USA

Dog Gone It

I’m 30 weeks pregnant.

Spring has brought on time constraints with a vengence.

The dirt in my house is so much more evident when the sun is shining.
It’s soccer season….enough said.
The children and I have a combined total of
5 doctor appointments in the next two weeks alone.
I’ve got 20 school commitments over the next month.
You know….field trips, programs, PTSO responsibilites, and helping teachers.
That’s not even considering the regular homework, projects, and catching up on AR points.
Tonight I spent an hour in the yard just prepping it to be mowed.
It’s a jungle out there.
I know I am blessed.
But really I am tired.
Life is tiring.
I just want to nap….like forever.
So, I saw this dog.
And he reminded me to roll my windows down.
And breathe some fresh air.
It’s spring.
And dog gone it, I need some fresh air.

40 years
I promised Faye that I would post this last Fall, but I only started.
Duane celebrated his 40th year working for Eastman.
They threw him a little reception.
It was lovely. And the girls loved missing school.
They made us all feel like heroes for supporting the company for so long.
Really they have been the ones supporting us.
Our two liters of pop can only do the company so much good, especially considering that we don’t use their cigarette filters and the Kodak 35 mm film went out of style a long time ago.
Thank you to Eastman and thanks to Duane for supporting us in living our dream.
Even if ours is starting out a little too late to last 40 years.
(I don’t know maybe LG could work until he’s 73!!!!)
As the inevitable layoffs are lurking, we will hope for the best.
40 years…..Man, I don’t even think I will make it to any 40 year anniversary.
Being only 35, I can’t even imagine the length of 40 years.
40 years of engineering is something to be proud of.
And we are proud of Duane, but mostly because he is a wonderful man.
Not to mention the best dad and granddad.
Here’s to 40 more….well, maybe not 40.

Writing on the Walls

Marla, my friend, was frustrated that her well-behaved 3 year old had taken a red dry erase marker and colored all over the place. “Red” she mused. “Why did it have to be red?” all over his arms, his toys, and most frustrating the newly painted walls. My mind traveled back; back to California in 1995.

My parents were forced to sell my childhood home. Dad had been out of a job for a long time, and we had to go, so we were packing. I was now an adult, helping out mom and dad. Mom was bawling. I said to mom, “It’s just a house mom. It’s not going to be our home anymore. It’ll be o.k. We’ll make a new home.” Those words have haunted me repeatedly for the past 14 years. My understanding was so limited.

Mom and I stepped into the now converted living room. A wall had been knocked out of my childhood bedroom. We started removing furniture and there it was! We found the memory right behind the couch. It was crayon. It was on the wall. It was the coloring contest that mom could never bring herself to paint over. My brother and sister and I had been quiet in my bedroom. Mom knew we were up to no good. She came in to find us beaming with pride. We weren’t afraid of mom; we wanted her to judge whose picture was the best. She proclaimed Adam’s “Superman” the most creative, but immediately complimented his younger sisters on their handiwork also.

And so the story goes. Mom knew how to love kids. She would never break a tender heart over some crayon. A wall was never worth it.

I now have three little ones. Mom’s wisdom is always with me. I am not as patient as her, but I want to be. I try and keep my walls clean because I want to have a nice home. But, honestly, when all is said and done, I want my home to be a place where I raised character, not wall perfection.

It’s my dream. I want to build a home where there is a room just for writing on the walls. This home would be a place where kids would feel loved. It doesn’t need to be fancy. It just needs to be “home”. I want to carry on my mom’s legacy. I want to be a mother who creates a fantasy world for each tenderhearted child. What a dream.

Making Memories in the Winter of Our Lives
On Sunday night, LG and I had “the talk”.
You know the one.
What are we doing?
Is it worth it?
When is this supposed to get better or just plain easier?
Let’s just say we’ve had a rough couple of months.
And leave it at that.
After much discussion and a few tears, I turned to LG and said,
“You know in about 25 years when we’ve quit worrying about money and careers
and having no time to ourselves, and all of our kids are gone,
we are going to look back at this time and wish we could come back.”
LG replied, “Yeah right. I don’t think so.”
And then God made a miracle happen to show LG that I was right.
I’m always right.
God made it snow.
Really snow.
Building snowman kind of snow.
It’s the first time since we’ve lived in Tennessee.
And we made memories.
The kind that can only happen in the winter of our lives.
The kind that are so good, you will forget how cold it was.
And only remember love and warmth.
Yes, the kind that you will long for in about 25 years.

We had to get dad to help.
The second ball was too heavy for us to lift.
I forgot how much stronger men are made.
And I am the fortunate one to be married to a man
that not only can lift, but will gently apply a clown nose as well.
This is our plain guy.
With a stick something.
(Is that a cigarette?)
I guess we’ve been among the Southern tobacco industry too long.

It’s definitely a Tennessee thing.


A cucumber nose.

No nose.

Snow muchacho.


The cross dresser.


Snow Poppins.
Your Coldness.

Clown Man.
Or bad Toupee Guy.


Merry Winter.
Make some memories.

Ay Curumba
Whenever I am tempted to think that my husband lacks romance, I will just remember this.

LG may not have ever proposed,

and he may have chosen our wedding night hotel solely for the all you can eat breakfast.

But, at least he married me in a magnificent place.

What happened to us?

In 11 and a half years,

we went from the Salt Lake temple to having a date at McDonald’s the other night.

But I will take some comfort.

With their new McCafe’s, they are almost as classy as Starbucks now. 🙂

Sex education

Here is a conversation that recently occurred between Abigail and one of her church friend’s.

Abigail’s friend reported the conversation to her mother, who reported it to me. It’s a good thing that Abigail’s friend was already informed, if you know what I mean.

Abigail said pointing to the lingerie at the local Target: “Do you know what those little nighty things are for? They are for, you know, when, hmmm…hmmmm.hmmm. You can only dress immodestly like that for your husband when you get married.”

The un-named friend who will stay anonymous was silent and stunned.

Abigail continued, “Yeah, my mom and dad have done that at least 98 or 100 times.”
The friend’s jaw then dropped – with some force, I should add.

Abigail unaware of the friend’s shock, then made sure that her friend was informed completely, “If it would have worked every time, my mom and dad would have had 98 or 100 kids.”

This is me. I’m taking a bow. Don’t you think that our sex ed is getting through to our kids?

And, please don’t tell you children that they aren’t allowed to play with Abigail anymore. We have just taught her not to be embarassed about the topic.

I promise I will have a talk with her about what she is saying to other kids.

Or, if you are too scared to have the talk to your own children, feel free to send them Abigail’s way. I think that she could do a very thorough job, maybe even better then you could do yourself.