Wednesday, November 08, 2017


Getting older is interesting. On the one hand, there is all the suck involved with my body starting to break down in earnest. My day is bracketed with pills I take immediately upon arising, the pills I take an hour to an hour and a half after that, the pills I take with dinner, and then that last pill directly before laying down at night.

Seriously. The conversations I have with the geriatrics in my neighborhood.

One bonus of age, is that my ability to do and to serve has been increased. My comprehension of what needs doing to run a home and a homeschool, and the organization to make it happen has been supercharged.

And that's great. It really is. But now I have reached the end of everything. The end of my abilities and the end of my spiritual and emotional stamina, along with the meager physical stamina of a body on the wane.

I am staring down the barrel of my 50's, and I have a niggling fear that I have made a grave error. I suspect that raising teenagers is a younger woman's game. 

I have more thoughts. But it's time to go and stir the beast. Time to start the day.

I miss coffee.

Thursday, November 02, 2017


Tonight was a gathering of the ladies in my church congregation the theme was gratitude.

In my gift bag I took:
Tube of Orange Mango Blistex
Pack of Minty Gum
Small Bottle of Scented Lotion
Travel Size Spritzer of Poo-Pourri
                                 ...and a poem.


I am grateful for mortality,
I give thanks, I really do!
But some "smells" come with bodies
Like…. Take for instance “poo.”

Sometimes bodies can be bummers
Like with headaches
And chapped lips,
Stomach flu and colds and such
That cause unhealthy drips.

Bad breath, B.O.
The list goes on and on,
But eight bucks was the limit
So a line had to be drawn.

Fruity Blistex and some lotion
Gum and Poo-Pourri
Enjoy this little gift of scents
Just for you,

From me!

Wednesday, November 01, 2017

Happy Freaking Halloween

I don't know what happened.

This is the day after Halloween and I have a costume hangover. I swear off the fancy stuff, the elaborate and the time-consuming. 

The time I spent helping kids and actually making the costumery this past month and a half was unreal.  It was fun and the results were cool... but I will never do it again. 

Check it out....



Y'all... those kids designed their own costumes. I made those lace up aviator boots with steam punk detailing by hand. We tracked down all of the pre-made bits from second hand stores and cos-play eBay sites. I learned how to make armor from EVA foam and a heat gun and paint. 

Even with all the DIY and the second hand, I can't bring myself to think about how much money was spent.

Henry is wearing the same mask and carrying a knife just like Dadguy did last year. Birdie is wearing most of the elements from her last years Death Eater costume.

Do you know how much more the above two loved their costumes than the other two who just used these bits from other costumes?



I'll give you a hint... the Steampunk Angel? Took off her costume (including the aviator boot-toppers) and dug around in the costume box last night when it came time to go trick or treating. She put on a black cloak and accessorized with a hot pink hair bow and a hot pink belt. She called herself a "vampire" and that was that. 

We had spent so much time getting it "right" that she was bored with the stupid thing by the time it mattered.

I. Am. So. Done.

*Edited to add: Really? I was showing these pictures to a group of women at my church, and an older woman just informed me that LaLa's outfit is too sexy. After I had explained how long it TOOK ME TO MAKE IT. Too sexy? Not! Sorry. Whatever. Shut up. Who says crap like that?

Monday, October 23, 2017


What's messy?

Life is messy.

What's messier than life?

Life with kids.

What's messier than that? 

Life with artistic kids.




Sunday, October 22, 2017


   I have been struggling with questions. 

   Lots of questions. Grundles and truckloads of them. Things that had never bothered me before, festering and confusing. Mostly centering around my eternal identity as a woman, and the veiled nature of my Heavenly Mother. 

   I am an LDS woman, and we believe that as a counterpart to our Father in Heaven, we have a Divine Mother. She was Mother to our Savior before Mary. She is Mother to us all. So, while all of the visible Priesthood responsibility in mortality falls to the men, giving the church the aspect of Ultimate Patriarchy, the eternal reality of our existence must be something different. It has to be. 

   If the organization of the family here on earth is a type and a shadow of Family in Heaven... well. Just think! What must our Mother be?! 

  But here is where I get confused, women need each other. In so many ways we need each other in a way that men do not need each other. We need the support of other women, and we need to watch older women and see how things are done.  When it comes to being a mother, ourselves, having an example of what to do and how is so very vital.

   Any woman who has ever attempted breastfeeding, can I get an amen? 
   It makes no sense then,  that we have all the appearance of having been ditched, here on earth, by the one source of strength that we need the most. 

   Really? What gives?

   Right. I know. You don't have the answer.

   I had been studying, and studying it out. Praying and pondering. During my personal prayers the week before last, I felt very strongly that I needed to go and speak to my Bishop. 
 "Really," I thought? "What can he possibly tell me that I haven't already found?" 

   Took me a week call and make the appointment, but then last Tuesday finally rolled around, and I went in and talked the man's ear off.  Two hours of download. Poor guy.

   The next morning he dropped two books off at my door and texted me to let me know they were there. He also informed me that he felt that my questions were inspired questions from Heavenly Father, that He wanted me to search and ponder for answers. For some reason, I had simply assumed that the questions were from my faithless and restless brain. 

  Well. Changes everything!

   One of the books he lent me is Patricia T. Holland's "A Quiet Heart." Not yet done with it, but I see that this is a book that I need a copy of my own. This is exactly the book I needed, and I see that I am only just scraping the surface of this.  I also see that this book is gonna make a superior gift for every LDS woman I know.

  Funny... the book itself  is a pretty little journal thing with a photo of a white rose on the cover and roses printed on the side of each page like some sort of nicey-nice bit of fluff.  I will admit to some skepticism as I flipped through it and saw that it came complete with a cream colored ribbon attached to mark your place. 

   Y'all. This is no nicey-nice fluff. It addresses my more serious questions head on, and I am adoring this woman, this wife of an Apostle of Christ.

   Today when Dadguy walked past the table where I was sitting and reading, I told him that I was going to need my own copy of this book for highlighting and writing in the margins. He seemed surprised, did I mention that the thing looks like an overly flowery book of cheesy poetry? I told him that Sister Holland was directly speaking so many of my concerns. 

   Birdie was standing nearby, listening like a hawk. I'm not 100% sure what all of this means to her, but I hope at least she will learn that God has room for the honest questions of a seeker.  I hope she will understand that the concerns of a daughter matter.

   "Wow, really?" says Dadguy, "should I read it too, then?"

   "Well," I reply, "it's written specifically for women, but yeah.... you should totally read it."

   "Whatever," scoffs Dadguy, "I've read Twilight, you know!"

   Bwahahahaaaaa! That's my guy. My sweet, sweet Dadguy!

Friday, October 20, 2017

You Do You

   Last night I was chatting with a group of women from my neighborhood. We are Utah-Mormon women, so that means we are also all in the same church group. It came up that a newly "empty-nester" couple had sold their home and were in the process of downsizing.  I fantasized out loud about downsizing.
   The things. They pile up.
   Sick of cleaning the house, and yard work, and dinner, and, and, and... Like a dumb-ass I listed all the things that suck down my days. One of the women looks at me and says "why don't you outsource some of it?"
   Actually, I have been considering getting a guy  or a crew or someone to come in and prune and prep the yard for winter. Or, ya know, just let everything go to heck the way I do every year. I angst every year till it snows for really-reals, and then, oh well.
   I curse myself for that decision every spring as I muck out the flowerbeds.
   I say, "yeah, I've been considering that." Sweet visions of a truck full of guys to do all the things so I don't have to.
   "They have these things called schools, you know," she smirks back at me, "you could send your kids there and it would free you up for everything else."
   I forgot. This particular woman has raised her children, all of whom are hyper- successful and happy products of public education and a good, solid wallop of higher education to boot. We have had a conversation before where she kindly explained to me what a disaster it will be if my kids don't get a diploma and a degree or better, several degrees.
   Look. I don't think homeschooling is for everyone. If you send your kids to the local public school or go charter or private.... whatever. It's your thing. You do you.
   I get that not everyone approves of what we do, or believe that it is a good idea. At all.
   We homeschool. 
   It is difficult and exhausting.
   Why on earth would I outsource one of my favorite things?  Why would I chuck all the personal revelation from my God, all of the gains my children have made, and all of the blessings?
   My fault for putting Homeschooling on the list of what my day is. 
   Let me be clear: Homeschool is up there with food, raising my kids, and prayer.  Not out sourcing any of it. Except for the occasional trip to Del Taco.
  Because tacos.
  Sometimes you just need a big bag of tacos, and maybe a crew of guys to fix up the yard.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


I am so very, very done with the overuse of the word. 

Every time I turn around, people are applying the term to other people, their actions, and beliefs in such a grand sweeping label  that it is now just pissing me off.

You believe something that I don't like or disagree with? Then you are "hateful." That idea is "hateful," that ideology is "hateful."

People seem to be using it when they mean "thoughtless" or "different priorities," or "paradigm I don't like."

At this point the word means "hateful,' about as much as "literally" actually means "literally" in the mouth of a Millenial. (hint: it now can just mean "very," or "really"....  it literally doesn't mean literally anymore)

Stop it. Stop using that word. The word HATE and HATEFUL. It no longer means ANYTHING.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Failing Sucks


Here I sit in the ruins of a Saturday. 

What a miserable, unfortunate day. 

I tried to rest up from my hectic week. I tried to be good wife. I tried to be a good mother. Tried to take care of a list of things that really needed to be done. 

Tried and failed. 

We talk about failure and failing a good bit as a family, or at least I talk to the kids about it. How it's a good thing. How that's the way we learn and grow. 

Seems to me that this was not one of those "good" fails. 

At least the only take-away i seem to come up with, alone at the laptop after a nice, ugly cry, is that next time I oughta just pick one thing and do it and to heck with the rest. 

My Pearl reminded me that we made it to her 8:30am soccer game, and that I was there to "support her" and that was a good thing.

... so I guess it should be said that I didn't screw absolutely EVERYTHING up.


Thursday, April 20, 2017

What The Duck?

First thing this morning I see this. 

So. Apparently the duck is not narcoleptic. He just likes to kick it in the middle of the road. Is matter of preference. I guess.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Stupid Duck

   Once upon a time there was a duck who suffered from narcolepsy.

   What's that you say? You don't know what narcolepsy is?! Do you not know how to use a dictionary?
   Go right on ahead. I'll wait.
   Great! Now that you know that narcolepsy is a medical condition that causes the sufferer to fall asleep at just about any time, you will not be shocked at the beginning of my story.

   Once upon a time there was a duck who suffered from narcolepsy.

   What's that you say? You don't see how falling asleep all the time is a "medical condition?" Well, just imagine that nearly any time you sat down to relax, you may or may not just go to sleep. Imagine that you were headed out to take a lovely springtime walk and right outside your yard, in the middle of the road there was a duck taking a snooze. Iridescent green head tucked under wing, looking like a pillow on the asphalt.

   Can you see how the might not work out so well for the bird?

   Well. I can think of a few mishaps a duck like that might encounter after napping in the road. Like getting run over. By a car.

   No, it didn't get run over. But it could've! Like, if the car was really quiet, and the driver wasn't watching for ducks.


   The kids ran out and woke up the duck, and it flew away.

Saturday, April 08, 2017


Gonna post. I swear Imma gonna post!

One of the blogs I have been following for, like, forever, has got the Patriarchy Blues and put out a call for blogs. Plain old, everyday type bloggery.

I want to oblige with a post. 

But I keep struggling with those same PBs. The regular everyday kind, plus the special brand of Patriarchy that comes with my religion. Sigh.

Technically I know I should go and have a chat with my Bishop, but that's a double whammy. Pretty sure there is nothing he can tell me that I haven't already found, or don't already know. Plus if he ends up saying something like, "well, women have the babies and men hold the Priesthood." That's just whammy numero uno. Whammy numero dos is when I become one of "those women."

I read this article the other day... and it starts to sound pretty good, till I realized that it's just a fancy version of the Babies/Priesthood explanation. With trees!

... and I want to be able to just put my concerns to bed, but those suckers are like four year olds on crack. The night before leaving for Disneyland. 

Perhaps I should blog about all the muck spinning around my head. Maybe it would help me work through it. But a few weeks ago I decided to just doubt my doubts for a while. So. Naptime, I guess? Y'all are spared a theological trip through the under brain of themama.

You're Welcome!

... and get this, I apparently can't type in my own blog addy correctly, so I just went on a random and nutsy side trip down Google-Yourself lane. Seriously? Someone posed as me to make a random comment on a random Tumblr.

Since I know ya don't want to go looking through the comment section... they posed as me to say:

"Hey, jsut wanted tosay my personal experience with Minecraft is that kids love it My daughter even had a minecraft birthday party:
Thanks for keeping kids engaged and going the extra mile to make learning fun!"

What the heck?!? Bwahahahaaahaaaaa!

Experiencing relief on a visceral level that Pearls ball python actually ate for the first time in three months. He had gone from eating live kills once a week to zilch over the winter, and since we just got this guy last October, it was NERVEWRACKING. I he sick? Is this normal for him?  Finally he deigned to eat a warmed up pre-killed rat in the dark of the night. Just like a little, special snowflake, diva serpent. 

"I just need my space! Don't watch me eat! makes me uncomfortable! Does this rat make me look fat?"

Having pets sucks. 

Reading the Reckoners series by Brandon Sanderson. Just started the second book. So far, I highly recommend it. Pretty curious as to where it's headed. Is like a strange mashup of X-men and Marvel.... only there are no heroes. Anyone who gets the powers are turned evil. Yikes!

Thinking I might just start photoblogging to document the horrific amount of work I have put into, and continue to put into homeschooling and the stupid yard. 

There. Everyday and ordinary. Scattered, but ordinary life.