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

Design Mom came across my radar screen via Rebecca Bingham , whom I met blogging and who now is one of my favorite people. I became addicted during Design Mom's wildly generous November/December giveaway spree in which I won absolutely nothing, but which I enjoyed immensely. What I love about Design Mom are the great ideas, the fabulous guest posts and the cool shopping finds. But especially how the photos are like eye candy for the soul. In the past several months Design Mom helped me discover the perfect Christmas present for my husband. She also put me on to a great deal on three new ornaments for my Christmas tree. ("Why three?" you may ask. Because eventually one will get broken. And then another. But by the time my three boys and one tomboy are out of the house I should hopefully have at least one ornament left intact.) And, after practically drooling over some of these on Design Mom, I was able to truthfully tell a close friend who made me this how much I had ...

Me? Apparently I just married Earl. Last night for the weekly church youth activity several fearless leaders disguised themselves for a scavenger hunt at the local mall. They were supposed to dress up and then wander the mall aimlessly while groups of energetic teenagers roamed the mall and tried to get up their nerve to approach anyone looking out of the ordinary and ask for their signature. Imagine my surprise when my husband came up with this great get-up. The kids all thought he looked like a guy whose name is Earl. You know the one. B., who happened to be at my house delivering what might possibly be the best salsa in the world ( Thanks b.! ), agreed. Throughout our married life my husband has been told he resembles a number of celebrities: Mel Gibson, Mark Harmon, Huey Lewis, Steve Erwin, and now Earl. (The Mel Gibson thing occurred a number of years ago whilst he was one of the few, the proud...the only handful of male students in the elementary ed. program at BYU. I tried to t...

The other day at work an urgent and highly contestable question occupied our minds for most of the day. Passion was palpable. Tempers flared. In fact, I would say that some individuals became quite animated over the debate. Based on the answers of the boys in comparison to the responses of the girls, I began to formulate an interesting theory or two. But additional scientific research is needed. And, dear blog friends, I need votes from more than just the female sector and my handful (on a good day) of male readers. So query your husbands. Your boyfriends. The dishwasher repairman, too. And tell me... "Who's your favorite Disney Princess?" (If you're so inclined, you can tell me why , too. Your reason may (or may not) help support my theory.)

If you don't know her already, let me introduce to you a fabulous blogger, mental tesserae, via one of my favorite posts ever , lather and rinse . It is a rare gift indeed when someone can sum up almost two decades of one of your most deeply personal internal confllicts and its ongoing resolution in a single post.

"Grandpa Smitty," 1909-2007 This past Tuesday I got a phone call at work at a little after 10:00 a.m. "Grandpa got his wish," was all my mom could say. Well over two years after a diagnosis of congestive heart failure and the doctor's giving him six months to live, my maternal Grandfather finally passed on. He had just turned 98. His final act of kindness to my grandmother was to wait till the first day of spring, as he knew she couldn't bear watching them lower his coffin to into the cold hard winter earth. I was privileged to have been able to help care for Grandpa and Grandma in their home for several months during 2005. During that time and many times since I was a witness to their tenderness and love for one another. It is a blessing I will never forget. I loved watching them touch and kiss and especially loved seeing them hold hands across their respective armchairs. My favorite part of the mornings was every time Grandpa would go back to bed. I would ...

( Thanks for the tag conqueso .) ...and say "please" and "thank you" at pretend tea parties. Real moms know how to laugh when they could very well cry ! Real moms (with teenagers) promise themselves they will never curse their own kids with kids just like them. Because now they know what it feels like when what goes around comes around. Real moms DO bake cookies ! Real moms learn to be prepared for whatever's next when the neighbor across the street begins her sentence with, "I just thought you should know" ... Real moms say "I'm sorry" when they lose their cool. Real moms get real with their daughters. Real moms will march right down to the principal's office when necessary. And let it be their child's fault. At least when it really is. Real moms know how to appreciate the simple things in life. Even when it means being tolerant of creative play. And knowing long-awaited appreciation is a fleeting thing. Real moms lea...

After the style of a certain and mediocre local restaurant reviewer, I too want to be queen for a day. We are annoyed: Boo! Hiss! We don't need high rises. We have mountains! But mostly we are amused: The latest findings in important health research are a compelling reason to run right out to Target this very minute and purchase a package of the new green Peeps. But only if you have an arsenal of matches, alcohol and other destructive materials on hand. I sense the makings of a fabulous science fair project. The Valerie Plame story is something I take almost as seriously as the latest Peeps research. The passion is palpable. She is tall and thin, with pink lip gloss and frosted blond hair betraying a hint of dark roots. A diamond ring reminds us of her husband, who, for once, has not accompanied her to a location where there are cameras. Cue the lava already. Or the crickets. Or more palpable passion if you will. This man is freakin' brilliant. Maybe you have to read his book...

With fond recollection of this fine day: ...and a burning need to make this happen again (only with cookies this time), I ask you this pertinent question: What's your favorite cookie recipe? Don't limit yourself to sugar cookies, but if someone has anything remotely like the buttery perfection I had to purchase again at the Provo Bakery this morning, do tell. Please. My new life ambition is to create a comparable cut-out cookie. In the meantime, I guess you'll have to settle for these: Giant Ginger Cookies 4 1/2 c. flour 4 tsp. ground ginger 2 tsp. baking soda 1 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon 1 tsp. ground cloves 1/4 tsp. salt 1 1/2 c. shortening 2 c. sugar 2 eggs 1/2 c. molasses 3/4 c. coarse sugar Stir together dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Beat shortening until softened. Add sugar and beat till fluffy. Add eggs and molasses; beat well. Add half of flour mixture. Mix. Stir in remaining flour mixture. Shape dough into 2" balls for giant cookies; smaller if desired....

I. Blogger won't let me post pictures. So I am unable to post the blog I really wanted to write. I am SO mad! II. This is the totally lame response I got back from Best Western regarding my horrible hotel stay in Tucson (see adventure IV) : (The gist of it is since the hotel manager won't bother responding to your concerns he gets a pass and we'll put your letter in the round file.) I am SO mad! Hello Ms. R, Thank you again for your e-mail concerning your stay at the Best Western Executive Inn. I apologize our office has not received a response to your comments from the management team. I would like to assure you that Best Western members are required to uphold the guidelines of service and accommodations as set forth by our Board of Directors. To ensure that these guidelines are being met in accordance with Best Western policies, quality assurance reviews are conducted for each Best Western member property on a regular basis. The observations, concerns and experienc...

Friday evening we got the word it would be within hours. My husband stayed until around 2 am, but finally had come home. Then about 4:30 am on Saturday the phone rang. Verna had just gone in her sleep. We were relieved for her--she'd been in pain and was so weak since her stroke. But what a loss for the rest of us. The obituary is just a brief outline. Not even a sketch of one woman's life. I only arrived at the last quarter. But here is what I remember: They used to live in a tiny house in south west Provo. But on that small lot life was abundant. Verna could grow anything--inside or out. She kept geraniums alive, blooming, vibrant and happy all year round. And I've never seen anyone with more beautiful roses nor anyone who could make them bloom all summer long. It wasn't just a hobby. It was a passion. When my husband and I were dating (and we dated for forever ) I would often find Verna's roses left in my apartment in tiny vases of water. Those were better and ...

...because why the heck would anyone go bowling for soup ? Let me tell you how much I love my hood. In my hood live cool people such as my favorite superhero, kactiguy and his lovely wife the Lo Down . Within our environs we also enjoy the aroma of melody's garden , pflower and the estrogen garden , not to mention the perfectly pungent sister pottymouth . That is some serious blogodaciousness concentrated into one little hood, don't you think? So last Monday night some of us (sadly sans melody, daredevil mom and sis. pottymouth) got together--along with some non-bloggers we allow to hang out with us--for some serious bowling. Because bowling with kids is heady stuff , you know. Afterwards we all headed over to the realm of Lo-kactiguy-Down for some ice cream. A good time was had by all . Notice whose cute kids had the hardest time keeping a straight face? Wonder where they get that from?

. . . about one of my best friends. She is aptly named Melody. She is a strong, clear and lovely voice for light and truth. Yesterday Courtney asked me an interesting question. "Who is is that nurtures you?" I made some silly reply, but instantly knew I had misspoken. Melody, who is not only a beautiful woman, sister, friend and mother, is also a nurse. She is a healer. She has loved and helped heal my children's skinned or impaled-by-tweezers knees, lacerated and bumped heads, broken hands and bruised bodies. She has helped to heal my body of a serious case of pneumonia and a significant knee surgery. But best of all, her friendship heals my soul. One day I will write more about this amazing sister-friend whose presence in my life is a precious gift from God. But today I just want you to read the beautiful poem she wrote for Kirsten Hinckley . Melody would not tell you this, but I can. Her wonderful tribute was read at Kirsten's memorial service and printed on the ...

As most of you know, I work with a team of people half my age. Literally. Most of the time, however, it's not readily apparent that we come from entirely different generations ( they are pure Gen Y, but I belong to the lost generation--those of us born between the Baby Boomers and Gen X; we are called, of all things, Generation Jones , because we are, apparently, still jonesin for our expectations to be fulfilled ). Except yesterday. It began when one of my male co-workers was expressing frustration over his entire day's work from the day before being completely undone when someone changed his mind about what the client wanted. My co-worker was quite put out over that and seemed inconsolable. Trying to illustrate how good hard work and effort is never a complete waste I said, "Look at it this way, someday you will have great empathy with your wife and the mother of your children." He seemed surprised, but interested. I continued to explain how nearly everything ...

in honor of my good friend geo , who somehow manages to do this and much, much more every day Tonight (Sunday) I tucked my ninety-year-old grandmother into bed for the night. Some time ago I regularly had the pleasure of turning down her bed for her before her afternoon nap, but it's been awhile and this was the first time at bedtime. I gently nestled the sheets beneath her chin and laid out the Underground Railroad quilt I pieced for her for her 88th birthday and made her promise to me that no matter what happened with Grandpa during the night she would stay in bed and page the aides and let them deal with it. She had another TIA today. It's no wonder. Grandpa, just turned 98, has been very sweet and cooperative with her until these past few weeks. But now dementia usually has him in its vicious grip and he's had enough the oxygen tubes and little white pills and waking up every day to the disappointment of still being alive. The nurse came in and took Grandma's bloo...

for c jane's theme day: self-portrait .

5-year-olds in fish nets

"Mom, who is Paris HIlton?" The question came out of nowhere. I was in the living room curled up in my favorite navy recliner. My daughter was in her bedroom trying to earn coins for my Club Penguin account so I can buy my own puffle . Because she can be nice like that. Duly noting that twisted way the world has of making completely random acts collide, I glanced up from the article I was at that very moment reading in today's issue of The Daily Herald: After a week without her, AP asks: Can we forget Paris? "A spoiled little rich girl who has no visible talents or skills but through no effort or merit of her own is immensely rich and famous. Not to mention famously rich," I respond. L~"Is she the one with the bunny face?" I glance down to examine the picture (not this one) of Paris' overtanned face framed by her perfectly platinum hair. In my head I trace the outline of the typical hand-drawn bunny face--you know the one--superimposed over Pari...

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