from the mixed-up files of a middle-aged mind

Tuesday is the 25th anniversary of the day my father passed away. If you haven’t read the story, you may find it  right here . It is more in my nature to remember birthdays rather than deathdays. I typically choose to celebrate the life of someone I love by doing something I knew they loved to do or something that reminds me of them, rather than heading for the graveside. My family thinks I don’t pay proper tribute, but it’s just the way I’m wired, I guess. (It’s certainly the way I would hope people would choose to remember me.) But  twenty-five years . That’s an awfully long time. So I’ll compromise. Tuesday–not his birth day–will see me baking his favorite spice cake from scratch and a double batch of caramel frosting. (Maybe with a side of  ice cream .) I’m not quick enough on the draw to steal the frosting right from under from my kids and eat it while they’re not looking, but that’s OK by them. I was dropping by to visit  cabesh  today (don’t you l...

At the church parking lot  as we pull in to indulge in our Sonic Slushes under the shade and notice a guy teaching his girl how to drive stick in his Mustang… Hey! I’ve got minivan. Take that Mr. Stang! –from my newly licensed 16-year-old son Over the phone… When the game is over, the kings and the pawns both go back in the same box. –my husband’s friend from high school, going on 20+ years in the Army At an unidentified someone’s unidentified office … Why doesn’t someone tell the Nazi receptionist to chill? –from a 20-year-veteran of a certain company when she had a difficult time being connected to a certain former co-worker. (The details will remain sketchy to protect the innocent. Let’s just say it couldn’t have been phrased any better). On “The Tonight Show”… So God tells Moses he wants him to build an ark… –Jay Leno to Wanda Sykes on “The Tonight Show.” Note to Jay’s agent: Why don’t you book Jay on “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?” In the news… ...

When I was a child—I have no idea how old I was at the time—I went fishing with my family. Eldest daughter to a father who spent a lot of time at work so he could support his family, I cherished any time with my dad, especially if it involved being outdoors. On that particular day my father landed what is likely one of his biggest catches ever—me. If you’ve never seen a fishhook then you need to know that in order to actually land the fish, hooks are by necessity barbed. Read: they go in much easier than they come out. This one caught me on the inside of my left calf. And it hurt coming out. I still have the scar. When I was in college I dated my now husband for several years before we got brave enough to actually tie the knot. During that time we both enjoyed a variety of intramural sports available at the university we were attending. When I played, he would practice with me. One year it was all he could do to keep it quiet when I accidentally hit a softball so hard and high...

This is how I have often described my favorite (and only) daughter since she was about three. It was then that I both embraced and steeled myself for the fact that this little girl was going to make my life interesting. And so she has. Some of you may remember being introduced to the lovely L~ when I wrote about her  cutting herself shaving . Or perhaps you may recall the curious incident of the  Christmas hoodie . If you were to meet her on the street you would see a girl, tall for her age, clad in  boys shorts and whatever shirt she could find. She might look away rather shyly; or she might flash you her beautiful smile and say “Hi!” (If I were to meet her on the street she’d probably roll her eyes to the heavens and heave a heavy sigh.) Oh but there’s so much more. The truth is that while she is willful (and I still maintain, particularly for a female, there has got to be an upside to that quality), she is also a lot of fun. And today happens to be her birthday. (...

I know it's sideways, but it remains so even when I save it after turning it right. Sometimes you have to be smarter than the darn computer. And I'm not . If you have stumbled across this looking for compulsive writer, the post to which this photo belongs may be found at my new home at compulsivewriter.com .

Happy Birthday today to my baby K~. He’s a little big for me to call him that, but he’s my youngest so I’ve warned him he will always be my baby. Eight years ago today I gave birth to my  smallest  child, K~. My doctor laughed at me because when she told me he was only 8 lb. 15 oz. I said, “Finally, a  tiny  eight pound baby!” We never find out what we’re having, but I knew he was a boy and he was a sweet one at that. He was one of my best eaters and sleepers too (although the sleeping part is relative). He quickly put on weight and had the cutest little pudgy cheeks–just like big soft peaches–and feet. I remember one day I was holding him in the hallway at church and someone came up to me and gave the little fat pads on the tops of his feet a squeeze and looked at me and said with a smile, “Now that’s just criminal.” K~ is very loving and affectionate. He loves to cuddle good night and again first thing when he wakes up in the morning. Still. This is a blessi...

At the ballpark  last night after I got a little too frank with the umpire regarding a bad call… Sheesh. You have smart mouths for fans –a spectator (because there is a difference between  spectators  and true fans ) to one of my daughter’s teammate’s mothers In prayer  over the French-dip sandwiches I had made for my son and his friends, the brothers Reid, and their dates for their Friday Night Date Night (ask me how much I love it that because they were in my home and not a restaurant they felt the need to offer a prayer over dinner, even on a date)… And bless us no one will get hurt and we won’t do anything stupid –the eldest brother Reid At the end of their prayer , which was quite appropriate given the youngest brother Reid had just thrown the eldest brother Reid’s date smack down on my living room floor… AMEN! –me, from the other room, laughing in hearty assent

Every time I post a comment on blogger blogs I am faced with the following invitation: Choose an identity If only it were that easy. I’m pretty OK being me, but every now and then I wish I could try on some other identity–just like when I was a kid and I was playing paper dolls. (OK, you’re right, I was more likely to be playing rock paper scissors than paper dolls, but work with me here.) Susie doesn’t want to be the doctor today. This time she’d like to play the attorney.  You know, that sort of thing. Other identities I have wanted to  try on  are as follows: Dr. Rae Crane (in  Medicine Man. ) This was early in my “I just want to be freakin’ brilliant at something ” stage. And somehow saving the jungle and the world side by side with Sean Connery didn’t sound half bad at the time. Jamie Stemple Buckman . I’m pretty sure I’d be good in PR. Their apartment was great. I always wanted a dog just like Murray.  I wish  Carol Burnett was my mother....

Yesterday at the movie theater and in the middle of a half-hour of previewing mostly drivel I was shocked out of my seat by the preview of  Rescue Dawn . It made me sick. My  uncle , my dad’s little brother, was shot down over Laos. We never saw him again. I was six at the time, but I vaguely remember getting the news. It was the day after Pearl Harbor Day—so I somehow always confuse the two. And it was the first time—one of only three times I ever remember—I watched my father cry. It is unsettling to see the one who wipes out your grief every time he wipes away your tears suffer a grief much too deep for your six-year-old mind to wrap itself around. (I thought about that moment when I saw the same confusion reflected back at me in the eyes of my son as he witnessed my reaction to what happened on September 11.) As I grew up I remember being aware as my grandmother and several other family members served tirelessly for decades on behalf of  MIAs and POWs . They jus...

Yesterday at the movie theater and in the middle of a half-hour of previewing mostly drivel I was shocked out of my seat by the preview of  Rescue Dawn . It made me sick. My  uncle , my dad’s little brother, was shot down over Laos. We never saw him again. I was six at the time, but I vaguely remember getting the news. It was the day after Pearl Harbor Day—so I somehow always confuse the two. And it was the first time—one of only three times I ever remember—I watched my father cry. It is unsettling to see the one who wipes out your grief every time he wipes away your tears suffer a grief much too deep for your six-year-old mind to wrap itself around. (I thought about that moment when I saw the same confusion reflected back at me in the eyes of my son as he witnessed my reaction to what happened on September 11.) As I grew up I remember being aware as my grandmother and several other family members served tirelessly for decades on behalf of  MIAs and POWs . They jus...

Existentialism A philosophical movement embracing the view that the suffering individual must create meaning in an unknowable, chaotic, and seemingly empty universe.–Kathryn VanSpanckeren Saturday I spent the entire day cleaning house. Not “playing house” but actually  cleaning  house. I even tackled my bedroom, which is sort of the dumping ground for everything in my house that does not have its own place. I chased the dust bunnies out of the closet (even though in my marriage vows I am released from any contractual obligation to dust anything), located some well-worn hard-wood floor and even made the bed. It’s by no means immaculate. But I made good progress and although I was beat at the end of the day, it felt good. My husband and I then attended what I like to refer to as “The Best Kept Secret,” the Saturday session of our Stake Conference (religious meeting). The first talk included some excellent advice about strengthening marriage (post forthcoming), but it wa...

I just noticed a good mommy being too hard on herself, so I decided it was time to get real about the kind of mommy I was this past week: Signs I have been a bad Mommy this week: I just noticed a plate from  Sunday  dinner at the bottom of the stack of dishes I'm finally getting a chance to finish up. There are also, on my table, paper bags and disposable cups from both Wendy's  and  McDonald's. Not only that: After I picked up McDonald's for the two little ones last night Melody and I got take-out salads and hazelnut 12-grain bread from Kneaders and ate them ourselves. I did not have a night home the entire past week. Until last night. When I finally picked up my kids at nine and took them over to Melody's to eat on her front lawn. We got home home at quarter to ten. My children have no clean clothes. (Except for the boys, who do their own laundry. The fact that they do their own laundry should go under the good mommy category.) There have been times this wee...

I just got the results from a rather extensive test on my heart last week and they were good. “Your heart is good.” was the definitive report. Sigh. Huge sigh of relief actually. Long story short: I have had a pain in my chest from time to time and it has gone undiagnosed for years. My no-nonsense doctor ordered what I thought would be a regular stress test and I set up an appointment thinking I was just going to get an EKG and a free workout on the treadmill. A couple of days before my appointment I read the fine print. I wasn’t having just your ordinary stress test, but rather a  thallium  a.k.a.  nuclear  stress test (better known in Texas as the nu-cu-lar stress test). Essentially they were going to hook me up with an IV and inject radioactive substances into my bloodstream and take lots of pretty pictures of me at work and at play. I was nervous about the radioactive part of the equation–I don’t even like x-rays–but went along for the ride anyway. It was ...

From the newly turned 16-year-old: Q. Hey Mom. Will you read Blondie and tell me if it’s dirty or if I just don’t get it? A. You just don’t get it. Should I somehow be concerned you understood the double entendre that wasn’t at all intended but didn’t at all get the reference to golf? Note to self: Sign that kid up for golf lessons. PDQ. Seven-year-old son is sitting on my lap as I’m typing an e-mail to  Melody . I make some reference to my middle age. K~ pops up with this, “Mom, you are only in your 40s. Middle age is in the 50s.” Happy Mother’s Day to me! Almost 12-year-old daughter has seen fit to be sweet this weekend. Although her latest saying besides calling everyone “Peter Pettigrew” is “You have a big bum.” As if I need anyone to tell me that. Love you too, hon. But thanks for staying up the other night and watching “Pride and Prejudice” with me (not the A&E one). I enjoyed spending chick flick Friday with you. And I hope you heard loud and clear all the...

My new jet-setting friend Carina wrote a fabulous post for  “The Interview”  that’s going around. I asked her to send me a few questions, knowing that hers would be interesting. And, as I suspected, she did not disappoint. Since she chose a couple of topics I found rather stimulating, I’m going to post in parts. Here’s question #1. Q.   You went back to work after your youngest was in school. Was it a hard decision or were you looking forward to it? A. After watching my mother unexpectedly find herself single parent and breadwinner for six kids, I always knew I would go back to work. But when my baby went to first grade I initially thought I’d take a year to put my house in order, get some much-needed painting done, etc. My husband and I had already talked about it and decided it would be fine to wait. And I was good with that. Then one day I was flipping through the want ads of the local newspaper–not at all something I was in the habit of doing–and I saw this t...

Q.   You parent some really strong and different personalities, what is one thing you’ve learned about the process that you could share? A.  Interesting question to answer given I’m at a time in my parenting in which I am coming to question myself more deeply than ever before. Essentially I have spent my entire life trying not to be what I didn’t love about my own parents’ parenting. So imagine how it must feel almost 18 years out when I start to hear the thoughts and feelings I had as a child but didn’t dare say out loud echoed back to me in the words and perspective of my pre-teen daughter. Have I failed? I don’t know. Was I wrong? I don’t know. Will the children of parents working so hard to be the antithesis of their parents end up being just like their grandparents? Sometimes I wonder. Here is what I do know. There is no manual, no handbook, nothing better than inspiration. Sometimes there’s just a point when you have to turn it all over to God and get out of the way ...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! today to my second child, Zack. Z~ was born the first year my husband started teaching. We had no money. Our maternity insurance kicked in at midnight on April 30 and my water broke at 1a.m. I was happy and relieved to deliver that bundle of joy because he weighed a whopping 10 lb. 5 oz. Z~ is the kind of kid who is easy to be around. Smarter than most people I know. A peacemaker. A wicked fun sense of humor. Easy going. A social animal. Talented. Sweet. Just before July 4 of the year he was going into 8th grade he decided it would be cool to play the sax. So he taught himself. By the time the school year started he was good enough to make the jazz band at Dixon. He has since learned to play the clarinet because he knew the band leader needed another clarinet and he just finished out the season at Utah Valley Youth Symphony on the clarinet. He will play the tenor sax in PHS’s jazz band next year. He just tried out for the drum line with the marching band and is al...

[From the archives: I just discovered about 5 years of posts that were lost in an incident over at my new and current wordpress site, compulsivewriter.com In the next few months I will archive some of my favorite ones here, just to be sure I don't lose them again]. In honor of b. who A). wrote a  fabulous post   about being real and dealing with addiction and 2). just now in an e-mail completely flattered me with a comment about not being able to be in withdrawal from both dp and my blog at the same time. As I said before, sometimes I wish we could just open our meetings or other public gatherings with our own “My name is…and I…” Just drop the pretenses and be real about who we are. Be open about our strengths and talents as well as our weaknesses. The truth of the matter is we all have our own coping and avoidance mechanisms, our own addictions if you will. Sometimes I get tired of trying to be better than I really am and I just want to be me. And I just want to be with ...

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Bad thing: the morning after tax day. Yesterday I got hit by the surprise fact that the lovely $1000 per child tax credit that’s been saving us the past few years stops at age 17, not age 18. Bad thing: Knowing I will have to take a loan out to pay the state of Utah while it sits high in pork heaven with a bazillion dollar surplus. And that I paid taxes on my taxes as well as on the morally reprehensible sales tax on food. Dear government leaders: How do you people sleep at night? Good thing: another day, another dollar. At least I’ve got a job. Bad thing: my day at work. period. Good thing: I stuck it out. I’m proud of myself because I did not start looking at help wanted ads during my break. Co-workers brought me notes and goodies and tried to make it a better day. And laughed at me when I turned my iPod up so loud they could identify the songs on my playlist. Bad thing: finding out the  high school  my kids attend went into lock down because of a bomb threat. Good thin...