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

Despite the measurable snow and the freezing temperatures within the past week, that quintessential symbol of hope "Spring" has finally sprung. Here's what I love about spring: Those early days as the sun starts to return when, if you breathe deeply and slowly and hold really still, you can actually watch the grass grow greener by the minute. Shirt sleeves. One more example of how everything is relative. In September 60 feels chilly and moves one to grab a jacket. In March, as soon as it gets above 45 it's time for short shirt sleeves to welcome back the sun. Crocus. Daffodils. Tulips. Forsythia. Just for starters. Soon, flowering plum. I love the tangible evidence that something so apparently dead can show new life and in a big, beautiful, colorful way. I especially love how the blossoms don't shrink or bow under the fallen snow, but burst their bright shows of color up through snow with a hint of wanton rebelliousness. Tossing out the alarm clock and waking up t...

Why Rosie? Here's the story behind Rosie. It's a long story, but completely appropriate in a blog about a real identity crisis. I thrive on keeping very busy. I also like to take care of people. But a couple of years ago I tore my ACL and because they did the graft from my patellar tendon, I lost my entire quad muscle and couldn't walk at all. The rehab on a patellar graft is pretty long. And I had never experienced anything so physically debilitating--not even after spending a week in the hospital with serious double pneumonia and coming home on oxygen for 3 weeks. I felt completely useless. I couldn't do anything. And because people were so kind to take in my youngest child while the rest were at school, I was home alone much of the time. As a result, I got really absorbed by what I felt I'd lost--all the things I couldn't do--and became really depressed. I do try to be one of those people who are more tied into being than into what they do , but part of who ...

I love a good holiday. And St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorites. Partly because it's a great occasion to do indulge in two of my favorite pasttimes: Playing with my food and playing dress up. But mostly because it's not one of those holidays that one is required to celebrate. I could ignore it if I wanted, but why not take advantage of another chance to live a day less ordinary. Not to mention the fact that it's a great excuse to partake of one of my favorites, Lucky Charms. Here are a few traditions at my house. Some dye their beer green. Since we don't drink beer, we dye our milk green. Breakfast at our house consists of green milk, green eggs (sans the ham--green meat is never a good thing), and green muffins. Lucky Charms taste very good in green milk. In the tradition of a good Utahn, whip up a big batch of green jello, topped with green whipped cream. Come up with one more reason to eat sugar cookie dough. And if some of it ends up as cute green shamrocks...

During my latest adventure at quilt camp (another blog for another day) one of the speakers was showing a quilt she made for her mom on which she had stitched sayings she and her sister remember hearing from their mother. First I was amused. Then I started to wonder what my kids would contribute if asked for sayings from me. You know, those little philosophy-packed phrases I utter over and over with good intentions to teach them life's all-important lessons, but which only result in causing my kids to roll their eyes and vow to never, ever utter such nonsense to their own kids. I have a feeling a few of the following would be on their lists: "Be part of the solution, not part of the problem." "I don't care who started it, I'm more interested in who will finish it!" "Don't mess with the Queen ." A special phrase reserved for when one of my kids actually dares take on the queen eye-roller of the 20th century, namely me. They know they don...

At work the other day my co-worker was describing the type of books by a certain publisher as "tree-hugger conservative." He quickly corrected himself, then said, "Tree-hugger conservative, now that's an oxymoron." At first I laughed, then I thought, "Wait a minute. I think I might be a tree-hugger conservative." And it got me thinking about the difficulties inherent in jumping back and forth over the political fence. I 'm no fence-sitter, but, independent woman that I am, nor am I content taking up permanent residence in either compound. I don't flip-flop over issues. It's just that some issues find me camped firmly on conservative soil, and other issues find me lobbying alongside the liberals. Go figure. I wasn't raised that way. I have deep "red" conservative blood coursing patriotically through my veins. In fact I come from an extended family made up of many who would (I'm only partly joking) as soon disown you if they...

One of the best things to come out of my Olympic viewing experience was my new favorite line. Peekaboo Street was ripping on Julia Mancuso big time and she topped off her tirade by emphatically stating that Mancuso needed to "Lose the Tiara!" (Of course that same day Mancuso got the last word as she traded her tiara for a sparkling gold medal, but that's beside the point.) Lose the tiara. Good line for when one comes up against those holier-than-thou or I'm-more-worthy-than-you-to-take-up-space-on-this-planet-types. Mostly I don't associate with a whole lot of those kind of people, but I probably could name a few names. And then there are those special kind who actually wear literal tiaras. Not in the sweet way Lorien did when she took her tiara-topped girls out to see The Princess Diaries , but in the weird way that tells the world "I was the queen of cheese way back in '87 ('78?) and I've still got the tiara to prove it (read, I still wear it p...

(Disclaimer: So sorry Julie, for this blatant rip-off. I don't intend to plagiarize, but there are no other words.) I live in the land of sobriety (or at least a semblance of), but I need to talk about addiction. Currently I am addicted to blogging. Usually I am too busy to while away this much time in the land of blog, but I am sick and my house is a wreck--a downright DCFS-worthy wreck--and this beats soap operas and bon bons hands down. Other addictions I deal with include quilting, fabric shopping and getting lost in a good book. I have also done e-Bay, but thankfully I'm recovered from that. Mirriam (or was it Webster?) defines addiction as "the compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal." Granted I'm using the term "substance" a little loosely, but I think I've got "compulsive" down pat. I'm not brave enough to even consider withdra...

Just the other day I got the cold clear message that my blogging activities are not going unnoticed by my children. While they have very specific rules for their time on the Internet (only talk to people you know, never share personal information, no chat rooms or myspace, etc.), I wonder if the effectiveness of establishing said rules is becoming undone by none other than me. Recently, at a family dinner, I overheard my 10-year-old daughter telling my sister-in-law about her mom's friend Rebecca. I started listening intently, wondering who of my friends she had mistaken for Rebecca. She then went on to explain it was Mom's friend from the Internet and she has these two really cute kids the same ages as my sister-in-law's kids and they match right up with her Jake and Sadie. My non-blogger SIL gave me a rather funny look--like the one we give my mother when she starts referring to celebrities by their first names--which I ignored because I was rather more alarmed that my da...

Like many of you, I like to take the occasional guilt trip over my shortcomings as a mother. However, recent headlines have convinced me that my kids don't have it so bad. Here's why: 1. Although my children have been discovered in many places--wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart (I was inside the store as well at the time), walking naked down the street (never past the age of four), and, thrice, at various stages on their way to the school where my husband teaches--they have never been found outside wandering by the freeway in the middle of the night. In the middle of winter. 2. Unlike the mother who threw overnight parties so she could hit on her kids' high-school-aged friends--I try to keep a safe distance and make sure my kids' friends are home at a reasonable hour. Although I am not opposed to feeding them or cheering for them at sporting events. And I don't serve alcohol at my own parties, let alone my kids' parties. I don't even serve caffeinated beverag...

A friend of mine was just blogging about the culinary delights found in Heber City and she recounted the experience of eating orgasmic sea bass at the Snake Creek Grille. I realized I've never even tasted regular sea bass, let alone the orgasmic variety. So now I'm curious. Are its arousing qualities inherent in the sea bass itself--dependent on where it was raised, what it was fed or the particular water current patterns in effect during its life span? Or were the specific combination of herbs and spices used in the preparation responsible? Who knows? I'm trying to recall if I have ever been so delighted by a dinner entree. If so, I doubt it would've been seafood. (Although the halibut at Sundance could become habit-forming were I able to afford to taste it more than one time.) Some people are similarly excited by exquisite chocolate, but even Godiva didn't do it for me. However, as I try to recall the best meal I've ever had, I realize a combination of fine ch...

Recently someone asked a small group of us if we had any good resolutions for the New Year. I kindly kept my mouth shut. The only thing I am resolute about is not having any New Year's Resolutions. I am not opposed to goals and I do have lots of ideas of things I'd like to achieve throughout next year. But the same anti-lemming wiring that makes me run screaming from the latest Oprah book or proudly affirm that I had read that book BEFORE they started printing it with Oprah's seal of approval also makes me resist that futile attempt to be a whole new me for no better reason than the brand new calendar hanging on the wall. Maybe it's a result of so many years of failure. I would resolve to be someone different--a kinder, gentler (always thinner) me. But no matter how I tried, I would cling to the same foibles and follies that just seem to be part of who I am. Maybe I am resistant to the apparent hypocrisy I always found watching hundreds of resolute dieters flocking to t...

1. Actual weather conditions. Not the pansy steady 80-degree stuff you can always count on in places like San Diego, CA. We have real weather: rain, snow, sleet--and a wind that'll blow right through you. It's the kind of weather that makes one appreciate an occasional vacation to places like San Diego, CA. 2. Driven snow. I used to think of it only as the snow flyin' in those white-out, white-knuckle driving situations, but the product is that beautifully drifting snow that seems too perfect to have been formed at random. 3. Extra refrigerator space. Yeah, I like storing my 2-liter soda bottles, a crockpot full of soup--or whatever else is too big or bulky to fit in my fridge--just right outside my kitchen door on my deck. 4. Cold clear water. Every summer I secretly lament the fact I don't have a water and ice machine handily provided in my refrigerator. Every winter I enjoy glasses full of ice cold water right from the tap and I am perfectly content with what I h...

A few Christmases ago I got it into my head that I needed three things. 1). A winter coat for my daughter. Not a new coat--because I was trying to teach her a lesson for having misplaced the most warm and beautiful fur-trimmed robin egg blue coat (that I had had my eye on all the winter before and played my cards just right to grab at the very last moment and at the very best clearance price)--but something that would keep her relatively warm through the winter. 2). A pool table. Yes, I know pool tables don't just fall from the sky. But my boys were turning into teenagers and they needed something to do for fun with their friends since we don't own a trampoline or a swimming pool or the latest Nintendo. and 3). Well, my memory is usually a little cloudy about three, but it might have been an outdoor basketball standard. See reason for wanting item two. So I kept wishing for these three things to just magically appear. And guess what. They did. Two different neighbors handed dow...

I keep starting a blog about the interesting experiences I have caring for my aged and dear grandparents three mornings a week, but I can never get past the title. I want to share my observations in a general way--there are moments that are both poignant and amusing--without being specific enough to be disrespectful to the individuals involved. (Many good lines from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" come to mind, but they would, of course, be wholly inappropriate.) So I decided to tell this story through the titles with which it could begin. 1. "Old Age Ain't for Sissies" Grandpa, who has maintained his keen sense of humor long for nearly 97 years, says this to my husband on a regular basis. At first I just laughed when I heard this. But as I have witnessed firsthand the increasing humilities and decreasing of such hard-won independence that are inherent in growing old, I am no longer amused. 2. "Waiting to Die" It gives one an entirely new persp...

In applying to be a chaperone for a high school choir tour, I am being asked to evaluate myself based on some interesting criteria. Some of it has to do with being a responsible adult. I think I can fudge my way through those tough questions. But the part that's got me stuck is the section that deals with, in essence, being cool enough not to ruin the tour for the kids. It got me thinking... I finally came to the realization this morning, that, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am a geek. Of course I've the clues have been evident all along, some subtle, some not so much. Like those times when you say something that sounds socially acceptable in your head, but comes out all wrong and leaves you feeling stupid. It doesn't even matter if no one else noticed it was uncool. You still scream at yourself in your head, "I am the biggest geek" and bang your sorry head into the wall over and over and over (one of the first signs of geekness, to be sure). Maybe the...

So this morning I'm lying in bed trying to bring my 6-year-old back into consciousness so he can get to school on time. He wakes up and we get in some good cuddle time (especially appreciated because two of my other kids aren't approachable even with a ten-foot pole). He looks up at me and says, "Mom, how did you get to be so buff?" I laughed (and those of you who know me are undoubtedly laughing even harder). My buff days have been over for about 16 years (age of oldest child), when I quickly realized that if I had a few moments for myself during the day they had better be spent in a sanity preserving catnap, not doling out my last drop of energy on a treadmill. (Which was fine, because we've never actually owned a treadmill.) About 20 years ago I did manage to find two hours in the day to work out. Back then it was still all about me. I wasn't responsible for anyone else (or their tightly packed schedules). I could do whatever I wanted with my designated 24 ...

As I woke up this morning I realized that instead of dreaming I had been blogging...in my sleep. All I remember is looking at another one of kactiguy's great sketches, which for some reason compelled me to write a cheeky comment about how sleeping under the stars is overrated. What woke me up was the startling realization that I was using italics in my blog--in real life I don't know how to italicize in blogwrit. Anyhow, I'm wondering if blogging in my sleep isn't a sign I may be spending too much time in blogworld. (The last time I remember trying to do something real in my sleep was when I was working two full-time jobs. I was a hoe-r by day and I worked in a pizza joint by night. Pulling weeds in one's sleep actually sends one into a deeper sleep, but frantically trying to take a pizza order in one's pajamas is a little disconcerting.) I guess one can only put off doing yesterday's dishes so long before they become last week's dishes. It would be trag...

School starts in less than a week and although returning to some semblance of a routine appeals to me, there is one thing I am not looking forward to...getting two teenagers, both teeming with testosterone, out of bed in time for them to arrive at Provo High by 7:30AM. I am one of those unfortunate mothers cursed by the mixed-up-genes fates, who I imagine take great delight in my situation. First Son, the grumpy one, can't get out of bed (even after knock down drag out battles with his mother) and--being the budding metrosexual he is--requires an exact and exorbitant amount of time in the shower, grooming his hair, chewing his french toast and then brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash for the requisite 2 minutes! Second Son--the previously (till the hormones took over) cheerful one--can get out of bed and in and out of the shower in a flash and be out the door somewhere between zero and ten minutes, not caring at all about the end results. Of course any other genetic balance o...

Yesterday I was talking to a real rarity--a woman who has remained a stay-at-home mom even after all her kids have been in school for some time now. She is also rarity because she's one of the first people who hasn't asked me what I'm going to do now that all my kids will be in school full-time this year. To be fair, this is a question I have asked myself a hundred times (or more) over the past year in anticipation of this major milestone in my life. But there are several implications in this question and the resulting discussion that make me wonder if this milestone must necessarily become a turning point. The first is that all of a sudden motherhood isn't such a huge job and I have time for something like, I don't know--another career--in my life. The second is that my kids somehow don't need a full-time mother any more. The last--and the one that perhaps disturbs me the most--is that I can't/won't be contributing to society if I don't get some kin...

This past weekend I had two--not just one--but two family reunions to attend. It had been one tough week at our house (more on that later, maybe, but I prefer to live in the land of the light and mundane rather than the dark and dramatic) and by Friday afternoon I wasn't feeling up to anything more than curling up in bed and turning the world away for a few days. But duty to family will drag one to do just about anything, so we left a kitchen full of dirty dishes, hopped in the dirty mini-van--completely ill prepared for two days of camping--and just drove. I'm glad I did. We stopped at my dad(deceased for 20 years, but the product of a very big and connected family of almost 250)'s family reunion first, on the way to my husband's immediate family reunion out by Moon Lake. As I made the rounds to say hello to my favorite incarnations of what I remember about my dad, I found myself buoyed up by the enthusiastic hugs and genuine pleasure they expressed over our arrival. A...