Sometimes Country Livin’ Ain’t So Simple

What do you do the minute you start to feel cruddy?  I don’t know about you, but I start rifling through the herbs in my herb hoard.  I was surprised to come across this:


Something my husband had bought while away at training.  This stuff… is pure magic. Don’t take that to mean it’s pleasant. It’s definitely medicinal, and it gave me bad breath from sun up to sun down and then some. With 360 mg of garlic clove in it, it’s no wonder. The bottle asked me to take three twice a day, so I did. And you know what? I was flat on my back for one solid day, and today I’m only partially on my back! I’ll take it! I will TAKE that. Want to know why? I mean, aside from the obvious “I just want to feel good” part.
I have SO much to do!

This is my favorite time of year for several reasons:
Candy Corn
Trent’s Birthday
Fresh Garden Produce
The County Fair
Football Games

The last four, by the way, are happening tomorrow. And guess what makes that even MORE awesome? I’ve got to somehow pry myself OFF the couch and into the shower and into some clothes and DO MY SHOPPING.
Today’s To-Do list looks something like this:

Clean Kitchen
Sterilize jars
Can Jalapenos
Go Shopping (preferably in the city because I need to find a way to make a Toy Story Cake AND I need Sam’s Club)
Clean the kids’ mattress. Again.
Plan our Sharing Time for Primary

Oh yeah, and cook meals. But that’s easy, right? No problem, right?

It will all work out. It will all be okay. Want to know why?
I have magic herbs.

AND I have the cutest son in the ENTIRE world who makes me want to absolutely do anything just to see him smile, even if it means tromping out-of-doors with my pockets filled with Kleenex and a few ounces of courage.

My life is usually so simple.
But today? The Country isn’t all it leads on to be… it’s secretly hectic.

Now if you’ll excuse me: my Amish baked oatmeal is just coming out of the oven, and it’s got my name on it. Literally. Tia actually had my name put on the pan I cooked it in.
Tia is awesome.

“Out, Out -“

This isn’t my picture.
I copied it from a website where I could tell it had been copied from someone else, so I didn’t bother citing.


Wednesday is laundry day, and what a perfect timing. Can I sit on my couch and fold clothes while streaming movies all day long? Yes. THAT I can do.
If I rest enough and if the herbs I’m taking do their job, I’ll be back on my feet in time for the county fair and my son’s #3 birthday AND the football game against Mogollon.
Isn’t that this Friday?
In the meantime… *achoo!*


For over a year, I’ve had the BEST calling in the world. I loved it SO much -and I couldn’t get enough of it! Every Sunday and Wednesday, I got to see my 12 and 13 year old girls. They told me all about school -all about home. They had a way of making me feel like a million bucks (“Sister Deets, you look like a movie star! I love your hair -it makes your eyes sparkle!” —hello, Compliment I Will Be Living On For the Next 5 Years!). I would be happy to be a Young Women Leader for the remainder of my days.
So when I got a new calling a couple of weeks ago, I spent an entire day engulfed in tears.
And yes, “engulfed” is the right word.

I was brave about it, you know, at first. But if life has taught me anything lately, it’s that you have to DEAL with emotion right when it smacks you across the brow or it will grow like a cancer inside your soul until it erupts in some unexpected, ugly mess that you wish you could take back.
I was brave for all of 5 minutes when I was in the Bishop’s office accepting my calling, but the minute I got to my car and gigantic sunglasses were safely over my face… it all poured out.
As we turned out of the church parking lot and onto the street, I cried out, “I won’t get to see them every Sunday!”
As we turned onto the next street I cried out, “I won’t get to see them every Wednesday!”
And as we turned onto the NEXT street I blared, “I WON’T GET TO GO TO THE TEMPLE WITH THEM!”
Once home, my husband wrapped his arm around me and told me it was okay to refuse callings. He was genuinely worried I was going to lose my mind, poor soul.

Deep, deep down I knew my new calling was for me, and I knew the girls would be put in the hands of someone more deserving and more capable. But as I made Sunday dinner, I privately devised ways to keep myself involved with the Young Women. I was overcome with jealousy, thinking about someone else having “MY” calling. Eventually, after I went through all of the grieving stages (and a few other stages unrelated to grieving), I moved into acceptance.
I sat down at my computer to DEAL with my emotions so they’d stop bubbling up every time I thought of “my” girls.
I wrote them a letter.
But first, I made sure my Kleenex box was right under my nose.

And so I’ve got to say goodbye to them. It makes my heart ache so much you’d think I was about to die. It seems silly, but love has a way of making us all seem silly -even if it isn’t the Romeo and Juliet kind.

I’ll always love “my” girls. No matter how old they get, where they go, or what they do… they’ll always be my girls.

And if one small group of young women can rake my heart over like this, I wonder what an entire Primary will do. Only the future will tell.
And if anyone has any hints, tips, or tricks for a new Primary President, I’m all ears.

Speaking of ears… Dad’s getting ready to sell his fresh corn. He doesn’t have a HUGE field like he used to, so hurry and place your orders! It’s the BEST corn in the world -and it freezes well. There’s nothing better than a bowl of corn chowder in the middle of winter. I promise. No matter what my KIDS say… there’s nothing better!

Personal Space?

The minute my kids wake up, they look for me. If I’m not in my bed, they comb the tiny house looking for me. When they find me, we hug and we visit for a minute. Throughout the day, they continue to find me. If I’m doing my hair and make-up in my bathroom, they are jumping on my bed. If I’m cooking in the kitchen, they’re standing next to me on chairs. In the middle of the night, they find me.
Even now, as I type, my son plunked himself down on my elbow making typing a fun sort of challenge.

I want to ask them “why?”
“What’s so great about just being in mom’s space? Don’t you have games and crayons and puzzles in your room? There’s nothing fun about my space!”
But I don’t need to ask them because I remember. I remember the feeling of just wanting to be NEAR my mother, no matter what she was doing. I remember sitting at her feet while she crocheted. I remember following her around simply because I just wanted to be with her, no other reason.

And you know what that makes me now? The life of the party.

I don’t mind it. I’ve never been the life of the party before.
I’ll still occasionally lock my door when I need a brief minute to just unwind (or -let’s face it -get DRESSED), but for the most part it makes me happy.
I mean really… in ten years will I get a picture like that? Forget it. But don’t think I won’t be finding THEM every morning and sort of following them around the house… just to be near them.

I need to keep this relationship strong, people. Someday they’ll be gone, and I’ll need them to trust me enough to leave their toddlers with me.
Grandmas love nothing more than to be the life of the party.

Roger Ramjet

My Dad called me up last night and asked if the kids would like to come up and watch “Roger Ramjet.”

I told him I had never heard of it.
Have you?

Dad sang the theme song for me which, while entertaining, didn’t clue me in at all… I had never heard of it. After the kids cleaned their room, we headed up to watch.
We all laughed so hard -the humor in it is classic.

In the middle of the show, the girl was asked to take off her Grandpa’s boots. This might seem insignificant to you, but to US -those of us raised under Dad’s roof -it really means something. Dad used to pay us a quarter a boot to take his boots off. Now we’ve jumped a generation.
And due to inflation, the laborer now gets $1 a boot.
It’s hard work… not to be taken lightly. If done right, it can exhaust you!

Now go pop a proton pill and fight some crooks!
My daily crooks today are disguised as laundry, dishes, a dirty floor, and a basin full of jalapeno peppers waiting to be canned.

From the Files

I have a slew of pictures that I’ve been wanting to blog about, but things kept coming up.  Today is finally THEIR day.  Read on, completely aware that they are unrelated.
I love signs like this, found in my small town post office:
I love the penned-in reply, but I especially love how it says (at my house). You just don’t get homey stuff like that in the suburbs.

My daughter clipped and painted her own nails, and then she made this face:
Her faces just get me. Where does she come up with them? Heaven only knows. Heaven and Lacy.

My Grandpa Max gave me some squash seeds. I planted all of 2 of them, fully expecting my black thumb to slaughter them both. But they both grew to astronomical sizes until one finally BEAT the other one to death.
And guess what I have to show for it?
One squash. But, BOY was it worth having over 1/3 of our garden overrun. Over ran? I don’t know. I cooked that squash up (it is orange on the inside) and made it into one of the tastiest butternut squash pies I’ve ever had.
I saved the seeds. If you’d like one, let me know. It only takes one. Truuuust me.

The girl got her hair tangled up in a comb in a very bad way.
It was wrapped around the base! Of course the thought occurred to me to cut her hair, but it would have jutted out from a bald spot (she’d already ripped some hair out) in a weird spot on her hair (I can’t help but think of Rachael Green… “we had to cut it… and it was uneven for weeks!!!”). So we weaseled it outta there.

A few weeks ago, someone put a frog in the front pocket of my son’s church shirt:
My son, it must be known, hates creepy crawlies of any kind. His sister loves them and catches them with her bare hands (I can’t count the Mason Jars in my house filled with bugs), but the boy? He’d rather eat lima beans than hold a frog. But he didn’t mind it in his pocket. In fact, he loved it. He paraded around Grandma’s house, showing everyone his pocket-frog.
But then.
Oh, the screams! The horrors! A jumping FROG!

He couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t until the frog was safely outside that order was restored to my son. It turns out some little boys actually aren’t made of frogs and snails and puppy dog tails. SOME boys are made of Marvel.

All he wants is action figures. Iron man, The Hulk… he loves them. I picked up a bunch of tiny action figurines (army man sized) and ended up caught in a series of battles that lasted 30 minutes (of which I didn’t get to win once).
Iron Man trumps all.

And this made me laugh:
Does anyone else look at this and think “Nimbus 2000″?

The Standard

As my husband and I walked out of the movie theater Saturday night, we had a lot to talk about. “The Help” is the kind of movie that stays with you and gets you thinking. It teaches while it entertains. As we walked through the parking lot and made our way back to the Bed and Breakfast, my husband talked about racism. I talked about the housewives.

(image via

The housewives were all so “perfect.” Their hair was always in place, their clothes were always perfectly worn and perfectly accessorized. Their houses were clean and they always had food on the table.
And YET.
All I had to say about them was how dysfunctional they were! Their attitudes -their actions and behaviors were so far from healthy.
So WHY do I hold myself to their standards every single day?
Why do I hold myself to the standards of dysfunctional women who look gorgeous every single day but don’t clean their own house, raise their own children, or cook food for their family?
They had a maid, for crying out loud! And I spend every day carrying guilt when I don’t somehow meet up to their standards. Isn’t that ridiculous? It is -but I’m sure I’m not the only one.
There have been a few glorious days when I’ve looked smashing, cooked smashing food, and cleaned my house like there was no tomorrow.
And at the end of the day, there was NOTHING left of me. My husband came home to what I thought was his (and my) ideal, and there was nothing for him but some tasty food (which, let’s face it, only goes so far).
And so I laughed at myself, heartily, as we drove back to our room.
Do you know what? I’m a terrible housekeeper, but I’m a good cook. I’m lousy at prioritizing, but I’m a good mom. I don’t look perfect every day, but I get my make-up on most days.
And isn’t THAT the ideal: a tricky sort of balance between what I can and can’t do? Truth be told, I could really use a cleaning lady, but I’ll get by for now. I’m not terrible at it, you know. It’s just that there’s 3 of them and one of me.
It won’t always be like that.
Someday there will be four of them and one of me. Ha!

All I’m trying to say is: ease up on yourself today. Stare your limits in the face and then give them a great, big hug. We are not all made to be perfect. We’re made to help each other on the road TO perfection, and what could be better than that?
Not even a sparkling clean house, freshly manicured nails, and a fresh peach pie on the table.



Marriage is what brought us togevah… this weekend. The room we stayed in was actually a super-secret library. Our bed was one of the awesome sort that actually are pulled down from the wall.

It was beyond cozy. I snagged “Julia & Julia” from the shelves and leafed through it, laughing at the Julia parts and rolling my eyes over the incessant use of the “F” word. Julie is a great writer, this is true. I enjoyed her style, but her personality? Not so much.

We ate dinner at The Cottage Place, and as we waited for our food, Danny remarked “This is our spot.”
“Spot?” I said, plastering french bread with sweet cream butter with added chives and lemon zest.
“Yeah, you know… we have a place that’s ours.”
I didn’t take many pictures on account of my already having a bazillion pictures of The Cottage Place. But we did stop to snap one picture just outside of the little nook they sat us in. Danny reserved a quiet corner where we could sit undisturbed.
That is, if you don’t count the 30 minute conversation in the nook across the way held between to older couples about a game.
The more they drank the louder and more important the game conversation got.
“I wasn’t laughing because I was winning… I was laughing because it was FUN!” That comment made everyone at their table roar. Good thing too, Danny and I were having a snickering roar of our own.

We’d spent part of the day at an antique store, something I love beyond most anything. My heart goes all a’flutter as I dig through old pictures and rusted kitchen tools.
Just as I was checking out, my eye caught sight of a necklace. It was marked down on account of the damage it had, and the owner told me if I bought it, she’d knock off $2.
It was a necklace from the 30’s.
And now it’s MY necklace from the 30’s.
I’ve worn it every day since Friday. And I may or may not have slept in it last night.
Sadly, that was the only antique store we visited. My husband revealed to me that he didn’t really like antique stores, and I revealed to him that I didn’t really like the mall. Once we were open and honest with each other, we really didn’t know what to do.
No shopping?
No sifting though dead people’s stuff?
So we hit up tourist attractions instead.

We’d never experienced the ski lift in Flagstaff, so we bought some tickets and hopped on.
As I looked across the vast green country, I remarked how small it made me feel… how it changed my perspective… how I couldn’t believe how amazing nature is… I looked over at my husband and found him spitting off the side of our chair, just to see how far his spit would fall.
We loved watching other people pass us on the lift. We even made light conversation with the bag o’trash that passed by:
Once at the top of the mountain, we walked around and enjoyed the view. From where we stood, we could see Colorado on the horizon, a controlled wild fire near the Grand Canyon, a canyon to the South, and the highest toilet in Arizona.
QUITE an accomplishment.

Rain started pouring gently on us, and then hail started pelting us. We hunkered under a tree and waited it out, laughing as the rest of the crowd we’d come up with all flocked back to the ski lift. I still have no idea what they were planning on doing. Riding SLOWLY back down, completely unprotected from the pelting hail? I don’t know. We were happy to sit under our sturdy tree and wait. We all know it only takes Arizona weather about 2 minutes to switch from rain to hail to sunshine.

I snapped a picture of Danny on the second highest mountain in Arizona (we were standing next to the first. If we tried to hike over to it, about 20 wooden signs threatened us with a $500 fine if we didn’t STAY ON THE TRAIL).
Then he took the camera and snapped one of me. Ever since I bought my sunglasses, he’s been calling me “Hollywood.”
And just before snapping this picture, he called out “Hey, Hollywood!”
Oh, that man.
That night, we ate WAY too much at Olive Garden and then we walked around downtown in hopes of speeding up the digestion process.
We sat on a bench to make out, publicly.
Then we called the kids to listen to them tell us all about their day.
Then we went and saw a late-night showing of “The Help.”


After the movie, we poured into bed. I slept like a log, and thank goodness! The night before, I couldn’t sleep hardly at all.
Did I mention that we slept in a cellar-turned-library/room?
Did I mention that I drank a Dr. Pepper Friday afternoon?
Did I mention that I watched part of an episode of “Celebrity Ghost Stories” the night before?

All I can say is that lying in a dark cellar of an old, historic home WIDE AWAKE on account of caffeine after having watching ghost stories is the WORST! For the first time in my lift, I thanked Heavenly Father for my severe near-sightedness.
If there were any ghosts, I couldn’t see them!
We came home Sunday after a wonderful breakfast of fruits and croissant sandwiches. The kids were happy and well-behaved. The house was clean and cool. We ate snacks and called it lunch, and then I took a four hour nap (!!!!). I was starving when I woke up and when I opened the fridge, I found a bowl full of fried zucchini.
My sister.
My sister is the best sister, babysitter, house keeper, and zucchini frier.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my husband is home today and we’re going to try and get a few somethings done while the sun shines.

Seven Year Anniversary

Two years ago, I wrote a post for our 5 year anniversary on my now-private blog.  I’m going to re-post it and add to it tonight, and then I’m going to go pack for my weekend whisk-away (which sounds much more delicious than get-away).

Enjoy, loves.

The Green Glass Love

“Now in this case, my dear, I truly do prefer emeralds. But we could have made it on green glass.”
Muzzie in Thoroughly Modern Millie

There is a scene in Thoroughly Modern Mille when Muzzie tells Millie that when she became engaged to Mr. Van-H, she had no idea he was multi-millionaire (she really hadn’t). One night he gave her a green glass broach. She lent to broach to a friend who wanted to impress a new beau. The beau turned out to be a jeweler and the green glass turned out to be emeralds.
For the first year of our marriage, Danny and I developed a beautiful Green Glass Love. We didn’t have a lick of cash, and we tried to care. But we didn’t. Not really. So many people told us that the first year would be the hardest. If that’s true, it’s more than safe to say that our marriage will be ridonkulously easy.

The Movie Rentals

Joe Fox: You know, sometimes I wonder…
Kathleen Kelly: What?
Joe Fox: Well… if I hadn’t been Fox Books and you hadn’t been The Shop Around the Corner, and you and I had just, well… met…
Kathleen Kelly: I know.
Joe Fox: Yeah. I would have asked for your number, and I wouldn’t have been able to wait twenty-four hours before calling you and saying, “Hey, how about… oh, how about some coffee or, you know, drinks or dinner or a movie… for as long as we both shall live?”
Kathleen Kelly: Joe…
Joe Fox: And you and I would have never been at war. And the only thing we’d fight about would be which video to rent on a Saturday night.
Kathleen Kelly: Well, who fights about that?
Joe Fox: Well, some people. Not us.
Kathleen Kelly: We would never. 

You’ve Got Mail
The second year of our marriage, we spent our spare time wrapped in each other’s arms watching rented movies. We lived for it, which is a little sad and also a little wonderful. On days when we really just want to spend a little time together, we wander to a near-by movie rental store and rent our hearts out. If we can’t agree on a movie, we browse the westerns and inevitably come out with something we both want. Yee haw.

The Loss That Brought More Than It Took

“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”
Charlotte Lucas, Pride and Prejudice

It might seem silly to someone who has never miscarried to mark an entire year of marriage by it. But our second and third year of marriage was spent hoping for a baby. When we lost the baby, our love for each other deepened and our desire to have a baby grew enormously. Danny wanted so badly to take the hurt away. It was a hard time for both of us (the day after I miscarried, Danny had double hernia surgery) but we look back on the week after we lost the baby as one of the best in our marriage. During that week, I gave him a card that read: I love doing nothing with you.
And while we have grown apart is some silly ways, we have grown together in deeper ways.
Maybe he doesn’t want to hold my hand all the time anymore but it doesn’t matter. He literally puts his life on the line everyday for me and our children. I’ll take that over hand-holding any day.

The New Parents

“Before a man marries, he’s … like a tree in the forest. He stands there independent; An entity unto himself. Then he’s chopped down, loses his branches and bark. Lands in the river. Then he’s taken to the mill. When he comes out, he’s no longer a tree. He’s the vanity table, the breakfast nook, the baby crib, and the newspaper that lines the garbage can.”
Brad Allen, Pillow Talk
Lacy was born is 2007, and Trent was born in 2008. Somewhere between the two, Danny became the baby crib and the newspaper that lines the garbage can. And you know what? He’s never been happier to do anything in his life. For he’s a Jolly Good Fellow. And for that, I thank him so profusely it’s almost obnoxious.

Remembering What Was


“I want a guy I can look up to and admire. But I don’t want him to browbeat me. I want a guy who’ll be sweet with me but I don’t want him to baby me either. I just want to feel that whoever I marry has some real regard for me, aside from all that lovin’ stuff.”
Marilyn Monroe, Bus Stop
Today marks our five year anniversary, and this quote sums up my feelings perfectly. I treasure all of the hand holding, constant snuggling, note-writing, and romantic husband I knew for four years. He’s changed. And I’ve changed. And I’m excited about where we are now. We’re comfortable. We’re secure.
I never thought the man I married could get any better, but he has.
To me, he is everything.
I hope he knows that.
Happy Fifth Anniversary, Mister.
When I say “I love you” now, it means so much more than it did five years ago.
Though it sounds the same, it feels mighty different.


The Year of the Schedule

Aunt Josephine: Make a little room in your plans for romance again, Anne, girl. All the degrees and scholarships in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.
Anne of Green Gables Series

With one kid on my hip and one kid at my side, it sure wasn’t easy to remind my husband of the girl he married. Strange how when it’s hard to make time for love, you need it more than ever. It’s always been important to us to get at least one weekend away a year. By tradition, that weekend has always been our anniversary. Would the money we spend on our annual trip be better spent somewhere else? No. No way. Not for us. For us, it is VITAL. Last year, we got away twice. Two weekends away, just the two of us. And when my cell phone is off, my computer is as home, the kids are under the care of someone else entirely trustworthy, I can spend a little time talking to my husband. I can spend time curling my hair and applying my make-up carefully. There’s no flour my jeans and there’s no bag of garbage by the door waiting to be taken out. In fact, reality is somewhere far, far away. And per tradition, we make time to just be in love.

The Hardy Years

Aunt Eller: Oh, lots of things happen to folks. Sickness or being poor and hungry, being old and a feared to die. That’s the way it is, cradle to grave, and you can stand it. There’s just one way: you gotta be hardy. You gotta be. You can’t deserve the sweet and tender in life unless’n you’re tough.
Our marriage isn’t perfect. Our marriage isn’t easy. But oh how I love it.
Oh how I love him.
I guess I wouldn’t know how good we had it unless I knew how bad we had it sometimes. And so we bravely step into the unknown and infamous 7th year -the year that is supposed to be one of the hardest.
Here’s to being hardy.
Here’s to being married.
Here’s to a good whisk-away!

I love you, Brother Deets. You always have a way of driving me crazy in so many ways it’s downright wonderful.


There’s been a few times in my life when someone will confide in me that a certain song helped to carry them through a difficult time in their life. Though music has always had a profound influence in my life -indeed, it was my college major and practically consumed me -I’ve never really had that experience.
I’d been touched my music -moved my music.
But I’d never been pulled through by it.

I felt a little cheated, in a way. I felt like of ALL people, I should. I mean, I’d taken private music lessons for a few years, majored in music and let it figuratively EAT MY HEAD off. I’d stared at chords, spent hours on one page of music, memorized measures, marched in a marching band, tapped my foot incessantly while counting beats, learned to conduct, learned to analyze, spent annoying amounts of money on camps, sheet music, instrument repair…
and I had no life line song to show for it.

I know that line of thinking is ridiculous. Did I go through all of that JUST to have a song to cling to? Of course not. I did to find a husband!
Okay, that’s not true.
But it did happen.

I guess I just felt a little… what’s the word… robotic about music. Three years of counting and schooling had virtually pulled the emotion out of it for me.

Anyway, I guess I had never had anything really HAPPEN to me -nothing that I needed pulled out of, really. Whenever I’d had a hard go of anything, I had always just pulled myself out.

But life has a way of foiling you. It has a way of challenging you -throwing you down to your knees (whether it’s because you’re too weak to stand or because you’re praying your heart out. Or both. Usually both in my case).

As a younger girl, I sat with my Dad and watched a movie on television.
It was called “Coal Miner’s Daughter” and it told the story of a woman named Loretta Lynn. I’d never heard of her before, and after watching the movie I couldn’t believe I never had. I don’t remember the movie much at all -but I remember how the movie made me feel, and as a result I’ve been a real fan of Loretta’s music since then.
Recently, I’ve spent more time delving into her music.

A few of her songs touch me pointedly -but it’s her, really. It’s her.
She looks like she could be anyone’s neighbor in town, and she sings like it too.

She was born in 1935 -during The Great Depression. She was married very very young (some say 13, some say 14) to a 21-year old army vet. By the time she was 19, she had four kids. Her husband wasn’t a grade-A gentleman by any means. Between his alcoholism and (what I like to call) chain cheating, Loretta had a lot to deal with.

And that’s exactly what I love about her.

Have you ever seen her smile? It lights up her entire face, and there’s LIFE behind it. Could she have shriveled up as a victim? Yes! Would anyone have judged her? Not in the least.
But she didn’t. She didn’t leave her husband. She even went so far as to say, “he never hit me one time that I didn’t hit him back twice”.
That’s what I love about her. NOT that she hits, but that she’s strong. She didn’t wilt before her husband -she stood up for herself constantly.
When you look at her, do you see a victim? A survivor? A martyr?

Absolutely not. Though the terms might apply, they don’t define her. What defines her?
She’s a real woman -unafraid, strong, and funny.
Her songs are full of humor that both gets to the point and makes you laugh.

She took the actions of another and used them to fuel her inspiration when she could have easily used them as a crutch.
She kept her humor. She kept her faith. She kept true to herself.
And she sang songs that sometimes get me through the day.
This one, written by Shel Silverstein, is one of my favorites. Someday when I get pregnant again, I’ll strap on a guitar, balance it on my belly and sing it.

As a fun side note: when she was 24 (and had all those kiddos), her husband bought her a guitar. She taught herself to play and went on to top the charts time after time.

Turns out our Daddies were both 6’3″.

And the best news of all? She has a cookbook. She titled it “You’re Cookin’ It Country” (a play on one of her chart toppers “You’re Lookin’ at Country”).
It’s going in my Amazon cart to-day.