Mucus Days

January 21, 2014 by · Leave a Comment

I spent yesterday huddled up in bed, crocheting, blowing snot (the truth is sometimes messy and gross), and watching movies. Occasionally I would venture out into the wild blue living room.

On one of these occasions, I was trying to, um, clear my throat of mucus. Do you know what that sounds like? Trenton called out from across the room, “Right, Mom! Gag it up! You can do it!”

My little hero.

…who leaves his coloring books in stacks of tires. That’s normal, right? For boys, I mean.

There’s a few of you out there (Hi, Mom) that love movie recommendations, and I’m here to let you know that yesterday I watched a million.
You know about Pride and Prejudice. I’m assuming you know about it. There’s a bunch of different versions out there and bunch of different spin-offs (I’m looking at you “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies”)… and I’ve never really bought into much.
The LDS version of Pride and Prejudice was pretty witty, and I’m not just saying that because at one point F. Scott Fitzgerald is quoted. I’m saying that because it’s true. The acting is pretty awful, but I love the movie. Unabashedly.
Apart from that, I’m a hater. I was pretty hesitant to check this one out, but because I’m on a crazy murder/mystery kick (not a sure-fire cure for insomnia, just FYI) I gave it a try. I was pleasantly surprised. The Mr. Darcy in this version of a Pride and Prejudice is my all-time favorite ever (Sorry, Colin).

The series (there’s three hour-long episodes) (not be be confused with three-hour long, follow?) is “Death Comes to Pemberely.”

Basically it’s where husbands and wives meet… as in my husband got sucked into it as well and he’s not ashamed because it’s not about love.  It’s about death and mystery and justice.   I didn’t beg him to watch, he didn’t owe me any favors.  He just hunkered down next to me with a bowl of popcorn and started saying things like, “That freakin’ Wickham is a jerk wad.”

Which we all knew.  But anyway.  There is one sex scene (stupid make up sex) that can be fast-forwarded through.

You can watch it by going HERE.  No Netflix needed.

Incidentally, you can also use that site to watch Downton, Call the Midwife, and Sherlock.  Merry Christmas.  (And DO watch the Call the Midwife Christmas episode.)

Seriously, if you haven’t watched “Call the Midwife”… DO.  Each episode moves me.  There’s no sex in it (but there are babies being born, so maybe don’t let your kids watch with you.  So many questions you won’t want to answer because you’ll be to wrapped up in a good story).

If you do have Netflix, check out “A Foreign Field.”  The A is important because “Foreign Field” is a different movie entirely.

This one made me cry in a happy sentimental way which didn’t help the mucus situation.  But it made me laugh, and it’s one of those movies that makes you feel like you’ve really accomplished something when you’re done watching it… as if your soul has had a hearty work out of sorts.

Lastly, if you have Amazon Prime (which we do because we used their free trial and forgot to cancel it -sneaky buggers.  Classic rookie mistake)… check out “Good Eats.”  It’s cheesy but educational.  The kids will love it, and again: you’ll feel as if you’ve accomplished something amazing (brain work out).

Now if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got just enough time to start another murder mystery and hot pad (with new yarn!) before my piana lessons get here.

Just remember: if ever you find yourself laden with mucus, I’m your girl for movie recommendations.  Or just watch all of the Anne of Green Gables movies.  Sure fire winners, those.

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Ring Out, Wild Bells

January 20, 2014 by · 2 Comments

I just want to first make it clear that I once spent TWO HOURS writing a post detailing the second half of October and it got deleted. I was devastated. Two hours I’ll never get back! Apparently, I was so devastated I quit blogging for a few months.

I fully enjoy writing, and if I don’t do it everyday I go a little crazy which is why my husband commissioned this piece of jewelry for me for Christmas:

And please do yourself a favor by “liking” the page of the woman who made my lovely bling. Clella Belle Beads is downright darling.

So confession: I’ve still been writing, I just haven’t been sharing. Isn’t that weird? I tell you everything. My Glass House has suddenly been boarded up, I guess. I’m still struggling to write in this space, but I still pay my monthly fee to keep it up. I’m hoping this is a phase, one that will pass and one in which I’ll bounce back from like a frickin’ Hydra. Where there was once one head, awful circumstances chopped it off and I grew two back… or something like that.

I love my calling right now. I love to sit at the organ every Sunday and hide behind an array of bright, glowing buttons. The hymns are one way my Father in Heaven speaks directly to me. Playing them, reading them, hearing them, being so closely involved with them every week has proved to be one of my greatest blessings in life.

A few weeks, ago we sang “Ring Out, Wild Bells.” Have you ever head it? It’s no pep rally.
“The year is dying in the night. Ring out, wild bells and let it die.”

As I played this song, I just wanted to cry (who doesn’t, right? Thanks, Tennyson).
But honestly, this year has been very hard in a lot of ways -some obvious, some not. I’m happy to see it go. I want to wash my hands of it, and the last thing I want to do is document much of it here. I’m fine documenting what I’ve learned from it, but as far as the WHAT of this year… let it die.

I’m happy to post some pictures of the good -always more than happy to post pictures of the good. There’s good everywhere, you know? Even in a house full of sick people (that’s us), there’s still tons of good.
For example *ahem* the fish are alive! This is good news, people. Lacy had a beautiful pink fish for 5 whole years until Trenton decided to put his hands in the tank… like 15 times in one hour. The next morning, the hardy little fish (seriously don’t know how it survived so long!) was at long last dade.
We buried it, per Lacy’s request. Trenton took the money he’s earning daily by shoveling dog poop (it builds character, right?) and bought her a new one. He also bought himself a very small shark-fish, and the next morning? Dade.
We traded them in for alive fish, and today BOTH fish are alive. That’s good.

I not only survived nine weeks of my husband working out of town for training, but I THRIVED. I owned those weeks. That’s good.

We stayed in our budget for Christmas! That’s good.
We didn’t send out half of our Christmas cards. That’s not wholly good, but not wholly bad. Yahoo for fence sitting?
Santa knew what Lacy wanted, “even though I didn’t know about it, know that what it was, but I did want it, but I didn’t know…” (what she was trying to say through her half-awake state was simply that all she asked Santa for was piano books, but he brought her a loom as well). That’s good.

Santa ordered a guitar for Trenton online only to have it arrive and be SO SMALL (but still so pricey!) and then was able to sneak in a Wal-Mart special two days before Christmas. That’s good.

Alice got everything she didn’t know she wanted, either. That’s good.

Love that little overwhelmed, angry face.
Too much joy! Too much wrapping! Too much, too much, too much!

Alice did something marvelous and turned ONE. It was by far the simplest little one year old party I’ve ever done, but she couldn’t care less. She tore into her hostess cupcake with true determination, and I love her for it. That’s good.

Lacy did something marvelous and turned SEVEN.

Trenton did something marvelous and learned how to take selfies.

All good! All good things.

As for ringing in the new, we ended up in the ER with Alice who drank some clear, liquid sunscreen (the poor dear), and we’ve all been taking turns being sickly.

Today is definitely my turn. I’m curled up in bed under a thick blanket, teeming with aches and mucus.
But I’ve got my crochet hook, and that’s good.

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Octubre Uno

November 21, 2013 by · 1 Comment

Last month was October, and October of 2013 turned out to be pretty amazing for Alicia Deets.

My husband has been out of town during the weeks for work, so we crammed a lot of living into our weekends. My weeks have been full of a gigantic appreciation for single moms and single working moms. The majority of my pay has gone to sitters and we’ve eaten a lot of stuff we shouldn’t (Ramen) and hardly anything wholesome (broccoli).

I’m going to catalog the first half of the month by weekends.
K?

The first weekend was my 10 year class reunion. I love my class -I’ve been looking forward to the reunion for a long time! It was so great to hang out with some of people I truly care for. They’re creative and funny and only 67% more tired than they were on our Senior Class Trip. As we ate sandwiches and chips and crepes at the park, we all stood around under the sun and visited while children ran around yelling and having a blast.
The kids had all the energy in the world. Yes, THE CHILDREN took our energy. And it’s okay. They’re going to need it more than we will I think.
We went to the Homecoming Game where everyone froze their buns off except Alice Michelle.

Around this time, my Dad was still in the hospital so I was pretty absent blogging-wise. I was also very absent housekeeping wise, and my sweet sweet sweet angel aunts came and filled my house with their goodness and cleaning skills and apples.

Because my house was clean and wonderful I was able to have Rial and Lisa over which means I was able to have Ronan over which means Alice is betrothed.

The first weekend in October was full of worry, memories, smiles, love, and General Conference.
The second weekend in October was dedicated wholly to Just Us.
It involved driving a pick-up into the wild blue yonder and shooting stuff. I shot (camera) a picture of my littlest looking her absolute littlest against a background I like to call The Vast Expanse of the Arizona Desert. Mira:

It also involved an on going sand fight and ended in us taking a picture the only way we could get everyone in… everyone’s shadow and Alice’s legs. Ole!

It did not involve make up.

But he still looks good without it.

We spent our evening making popcorn balls using the Rice Crispie Treat Method. Melt butter, add mallows (eat a few first) and then add popped popcorn. Have the kids pretend the stick of butter is lotion (they will either love or hate this) and then have them shape the gooey popcorn into balls.
BAM!
No candy thermometer needed.

The kids went bonkers over the tiny root beers. We all sat together and watched a movie. What movie? I have no idea. It was THAT good.
The third weekend I boarded a plane. It sounds SO simple, but really. It meant packing up three kids and driving into the sun with double vision (the Dr. says my left eye and right aren’t in alignment which is a very Alicia condition to deal with and matches my stumpy right leg). My nerves were a big fat bundle of fun…. and by fun I mean “fun.” I used almost an entire bottle of my tummy-ache essential oils and single-handedly (is that a word?) drank nigh-unto-a-gallon of Sprite. But it was all worth it because I arrived in Utah unscathed.
I saw D. Todd Christofferson in the SLC airport, so when I say I arrived in Utah I mean… I ARRIVED in UTAH and was promptly safely deposited into the hands of my very best friend, Tia.
Which means I was deposited into the hands of Illa’s Mom which means I’ve arranged for Alice to have a very best friend as well… a different kind of betrothal.

Tia fed me the minute I walked into her home, and then she fed me again a few hours later… treating me to my first ever Cafe Rio experience.
AND THEN she treated me to my very first ever Salt Lake Temple experience which was life-changing for me.

My little sister joined us, and we took the opportunity to wander the halls a bit. So BEAUTIFUL! I highly recommend wandering the halls of a Temple. We were even able to peak around the room where the brides dress. It made the little girl in me do cartwheels.
The next morning, Tia treated me to my very first ever Mickey Mouse waffle which was also life-changing in it’s own special way:

After breakfast, we hit up Temple Square (something I’ve been wanting to do for a very long time).
There’s a MUSEUM full of CHURCH HISTORY. Can you imagine? Do you even KNOW?! I don’t even know how people in Utah don’t die of excitement and splendor.

We all took turns at a pulpit built just like the one they speak from at Conference. It felt natural. And by natural I mean silly.

Tia snapped a picture of Julianne and I looking at a display in the visitor’s center. It reminded me of Zoolander… “What is this? A center for ants?! It needs to be at least… THREE TIMES this big!”

And then she snapped a picture of my sweet sister and I standing right where we wish we could be always. She’s always been the Mary to my Martha.

Just before leaving, a sister missionary took our picture for us. A wonderful, memorable weekend that I will NEVER forget.

I hugged my Julianne goodbye and waited at Tia’s home for my Steven to come and get me… and was challenged to play a game which made me feel wholly inadequate when I lost and extremely BOSS when I didn’t lose.

Steve took me out on the town and -true to the nature of every host I encountered on my Utah trip -FED me. It was so great to be back with him. He’s the Frost to my Robert.

Yessir, he is wonderfee.

At this point, we’re going to play Intermission. Depend upon it, there is an Octubre Dos just around the bend. Batten down your sombreros.

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It’s Own Kind of Typhoon

November 19, 2013 by · Leave a Comment

Have you read in the news about the Typhoons overseas (because I can’t spell Phillipines Phillippenes FILL-IH-PEENS)? It’s heartbreaking. It can make you cry tears of sorrow, worry and joy. There’s so much good rising out of the muck.

Sometimes I read about Typhoons and wildfires and I hate myself. I think about how ungrateful I am, about how what bothers me doesn’t really merit being bothered. My mind begins forming a smug little ball of self-loathing that grows and grows and collects more self-hatred as I walk along.
All it takes is a few days for me to start feeling like the living embodiment of PPMS (Perpetual PMS). I’m grouchy day in and day out. It doesn’t matter if I’ve taken proper care of myself or not: no amount of yoga and green drinks and detox baths and crafting and writing can make me behave any better.
The truth is: when I hate me, I hate everything.

The news never stops streaming stories about problems bigger than mine, and I never stop grovelling in my own loathing.

But there’s something I believe in now that I didn’t believe in a few years ago, and that’s simply (forgive me if I’ve said this before) “comparison is the thief of joy” applies to trials as well as blessings.

And I’m pretty sure ANY woman who has been through a typhoon would still have her panties in a wad after the two days I’ve had.
Can I just tell you about them and toss a few pictures in? Please?

Let’s begin our story with Alice. It’s important for you to keep in mind as I go on telling my story that she is teething.

She doesn’t discriminate when it comes to teething toys. All are equal in her eyes.

Teething is a sort of stage, right? It comes and then it goes. Lacy is going through some stages right now as well. School has been awesome for her -she’s motivated and driven. Lacy excels in so many ways.
But Lacy going to school has been bad for me. Why? Because Lacy feels and has audibly admitted that she knows better than Mom sometimes.
A few weeks ago, she asked me for a drink. I handed her the cup I’d been drinking out of which still had a good amount of water left in it.
“Hey, I can’t drink that,” she said.
“Why not?” I shrugged.
“Because!” Her expression was one of obvious surprise, but it shifted quickly into pity, “Oh, you don’t know about germs…”

And then I had to prove myself to a six year old.

She argues with me constantly over HER way of doing things because it is superior to my way. It kind of reminds me of that one little girl who argued passionately over the name of the Flower Plant.
“It’s the POWER PLANT honey,” her mother insisted, “It’s where we get our lights and electricity from.”
“It’s the FLOWER PLANT,” she said, “It’s where flowers come from.”

And that little girl was me.
But ANYWAY.
*ahem*

Lacy is forever correcting me.
“You’re chewing with your mouth open, Mom.”
“You just bonked the baby’s head, Mom.”
“You just got water in her eyes, Mom.”
“That’s not the way to brush my hair.”

This also means that when I ask her to do something, she will argue with me about it.
And speaking of stages Trenton has decided to regress to being two. Whenever he is told “no” he bursts into tears, falls flat on the floor and cries.
He has mastered glaring -really, it’s an art for him now -and he has little desire to eat anything that looks “weird” which means he eats bread.
Sometimes.

No, you can’t watch TV today because you’ve been watching too much and Lacy, PLEASE don’t make me ask again… put your backpack on your doorknob and take your coat with -TRENTON GET OFF THE BABY! SON! She can’t breathe when you sit on her but I bet she would appreciate her bottle if you don’t mind, Lacy where is the baby’s bottle? Can you get it? No! Don’t RACE each other. Guys, STOP! This is ridiculous -stop hitting, no fighting, go to the corner, and if you….
STOP.
IT.
NOW!!!!!!!!!!! Now, I’ve had enough! Both of you go to bed.

Tears commence.
Guilt ensues.
And the baby is still crying.

I was able to put together a rather decent dinner and an even better apology for the children. They accepted the apology but rejected the dinner:

(French bread pizzas, how could they hate it so much?)

One went off to bed because that’s the choice he made (don’t listen if he tries to tell you different, it just isn’t true). The other joined me for a few Charlie Brown episodes while I crocheted and the baby tangled my yarn.

We watched a Mormon Message:

And then Lacy said family prayers.
“And please bless Mom to not be on the naughty list even though she’s mean…”

AMEN.

The great thing about “mean” days is that they end. They are not eternal. I woke up this morning determined to have a “nice” day. I took the kids to work with me.
The baby cried.
The boy cried because he wanted to go play with his cousin Kylie, who -by the way -loves my kitten, Prince, and insists he look at the camera when his picture is being taken.

We made it through our morning shift and came home. Coming home is glorious unless you’ve left wedding pictures out.
“Awwww, these are from the days when you were skinny and now you’re fat, fat, fat!” Trenton said.
I wanted to cry, but the baby was… so I hid my tears behind the words, “Having babies makes Moms bigger. I had three babies and my body is bigger.”
It was my passive-aggressive version of, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!”

He didn’t understand and therefore didn’t apologize which I took personally.
Not really…

Instead I phoned a close friend and had a soul-searching conversation in the which I realized just how much I’d been hating on my po’ ol’ self, and I hung up the phone with firm resolve to eat a brownie in it’s entirety before facing the world again.
I put the three children in the car and noticed my son carrying around a Pringles container.

I asked him what was in it. He didn’t want to show me and insisted on guarding it with his LIFE.
“Son, if you don’t tell me what’s in there, you can’t have a treat at the store.”
So he SHOWED me…
Of course I had to ask him to get rid of it, and when he refused I had to REASON with him. He finally agreed and got rid of the mouse by emptying it the exact same way someone would throw water in someone else’s face.
Luckily I wasn’t standing directly in front of him.
But you couldn’t tell by the way I screamed…
FLYING MOUSE! FLYING MOUSE!!

I jumped into the driver’s seat and quickly started the car.

It died.

Of course it died.
Cars always die. Working as a mechanic’s secretary has made QUITE the morbid out of me. If you need me, you’ll find me hunkered behind the desk with pale skin and black lipstick.
“Cars die to feel…”

I loaded everyone up in our old pick-up truck and drove them to the shop where I reported my battery issue and was handed an envelope. I opened it to find a GIFT CERTIFICATE for a massage.

You know that feeling when you turn over the Monopoly “CHANCE” card and it reads, “Get out of jail free”? Multiply that feeling by one hundred billion… and that’s how I felt.
Every fat, mean mother with a cranky baby deserves a massage!
(and you CAN quote me on that, but um… don’t.)

Today I am grateful.
Yes, I’m grateful I’m not enduring the awfulness of typhoon aftermath. But it’s okay that I’m even more grateful for Subway, Infant Tylenol, and a mechanic who makes house calls, gives massage gift certificates, and dishes out TLC in the form of chocolate milk to grandkids in need.
And did I mention he gave me a cookie? Gosh, I’m grateful for Dads.

Stay tuned and I’ll tell you about The Oak Ridge Boys concert he took me to. Danny heard them for the very first time and hasn’t stopped singing “Elvira” to me… only he uses my name.
“Uh-lee-shuh.”

Ooom-pah-pah!

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But Only For Free

November 12, 2013 by · Leave a Comment

I went out with my husband the other night (to Stake Conference!) and as I got dressed I realized something nutty.
I only never buy clothes.

I’m really picky about my style, and I never buy clothes. NOT because I’m picky but because I’m cheap. On any given day, I can put an outfit on and some part of it is sure to have been free. The rest is from the clearance rack. Or Goodwill. Or Linda Miller’s yard sale (I told you: I’m picky).

As it turns out, it isn’t just clothes. It ANYTHING. If I have to pay full price for anything, I end up hating whatever I buy… and myself. It’s easier for everyone (thinking of the children, here) if I just make it myself or find something similar at a yard sale.

Guess what I did Thursday?
(But first watch this video and only this video because Catherine Tate can get prrrreeettty, um, tasteless):

So.
Guess what I did Thursday? (It’s just a bit of FUN!)
I cleaned. I went to work and then I cleaned. This means that by the time Monday came, the house looked worse than it did on Wednesday. Naturally. Monday was a holiday, so I was able to spend the day with my kids. I even -with some hesitation -took them to work with me. Sometimes when they tag along, it’s sort of like That One Kid Movie where everything goes so wrong that you rue the day you pressed the “play” button. What’s it called again? Jumanji?
But yesterday they were awesome. Lacy took it upon herself to bring in customers, and Trent tagged along with a weapon (which I promptly took away).

“Welcome to aer (our) Hansen Auto Repair Shop. Phone: 288-3769 Cars only. Tips. 1 Penny Will Do.”
(Apparently, I passed my cheap genes on?)

(Check out the tip jar sitting on the ground!)

After working a little in the morning, I came home and started picking up this and that, washing down this, throwing away that, holding a shirt, taking out the trash… and the entire time, I was getting after the kids.
Stop that, do THIS!
(There’s a lot of this and that at my house, okay?)

I finally sat down in a huff and texted my husband my frustration: All I do is work and then clean. I have no soul and life. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t stay ahead of anything in this house.
And then my hormones hit “SEND”

He texted back, “I’m sorry you’re having a rough day”
To which I did not reply but put my phone down and let the kids run rampant, as all children ought to do from time to time. I picked up a framed painting a friend had given me a few days earlier.
I took the painting out (because I hate cactus, I don’t care if that somehow makes me an disloyal Arizonian) because the frame had amazing potential (even though it is chipping away). I tossed the painting in the trash can (it kind of felt good) and then I came back inside to stare at the frame until my parched creativity came up with something.
Which it did.
And so I went back outside, pulled the painting from the trash, and painted OVER the painting.
“Every good woman should have flat black paint on hand for days when the children are running rampant.” ~Alicia Deets

I texted that picture to my husband and he replied, “Cool. Where did you put it?”
Note: school husband in female lingo. Powder room = Potty room.
While I waited for the black paint to dry, I took a wire hanger from my closet and (wow, this is getting embarrassing) went to my trash to get the empty frozen lasagna box.
(The Safeway brand is so good. No foolin’)
I bent the hanger into a circle (of sorts) and cut a circle from the box. I hot glued and packing taped the two together. Then I went to my garden and picked a bunch of corn that had dried up.
I went to work with my hot glue and ambition:

So many times during the 40 minutes it took to make this wreath, I almost gave up completely. Because apparently I’m cheap AND impatient.
Lucky Danny.
But I soldiered on into the very LAST glue stick and…

It won’t last through the season, but at least I have a soul again.

And Alice? Alice has new tricks (thanks for asking):

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We Are Family

November 4, 2013 by · 2 Comments

Last year, I took family pictures pretty soon after Halloween. Because I was pregnant and due during the Christmas season, I put our tree up pretty fast. I made and assembled the traditional gingerbread house. We took pictures in our home wearing what we felt comfortable in.
I will forever treasure the pictures from that photo shoot. My aunt Cat worked so nicely with us as we wrestled in our front room and took a time out to take pictures of my big belly.

This year, I didn’t have the energy to do pictures of my natural life. I didn’t have what it took to clean my house so we could live in it because the baby has been born and within the last month or so, she has gone seriously active.
Seriously.

This year, I was firm in my decision to put myself 100% in Cat’s hands. I wanted her to do the posing, the location, the everything. I went to Wal-Mart and bought a few new shirts that were void of stains and glued some fake eyelashes on myself because I’ve learned from past experience that stains show up in pictures and eyelashes do not.

In 45 minutes, Cat produced some phenomenal (Lacy’s new favorite word, in case you were wondering) family pictures. I’m so proud of them!
I love the location. I love that our clothes aren’t so matchy-match that they distract from everything else (I’m only saying that because I don’t actually know how to matchy-match). I love that there’s no stains (for ONCE!) and I love that you can see our personalities.

There’s Alice Michelle who was teething and more excited about fallen leaves than the camera:

And who gets mad when OTHER children are allowed to dig in and play but SHE has to be HELD (the audacity of some parents)…

There’s Trenton who is a boy. and five.

He’s also handsome and funny, if he’d ever let you have the chance to see that side of him.
I love him.

And Danny loves him.

There’s Lacy who smiles and poses always. And who wants nothing but two front teeth.

And there’s us. The us that made them.

The us that laugh when the other whispers, “I farted…”

The us that loves them.

And when we all come together, it looks a little like:
Carefree Lacy
Laughing Trenton
Disinterested Alice
Concerned Mama
Proud Papa

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I Was Good

October 28, 2013 by · 2 Comments

I’ve been entrenched in honestly lately.

I keep looking in the mirror and seeing things as they really are, not as I would hope them to be. I look literally in the mirror and see MORE of myself than there was a few years ago. There’s more around my middle, stretch marks that gleam in a holographic and fascinating sort of way, winkles and bags around my blue eyes.
I used to will them away -wish them gone.

Today I can look in the mirror and honestly treasure it all -the WHOLE package. I want my lines and my thickness. They all mean something -they’re signs of what I’ve done, who I am and everything I’m capable of handling.

I love what I can see on the surface. My honesty has gone deeper than my skin, however, and I’m finding a gigantic lack of perfection throughout.
At this point, I’m going to leave the definition of “perfection” up to media because so far as I can see, there isn’t a satisfiable definition out there -there’s only an appetite.

Did you know I’m a terrible housekeeper? I’m awful. BLOODY awful.
Organizing is so foreign to me. It doesn’t make any SENSE in my head.

I can’t coordinate colors or apply make-up very well. I don’t follow any trends because I’m terrible at them and keep finding that I actually hate them (Chevron? It’s not pretty. Hombre? Stop.) because they don’t jive with anything I like… which happens to be everything everyone 80+ is currently enjoying.

I eat cookies. A LOT of cookies.
I haven’t been able to work out in a long time, but I still eat cookies. I ate cookies for breakfast and I gave the kids cookies for breakfast.

I forget to send thank you notes, but I write a lot of them.
I forget the birthdays of the people I love dearly but always remember random birthdays of people I knew ages ago who probably don’t remember me at all.
I don’t take care of animals very well, but that didn’t stop me from picking up a kitten. I didn’t consult anyone. I just saw a kitten, wanted it, and snagged it up. And I have to be honest… this little prince has my heart and soul. He gets extra food and love and I’m quite certain I’m his favorite.

I’m spontaneous but I hate change. I hate shopping unless I’m alone in an antique/thrift store… or a yard sale.

And I’ve been grieving lately. I have a job, you know? It’s part time and family friendly. The environment is great, the people I work with and for are amazing (Hi, Mom!) and I’m very blessed to be where I am.
I was LED to my job. Heavenly Father worked everything out and handed it to me, all tied up in a neat, vibrant bow.

But I realized, even as I unwrapped the gift, that unwrapping one gift meant boxing another up tight.

I’m not longer a stay-at-home Mom. I work part time. My routine of cleaning on Monday and cooking on Tuesday is gone. I’m lucky to clean at all anymore. I don’t have Wednesdays for laundry and Thursdays for shopping. There’s no crafting on Fridays.
There’s no home preschool, and the amount of home made meals in our home has decreased from 4-7 a week to 2-3.
I said goodbye to naps, to spending all day in yoga pants, to spontaneous mid-morning crafting with my kids.

I KNOW this needs to happen. This is supposed to happen, and there’s no way in heaven that the Lord would hand me one gift if He wasn’t sure I could handle boxing the other up.
This is good. This is okay.

But guys… I was GOOD.
I was a good stay at home Mom. And sometimes I cry about it, and that’s okay too.
Because along with being unorganized and absent-minded (SOMEone might have just asked her optometrist to fax her obstetrician records to another office… oops. and gross) I am an emotional creature by nature.

And when I read articles about shiny, happy Mormon Mommy blogs, I only make it half way through before exiting out as fast as my pointer finger can “clickclickclickclickCLICKCLICK!”

While my home may not be shiny, it is full. And while I may not be ever-present to plan themed parties and decorate my home the way a mother “should” (whoever came up with that standard…) I do other things. And I do them REALLY well.

I’m creative and insightful. I work hard and I’m a fighter. I fight for what I believe in.
I listen to my inner voice, and I know when to stand up for myself. I use words to express myself. I use my hands to make music with several instruments. I crochet. I know how to bake.
I tell stories and read poetry to my children. Teaching comes naturally to me, and I love to laugh. I find humor everywhere. My life and wardrobe are full of color. My home decor doesn’t reflect any kind of magazine, but it does reflect ME (unless my husband had his way with it, and he often does because sometimes ME is a little too colorful for his comfort).
I’m a daughter of God, a mother of three, and an important person.

THAT is what I see when I look in the mirror.
I didn’t used to, but I do now. What changed? I changed. How did I change? Lots of harrowing hours of Soul Work that led me intentionally toward the art of surrender and the Savior’s atonement.

Today I can feel my grief as I slowly box up my stay-at-home package. I know it needs to be done, and I feel peace. But feeling peace doesn’t always mean I don’t feel grief.
I will feel it -let it wash over me -and I will give it to God. I’ll probably have to do it again tomorrow and again and again and again, but that’s okay. Heavenly Father will catch me.

Even now, I can sense Him behind me, pushing me up and forward. I’m hesitant and digging my heels in, but He’s behind me, both hands on my back… saying, “It’s time. It’s fine. I’m here. Go… forward.”

Today I will go forward with imperfection and grief and humor.
And caramel apples. For obvious reasons.

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It’s No Big Deal

October 14, 2013 by · 1 Comment

Today I woke up early and made breakfast.

That was my first mistake. Making breakfast CAN be a good thing unless it makes me late for work because I still have to run up to the convenience store to get snacks DESPITE the fact that I HAD snacks but somewhere between Friday and Monday morning, they all disappeared which shouldn’t surprise me, and it doesn’t -not REALLY -but it does irritate me, so I pack up the kids, a picnic breakfast for them to eat while I work, a makeshift “discovery” game (Columbus style!), an iPad for rest time, and a diaper bag.
Of course the kids didn’t finish their breakfast, but they did finish their treats.
And the baby ate 5 cookies for brunch. FIVE cookies and one bottle.
There are 15 cookies in one package. This means I ate 14 cookies because only one cookie was given away to my sweet nephew, and the empty package was thrown away as I left work today.
Speaking of which, I can field calls with a crying baby in my arms and then I can field phone calls with a sleeping baby on my chest because I just happen to live in a town where I can peaceably explain to Sam that Sorry, I can’t speak up, there’s a sleeping baby on my chest, and he chuckles sweetly like every grandpa should. And we all know Sam is a wonderful grandpa and that his wife makes the best cinnamon rolls.
Ten minutes later, Sam is in the shop getting a new battery and the baby is still snoring on my chest.
During this time, I return three texts and cancel a Dr’s appointment for tomorrow.
I also hit up the family dentist about my receding gums and receive the rather startling news that I’m getting old (gums kinda naturally recede with age) at which point I turn to the packaged Chips Ahoy cookies and drown my sorrows in the poison that receded my gums in the first place.
(PS: you can go ahead and pay me for the dental advice I just gave you. I’ll pass the cash onto Uncle Clarence.)

I pulled into my driveway in the late afternoon and my phone rang. It was my sister. I quickly answered and was overjoyed that she’s on Verizon because I’m almost over my minutes, but I can talk to her forever for FREE.
I never go over my minutes.
But if there ever was any month that would throw me over my minutes, this last month would be that month.
The kids find a snake on the lawn. I bring them inside. I go outside to check the snake and can’t find it.
I hope the cat does…

The kids eat muddy buddies and I watch Downton Abbey for 50 blessed zoned-out minutes.
At 7, I lose all memory of every single night from the previous year and take my children -at SEVEN, mind you -to my grand-parents house where they promptly lose all sense of manners and go absolutely crazy, exactly as they’ve done at promptly SEVEN PM every single night this past year. Sorry for all the redundancy in that last sentence. But anyway: they’re hyper and disobedient, and after an hour I pull back into my own driveway and let them know how I didn’t appreciate how disrespectful their behavior was this evening.
My daughter tells me I’m mean and that she can’t wait to visit her Grammy.
“Do you think Grammy will be okay with your crazy behavior?”
“Well, I won’t do it for HER.”

I make it inside.
Trenton pees on his bedroom carpet because the bathroom is apparently just TOOOOO far and he couldn’t make it in time.
I cover the tomatoes with a tarp so they don’t freeze.
I take one more phone call (for free, since I can’t afford to give up my minutes).
My daughter hands me a handwritten note of apology with a stick of my own gum attached to it, “I am sorry Mom I did not act raspect Full I love you Do you love me Nest time I will be Raspect Full Love Lacy”
I secretly love run on sentences (and sometimes use them to lead into posts -like I did today -it emphasizes the extent of the firing shortages in my brain).
A metal waterbottle full of water was dropped on the carpet and one big toe is red and throbbing while one giant spot on my carpet is soaked THROUGH… not 15 minutes after my son soaked his own piece of carpet. The theme of the night is wet carpet.

And finally, as I’m winding down and unable to create a post with any form or consistency… my children are sitting on the couch together, reading a book quietly while the baby coos contentedly on the floor as she crawls from one end of the living room to the other.
She has a tooth now, you know? She got it yesterday. It’s brand new. Who wants to tell her what happens to it when she turns 28? Receding gums are no raspector of persons. At least she’ll always have Chips Ahoy. Unless the government steps in, but I digress…

In a few minutes, I’ll be asleep.
And a few hours after that, I’ll be right back at it again.

It’s no big deal.

(“He looks like a pink nightmare!” ~Ralpie’s Ol’ Man)

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The Past Will Set You Free

October 12, 2013 by · Leave a Comment

There’s a bunch of quotes being circulated about how we shouldn’t live in the past.

I think they’re all bunk.

Okay, not really. But I spend the majority of my time living in the past: reading old family journals, scouring black and white pictures, drooling over antiques, listening to my Nat King Cole Pandora Station, watching old movies.

It used to be just something that made me happy, but lately, it’s becoming more of a way of life. I find solace in the past -the music is safe, the movies are safe. I don’t have to hide my kids’ eyes or my own eyes or do any kind of fast forwarding. I can just let the music play and let the movies run… there’s comfort in them. They make me feel warm. They make me feel home.

Today will be no different.

My life lately has been a rapid succession of hurried things. My phone is ringing like crazy, my front door seems to be revolving, and my ten month old can’t understand why I’m not holding her all of the time.
(Actually, it’s a good question. She’s VERY cute.)

But today. This morning.
Life has slowed down. My phone is silent. My door is closed. My computer is singing with Etta Fitzgerald. I’m wearing a sweater.
My birds are softly singing along to the music.

In a few minutes, I’ll bake something.
And this afternoon, I’m going to pull my entire family together for homemade popcorn, hot chocolate with mini-warshmallows (Trenton’s special name for them), and an old movie.

The theme for today will be CALM SURRENDER, black and white style.

Because after the weekend is over, my phone will ring again. The present will manifest itself, and in that moment I will either regret or rejoice.
I’d rather rejoice in spending my weekend all wrapped up in my family, muted trumpets, and homemade goodies than regret that I accomplished anything else.

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It’s All For a Good Cause

October 9, 2013 by · 2 Comments

There’s this fairy awesome scene in the movie “Oklahoma!” (and yes, I sing that every time I spell it) where a community gets together to build a schoolhouse and raise money for it.

I always think of that scene when our little town gets together for a good cause.

Someone heads it up, everyone pitches in, there’s food and guns involved… It’s wonderful.

(picture taken at an auction/benefit for Austin Bushman)

That said: I’m normally not at a loss for words, especially as concerns Our Great Community, but there are some people, some experiences, some memories that just can’t be put into words. There’s a sort of reverence about them that makes the idea of attempting to assign words to them seem insufficient.

Speaking of old movies, I watched one last night. It was “Hondo” with John Wayne. When things in life start to get to me, I always end up curled up on the couch in my PJs with a comfort movie. Thanks to my Dad, John Wayne is one of my main comfort voices (along with the entire cast of Bonanza, including Hop Sing). Hondo Lane is part Cherokee, and he takes the opportunity in the movie to explain that in the Cherokee language, there’s certain words that don’t translate to English… the English language lacks the vocabulary to properly explain what one Cherokee word means.

I feel that way about my Dad.
I’ve sat down at least 5 times to write this post -tried composing it in my head a hundred times.

What it all comes down to is that I don’t know how to properly do this whole thing justice.

There’s no word that conveys my gratitude for what’s happening, and there’s no word that conveys the level of love and honor I hold for my Dad.

So I’ll simply say this:

I ought to be surprised at the enthusiasm in which Our Great Community has poured out their generous hearts for my Dad… but I’m not surprised because my Dad really is THAT awesome. He’s ever giving, ever steady, and ever ready to BE the one pouring out. I’ve always wanted nothing more than to give something back -ANYTHING back. But there was never a chance, I was never truly needed enough.
But now I am.

I love that so many others seem to feel the exact same way.

Dad’s benefit is going to be a GREAT experience, and I can’t wait to share it (and my Dad!) with you.

There will be a Zumbathon on October 25th at the Old Gym from 6-8 pm. Pay $10 at the door and then dance your heart out!
The next day (the 26th) there will be a dinner and program at the LDS cultural hall starting at 5:30. You really CAN’T miss out on this one because
1) The dinner will be enchiladas, and I don’t know but Joe City women can’t spit out the BEST enchiladas North of the Mexican border.
2) I will be debuting Docile Jean to the public.
3) If you don’t know who Docile Jean is, you need to. She’s very dear to my soul.

After dinner, there’s an auction at the Old Gym (where Dad used to play basketball in shorts that should have been at least 10 inches longer, but I digress) as well as a Bake Sale.
There’s going to be two Mel Bradshaw paintings up for auction, a head of beef, guns, goodies, and everything you could ever wish for to complete your Christmas shopping!
Deanne Smith headed this entire event up and here’s the information in her own words:
“Some of the things donated so far are event tickets (don’t know for sure for what but like for instance maybe Suns game tickets; chose of new lap top or computer; new house size steel wood stove; beef; guns; quilts; Mel Bradshaw’s donating 2 of his prints with Rich and Linda Miller framing them; a twisted rope halter; maybe a pickup or even 2; I have talked to some people about donating tickets to the National Finals Rodeo and it is looking good that we can get them. Got my fingers crossed! Anyway, tell everyone to keep the good things coming, the more the merrier. Email me at jdndsmith1@yahoo.com or call or text me at 928-587-1214 if you have something to donate. Thank you so much!!”

And here’s the facebook page for the event:
https://www.facebook.com/events/509264355832240/?ref_dashboard_filter=calendar

Come out -it’s for more than a good cause… it’s for The Salt of the Earth.
In the meantime, while you wait for ALL of the excitement of the benefit… here’s a video to pacify you.  It’s of my baby.  putting her finger.  in her mouth.

It doesn’t get much more exciting than this, folks.  Serious.

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