If only my 40 year-old-self could come talk to me as I stood against the wall at dances. Now, I just need the 80 year-old -me to laugh at my 40 year-old and to remind her to get over the small stuff and take each day easy.

I have been cleaning while listening to a cd about babies. The author explains how his wife never looked as beautiful as she did while giving birth. As Mother's Day was here, I thought I would be obtuse and ask my husband if he held the same sentiment. Really, why do we do this? "Does this make me look fat? How do these pants make me look?" Or, the best, "Do you like this haircut?" So, I pushed and pulled wondering how my husband perceived this day. " Maybe husbands need to see their wives looking different to look beautiful. I always find you radiant," he said. And on it went, until in a nutshell, it really was more like "you looked like hell and totally relieved to have that baby out of there." I realize I was stupid for placing my husband in one of those dammed if you do and dammed if you don't scenarios. I just wanted the truth. I got it. We laughed at how ridiculous I was--yet I think I was definitely looking for the lie. I

I only have four kids. But, little gets done and my standards are low. This is pretty much a typical day right now: 2:30-3:00 am Feed and care for baby 5:00 -5:30 am Feed baby 7:00-8:00 am Breakfast, spelling tests and the constant phrase "get dressed, get dressed!" 8:00-9:00 am Feed baby, walk around with screaming baby, finally feed him a bottle, wonder if he is done nursing 9:15 am call neighbor ask how her kids quit nursing, get really sad that youngest is already getting older 9:30 play blocks with 3-year-old 10:00 try to get dressed and hope teeth will get brushed and I will get a shower 10:15 school principal returns call--discuss needed improvement in math program 10:30 kindergarten pick-up & grocery errands 11:30 Feed baby, wonder if G's eyes look sick, should I go to doctor? 12:30 Research pink eye and make lunch for kids--keep calling doc office to get in to office, hold two sad kids on two knees try to not let pink eye touch the baby eye 1:40 Make doc

My three-year-old excitedly showed me her hand-out from Sunday School. Usually it is a bird, bug or cute picture of Jesus. When she showed me her super-hero, lavender all-over covered action figure, I was startled with some amusement. What exactly are they teaching my daughter at church? We support burqas as long as they are feminine? We believe a woman can wear a sword as long as she covers her face? We would like to force women back a few centuries? I am not the type to make an impertinent phone call and say "my daughter....." But really what was the lesson?

Years ago, I used to love a local radio program called the Chunga Show. My husband and I listened to it as we drove to our early morning jobs. It made the dark 6 am drive bearable. We thought we would be friends with him if we were to meet him. Music was new, edgy or entertaining. As time went on, the show morphed until I found myself not enjoying his personality. He became a strange parody of himself. The conversation was self-indulgent with plenty of name dropping. The music became predictable. Commercially driven. Eventually, I thought it would be better if he left the show. He was fired yesterday. At first, to my embarrassment, I found myself grinning. "Now, we will have some change!". However, the result was automated music. Tunes are picked by lists and corporations. Naturally the model will base itself on what is commercially safe. There will be no local flavor on politics or news. Instead, the dial, already lacking in diversity, grew more uniform. At first, gl

I just got a new haircut. I looked awesome. It was blown-out and gorgeous. I then washed it. It had more grey than I ever remember. It didn't seem perky, curly or divine. It was frizzy and sad--just one more thing to poke me in the butt and scream "You are 40, HA!". Not only is the baby weight lingering. I have that soft middle, lady-with-a-brood-but-not-pregnant-look. I would like to say that this does not get to me. I would like to think of the women who have had greater struggles. Yet, I just felt crumpled inside. During this pathetic melancholy, I was cleaning and found some old photo albums. Guess what? I had frizzy, not so curly not so awesome hair. In addition, I had that great bag look of the 80s. Who knew what kind of body lurked in there? I guess I realized the outcome is the same as it was over fifteen years ago. So what if inside my head, I see myself like I am the mermaid Ariel? (bright red curly hair with a charming personality!) Most of my pictu

My daughter didn't want to put away her clothes. I told her I would do it for her if she paid me five bucks. She immediately got her birthday money and the deal was sealed. The thoughts/questions go through my head: Oops, that wasn't what I expected. I have those oops moments more than I would like to admit. Am I cheap labor? Does my daughter not get the value of money? Did she learn anything?!!! What a bum. Come on girl, what are you going to be like when you are a teenager? Oh well.... that money will go towards my more expensive hair products that make me feel guilty.

I was surfing a website and thought what do cheerleaders have to do with faith or charity? I had the usual stereotypical thoughts go through my head. Well, I guess it was time for me to think again. After watching this: I learned there are far greater people than I in this world. There are souls in this world that have the kind of love which will make powerful change. What a wonderful happy thing for me to learn.

Whenever I heard of people doing yoga, I always thought, "mehhhh, Yoga, how hard is that?" Well, land sakes, it is KILLING me! What I know right now is that I have no balance, flexibility or strength. I guess I was smug being a somewhat flexible marathon runner. I shake, breathe and tremble each time I do it. I have been so excited by what I am learning it has been fun. At the end, I feel a sense of calm that can completely energize me. I was so excited to share this sense of power and peace with my husband. Afterward, he observed, " You know what yoga is good for? Sex." Maybe yoga just gives you want/lack? Anyhow, go try it. I am a believer.

Well, I've been nursing and reading. I'll mention some of more interesting books I have read. Things they carried with them by Tim O'Brien . This books tells several points-of-view accounts in a platoon in Vietnam. It travels around in time and perspective. It examines the power of story telling in our experiences. It gave a real sense of what it was like to be there. It is a gritty account full of swearing. Wonderful writing with complex layers. On the Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta (YA). A girl is left on a small road by her mother. She encounters others who have experienced tragedy and loss. It also seems to be a mystery. It has a sense of mysticism to it. It has a lot of characters and it is difficult to follow. I wasn't sure if I even liked anyone. Suddenly, I was connected to the two main characters and left sobbing. How did she do that? The characters stayed with me and I wonder how they are. Fairest by Gail Carson Levine (YA) . I love fairy tal

A few weeks ago, I was tired of the pinching crap nursing bras I owned. I decided to march on over to a speciality store. I figured I would receive helpful assistance in finding the perfect bra. I had started running again. Although I am not huge, I am still not used to the actually bouncing of my breasts while running. So, I was looking for an excellent running bra as well. I went in; the host of the store seemed pleasant enough. Yes, she insisted on marching in and checking the fit. I will explain she was of the larger variety. Hence, a few inches probably weren't even observable by her. When she measured me, she squeezed the tape tightly and gave me the same number as my pre-pregnancy self. "No", I assured her. "If I had that kind of measurement, I would just need a thin shelf of lycra and I could be on my way." "Well, you are a small one." "Measure again!", I requested. She then went up one cup. I decided to humor her and trie

Years ago, my husband and I tentatively dipped our feet into parenting. At the time, we expressed our enjoyment of older kids and teens. We thought we would endure those "painful" newborn years. Four babies later, I was chatting with my husband on the phone while I folded newborn clothes to be shipped off to a younger sister. Without forethought or warning, I was surprised by my tears. It seemed as if my body were telling me not to skip lightly over the joy I have had with my newborns. Despite what I may vocally express or feel, my inner spirit has celebrated the creative event of having children. Yet, my human self has a hard time always being patient with the nature of living. Less than a year ago, I called my husband as I tried to wash dishes with my very pregnant belly. I was tired, frustrated and feeling useless. So, I did what any irrational pregnant woman would do. I yelled at my him. I demanded an "end-date". I wanted to know when this life of chor

My little love bug was up all hours last night and my butt was dragging today. I had NO desire to do anything responsible. But, I had to get my house/life/act together. I really was only able to start working when the music was loud. More than once, I have heard an older person say loud music is offensive or wrong. That is a complaint for this mortal plane. Well, what happens in heaven? I'm pretty sure those mansions don't clean themselves. I was wondering if they let the late night cleaning crew listen to their own music. I don't think I can mop to Bach's Sonata in G. I am figuring that if I am going to get anything done in the next life, there must be tunes! If I am going to really dwell on this, I don't want to eat fish and honeycomb in the next life either. Is there a place for folks like us? Maybe I will be the gardner for the other folks. If your butt is dragging and you aren't worried about the next life consequences, my list of energy maki

I am sitting on hold trying to sort out the typical health insurance problems. As I look at the dishes and my paper strewn desk, it seems my life is a continuous push/pull state. Sometimes, I don't yell at my kids and the house is messy. My house is clean, but I haven't exercised. I find time for a cardio workout, but I'm too tired to floss my teeth. Is that gross? I finally get around to putting on my cremes to stop those little wrinkles from appearing and then I realize I haven't had any decent conversation with my husband that night. I play with my kids and forget to make dinner. My mind is enlarged by reading a great book and I ignore my children that day. The list continues until I question the pattern of it all. Is this the purpose of life to achieve and fall in seamless motion? If everything did happen perfectly in one day, would I walk around like some Stepford standout? Would I feel happy if it all did happen "just so"? Sadly, I have the misp

Thoughts in the middle of the night: Are mean blogs more fun to read? I've noticed my "mean" ones get more comments. It would be wrong to record all of my mean thoughts, right? Sometimes my kids bore me. Does that kick me out of motherhood? Aren't blogs really quite strange in that they blend private, indulgent musings in a public medium? Although, I have one, it is this concept that makes me feel uncomfortable. Is organic food a big lie? Should the blog name be changed? "Red momma" still has the whispers of porn star or something akin to it. Maybe it should be: Red's Rambles? Forty, Four kids and Forgetful? Chitchat with Kat? Random Red? Crazy and Trying to Love it? .....uggg Was a supermajority ever a good idea? I thought it was great it ended. Yet, I still am a democrat. Does anyone read Peter Sagal? He makes me want to be a better writer. Does anything smell as good as a newborn? Maybe fresh bread. Is it so bad to sell your wedding dress? My m

I have kept a journal since I was nine-years-old. This allows me to quickly see how that my spastic nature has been with me always. I like to make resolutions, so I checked on my "post" from 1981....don't worry if you haven't been born yet. I am sure this peek in the past is full of wisdom for all generations. Hmmmm, let's see: 1981 Goals: Wash hair 3-4 times a week Keep money records Keep room clean Stop hitting brothers When I like a guy don't tell anyone Eat right Brush teeth Yeah, I was surprised by how little I need to change for this year's list. Having a newborn brings one down to the basics. Except for hitting my brothers, I think the goals still stand for now. I would add a few thoughts I have for the present. 2010 hopes: I will be present in my relationships--this includes not surfing the computer or emailing while on the phone. I want to do one push-up by the end of the year. I would like to be a listener instead of a talker. Play with my k

I got a letter today from BYU looking for donations. It asked me a set of questions which should evoke memories of my college days. Dear Mrs B. (Don't they know I have never gone by Mrs and that I hyphenate?) Do I remember? Eating in the Wilk? No, I usually gulped down sandwiches from the machine in the math building. (tuna fish no less!) Studying in the Lee? Yes, for hours. (My favorite was the loud music they played at midnight.) Praying in the Testing Center? No, maybe muttering/mumbling to myself about a super-hard test a professor created or quietly laughing because it was hopeless. Dancing in the ballroom? Nope, being that I am most uncoordinated---I feared I would always dance with just other women or continue my amazing abilities at guarding the wall during dances. Jogging around the track? Yes, in winter. Brick Oven? I think five buck pizza or Taco Bell at 1 am was more on my wallet. "Come, Come, Ye Saints" on the carillon bells? Yes, always made me laugh be

I have been out of the game for a while. I confess that having a lot of small children just keeps me out of the loop. Yet, others seem to blog, twitter and do what not with their young. Eventually, I played with the idea of shutting down my blog because I wanted to be more present with my children. My blog is not a job. However, for the moment, it still provides an outlet for me. Seven weeks ago, I had a new baby, some may want to hear the short story. It is good for me to record it. I have had a lot of drama at birth with NICU. This time, I wanted a peaceful event. I read all sorts of birthing books including several that were Hypno-birthing. I wanted to sit in blessed silence and "breathe" my baby down the canal. However, I knew I would not sit in the midst of singing/guitar playing women or keep my placenta for the freezer. I do draw the line between natural and funky. Late, the night I was due, I had my daughter paint my toenails, packed my bag and took a shower