State of Obvious

Not so long ago I was wrangled into attending the General Relief Society Meeting portion of General Conference , an event sponspored by our church and aimed at men.  Just kidding, this meeting was aimed at women.  They do this every six months.  And I usually don't go.  What can I say, I'm a rebel.  Nevertheless, I set aside the rebellion and went to this meeting.  The first two speakers were ok.  One of them looked like she probably would be the type to carry chocolate chip cookies in her purse for emergencies.  I liked her.  But I digress.   The concluding speaker for the evening was Dieter F. Uchtdorf.  And first, it helps that he is nice to look at.  He's kind of what I picture Prince Charming looking like later in life.  Second, he's got a great accent.  What is it about accents that make people more interesting?  I wish I had one.  I mean other than the midwest-meets-New-Mexico thing.  Third, he's great at being relate-able.  He doesn'

Sleep, sleep, my little one, The moon hangs heavy low A silvery face on darkened night, a million Peeping speckled stars, a cricket song Flies out. Sleep, sleep, beloved child, The sounds are fading fast A busy world slows down, fires crackle Bright and brassy, a lullaby Drifts in. Sleep, sleep, The dawn waits somewhere distant Relentless feet marching on, a turning World of strife, forgotten now In sleep.

A list, which is probably the product of my temporary state of single parenthood: To do (for me and you): Get the house cleaned.  The tornado-ness is driving me mad. Eat something totally unhealthy and delicious. Also, indulge in Sonic shakes. Play outside. Keep the TV turned off.  The silence is my best weapon against the aforementioned madness. Read scriptures every night.  Or most nights, possibly some nights - whichever comes first. Get the homework done early so we can stop thinking about it. Keep the sink free from dirty dishes.  A clean kitchen is so much happier. Feed the dogs.  And water.  Poor puppies. Play together. Read together.  I love to hear the sound of falling night time stories. Jump around. Dance. Laugh. Call Daddy.  Write a love note. Hug and kiss. Live every moment. Love hard. Sleep soft. Dream.  Never stop. See you there. Love, Mom

I am the master of the half-finished.  I have chores I've been intending to do, gardens I've been meaning to plant, stories I've been meaning to tell.  Somewhere inside my brain, all my ideas are locked away having some kind of party.  I've got at least 4 stories going on right now, half written (mostly in long hand with a pen, it's always interesting to try and go back and interpret them for typing).  Funny thing is, as soon as I start to doubt my abilities, the stories stall out and the words dry up.  All the fantastic ideas I have run for the room of half finished things in my brain.  I'm looking for the key, but I've forgotten where I put it.  Which shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. I am not sure what is stopping me from becoming a full-finished woman.  Am I too distracted?  Taking on too many projects?  Or maybe I

If I only had a brain. Well, I'm working on that I suppose.   Some fifteen years ago I left school behind to be a married lady, then a mommy lady.  And I wouldn't trade those things, or change those things.  Marriage and children have been the hardest and most rewarding classes I have ever taken.  Many lessons are learned through pain (caused by my own pride, naivety, and selfishness usually), some were learned through love, some were just plain out learned.  Like, cover up the boy parts while you change diapers.  I learned that lesson quick.  A cuddle goes farther than a spank.  I learned that lesson slow.  You don't get lost, lazy moments back - I haven't learned that lesson yet, I keep failing the test. Now that I'm back in the book-learnin' type school, I am learning new things.  How to budget time, how to meet expectations, how to speak up, how to work hard and fake my way through when I don't understand (I kind of already knew that, but I'm ref

This has been the fall of self-doubt.  A constant theme in my life, I know.  I started out the semester riddled with all kinds of worries - am I choosing the right path, what will I do with an English degree when I'm done, why are books more expensive than groceries for a month, what if I fail, what if this class is too hard, and on and on.  To add to this pile of worry, Eric moved to a new position at work and part of the new job is travel.  He's going to be gone most of October, a little of November, and a little of December.  Plus he'll be traveling at least once a quarter from here on out.  Juggling school and children and their school and football and homework and their homework and church and cleaning house and cooking and life in general - well, I'm not used to being so alone in my own house.  Oh, I've taken the kids on vacation alone.  A couple summers ago we even left Eric behind for over a month as we drove cross country.  But, that wasn't regular li

My son is having a conversation with himself.  It's fairly common these days.  The mumbling, the sighing, the mouthing words without sound.  It happens all the time. It makes my blood boil in my veins.  And also, my eyebrows shoot skyward like they have strings pulling them up.  It's very annoying.  (The eyebrows and the conversations.) See, the thing is, I asked him to read a book.  A good book, one I've read and enjoyed.  ( Pillage by Obert Skye , if you're interested.)  He's reading this book for school.  He has to read about 14 books by the end of the quarter.  I'm really hoping that means December but I'm not sure. My son, bless him, went right into convulsions. The body language alone is fascinating.  Arms and legs and head bobbing in separate directions.  And then there are the sounds.  Long exhalations of breath, lungs emptying at alarming rates, teeth pressed together so that the air comes out in a whistle, and limbs hitting against the floo