Random Ramblings

Bear It Well [RANT]

2026-09-12T15:44:12.905-04:00

This post got out of hand. I may want to post more than once a week if life is gonna be like this. You may want to read in doses:

Yesterday’s scripture study reminded me of the value of bearing each others’ burdens. I was struck by how, in relationships that last, helping and supporting has to go in both directions. No one likes to be the one scrubbing and cleaning while the other supervises and/or plays. (Not referencing Martha and Mary here, but it does sound similar. One was cleaning and serving while the other actively learned from the leader among men. Both are noble tasks. We just need balance.)

I probably shouldn’t write about my feelings this week since it has been a busy one. Maybe you should opt out of this post now, so I will start at Thursday and let you know a story is live on Substack.

Now to rewind the film and review. We started with a long weekend, three days for the hubby and four for the babies. (None for me. Mama doesn’t get a day off.) Most of you have probably picked up that I don’t enjoy being the only person cleaning while everyone else plays or continuously blocks my progress. But we were having friends over Monday and I try not to scare away my friend with my filth.

So I woke up last Friday with a sore throat brought on by my new friends, allergies and sinus drainage. I still wonder if I wouldn’t basically come down with a man cold every time they hit had I grown up with allergies and adapted to their place in my life. I muddled through and cleaned some things, continuing my ongoing efforts to tidy my house one toy, one piece of junk mail, and one mystery item at a time. My husband swooped in and boxed up some items I had left in hopes the kids would help. He informed the kids he threw them away. No one enjoyed the resultant screams and complaints.

By Monday we felt capable of hosting our guests so the kids could play but I wasn’t up to the full day of excitement. Thankfully, one of my friends suggested we skip the dinner portion. (I still sent them home with brownies and have some left. Guess who isn’t eating healthy today or tomorrow?) Another guest pointed out that our house was hotter than outside. It only reached 80 degrees, so I hadn’t clued into our AC needing a checkup.

I just adapt if the temperature falls between 50 and 80 degrees. (I am the lady in sandals, shirts, and a t-shirt when others have pulled out their down-lined parka.) My body was trained to adapt to that wide array of temperatures at a young age. All the fans in my house growing up pointed at my mother to keep her from melting and the trailer wasn’t well-insulated. In fact, my mom insisted on rolling down the windows of the car in the middle of winter because she was hot. Wisdom dictates that I am not in charge of the temperature for the happiness of people who are zero to fifty percent polar bear.

The following day, a tall young man came to help resolve our temperature issues. I think confirming with my husband that we wanted the repair took longer than the rest of the visit, which included replacing the faulty part. I appreciated this efficiency as I had other things on my mind…

Wednesday was a perfect day for cake and celebration. That date requires such pageantry since I officially became a mom. My little pooch enthusiast even started her day off right by petting a neighbor’s dog. She may have gotten some stuffed puppies of her own since allergies preclude a real puppy or kitty taking over our hearts and home. I think baby sis almost exploded from excitement while waiting to present her gift. Overall, satisfaction and happiness stemmed from the givers and receivers.

Thursday found more confusion on the bus route. Because we live off of a busy, fairly straight road, I can see the three stops before ours as I wait for the return of my cuties. The bus barely stopped at the first one, zipped past the second one though the mom tried to flag him down though the child was nowhere in sight, grabbed the girl at the stop before us, and then he stopped for us. The sub informed me that the stop I referred to didn’t exist and drove off. So someone got to experience car line.

 The afternoon was even more traumatic for another child and their parents. We had been informed of a bus change. Then another change was announced. The app said the kids were still on the first substitute bus. I decided to live by the adage “don’t trust the app” and hurried to the bus stop. The bus stopped at the stop below us, where it released the child it forgot to pick up earlier in the day, but the other student who got off at that stop didn’t have a visible parent, so she got thirty to forty more minutes on the bus. I feel like they should let us list people we trust to guard our kid in case we get caught in traffic or such, but no one at the bus depot has approved that idea when I put it forth in the past.

Retrospectively, the dad may not have been able to get down the street with his car and had a younger child with him. About an hour before I raced for the bus stop, a loud hissing sound from outside made me think my neighbors were having their house power washed. I was later informed that emergency vehicles had the road behind mine blocked off, so it may have been a water main break or a gas leak.

Thankfully, the substitute bus driver didn’t question me claiming all the kids from my stop since work delays kept my neighbors from reaching the stop before the bus. Another neighbor let my children pet their dog, so it was a puppy love win again.

The rest of the day and night was spent working on my prize of the week: the story I mentioned before. Have you read it yet? Offer me moral support.

Yesterday was a little less frazzled aside from letting one child’s stuffies take a ride on the amusement park rides we know as the washer and dryer. I may be testing a hypothesis about weather one can wash them repeatedly without having to play Doc McStuffins. I should inform you that fluffy friends purchased at the dollar store don’t take this kind of treatment well. Thankfully, I keep needles and thread close at hand.

Now I must leave you, but I must tell one last little story about how my life is going right now. I drove down to the church today. As I neared the building, I noticed that the larger parking lot was completely blocked by a huge tree. I promptly parked in the smaller lot, jumped out of my car, and wandered over to take a picture. I proceeded to send said picture to people I hoped could handle this situation with wisdom and alacrity. I then went to check on the neighbor to see if they had input on the subject of the tree.

I believe our accents, hers adorable and probably from some lovely European country and mine from the south of this multi-faceted country, were working against us. At one point, she assured me she didn’t pushed the tree over. It was a large tree. She is a sweet, tiny lady older than myself. That thought never crossed my mind. By the time I left the church, a tree crew had arrived to help assure plenty of parking for tomorrow morning. I have done my due diligence. We shall see what this following week brings.

Spoiler: a party is happening and cake is being baked.

Opting Out [RANT]

2026-09-04T14:32:32.807-04:00

Lately, people have been opting out of my Substack posts. I didn’t sign on for so much poetry either but bear with me. My muse is prepping some stories for October. If I can work my way through some of my other piles of “want to do” items, I might even post a story before this month ends. If you are keeping tabs, it didn’t happen this week.

Technically, this was the clones’ first full week of school, but they have today and Monday off to assure that lack of consistency I am coming to expect. This may be my way of gently letting you down. A story may not be forthcoming next week either.

My number one fan has already tried to stay home with me a couple of times. Watching me shuffle through piles of this and that in the hopes of making our house weigh less isn’t most people’s idea of a good time yet she seems drawn in.

Maybe I should start a podcast where people can watch me grumble to myself as I try to clean and tidy the disasters that accumulate over and over again in my house. Who wouldn’t want to watch that? I can see some of my commentary that will keep them coming back:

“Has that really been there all summer?”

“How did I miss this corner?”

“Why is she hoarding this?”

“For someone who keeps complaining about the mess, why did he leave this here?”

“That’s what that smell was?”

“We might actually have a pet in here…”

“Oh my, she is a hoarder like me…”

Yep. We do terrible things to our children just by giving them our genetics. At least I gave them giant heads to hold their brains, right?

Maybe you’d opt out of watching me dig through what is probably just piles of garbage. If I were car line compliant, I might opt out of the school bus route. The bus has yet to arrive at the time that we were told it would arrive, either morning or afternoon.

Honestly, it hasn’t been either consistently late nor early. The app which is supposed to make it easier to know where the bus is hasn’t proved helpful. One minute it says the bus is on the opposite side of the road, parked at an intersection and sixty seconds later, it is approaching. Mind you, looking up doesn’t always mean I will then see the bus.

Other times, the bus sits just within view of our stop idling for unknown reasons. I try not to pry but it sounds like a confused child a couple of stops before ours neither wants to go to school nor return from school, so everyone waits.

Yesterday, I was treated to an extra half in the sun while the bus finished its previous route. They had the decency to call after I had already left my house, since the bus was ten minutes early the previous day. On that occasion, I raced to try to catch the bus only to see it zip by and turn around to head back to the school. I think the confused child forgot to get on the bus that day. Is it wrong to think that people who have that much trouble getting their child to acclimate to the bus and respect that it is not a private conveyance might want to give carline compliance the old college try?

I just want my kids to arrive at a consistent time, so I know they have time for breakfast at school and when I will get them off of the bus, so I am not running down the road even though I left my house before the bus should have left the school…

Is that too much?

Does mama need to much?

Our Family [RANT]

2026-08-21T10:22:50.740-04:00

I called my stepsister last week to let her know we would be in town. She may or may not have squealed with delight before inviting me to her daughter’s wedding reception. Having met this bonus niece twice, I promptly accepted and volunteered to invite my brothers and father to round out the motley crew of “who are you again?” guests.

Only one brother and my nephew were able to make it. Oh, and me and my three pack of blue-eyed cuties. The oldest of these made it sound like we were forced to attend. My family is an acquired taste that he has no intention of developing.

But we showed up a bit early and hung out at the venue. My girls assured that I got lots of hints of sulphur and brimstone by insisting we needed to keep checking out the bathroom that showed signs of being entrance to the fiery bowels of the earth. A sign even warned us that the water comes out hot to reinforce this supposition.

Aside from that, the venue was as lovely as ever. One child fell in love with a stuffed bear but was denied a new friend. The other spent most of the previous night having more fun than could be anticipated at that hotel and fell asleep at the reception. She grudgingly woke up to play with her cousin at one point, but she wouldn’t have forgiven herself if she missed out on cousin time.

I should share about our accommodations the previous night. Key features of the hotel included an outdoor pool that was still covered despite claiming a functional indoor pool on the booking site, hallways that reeked of cigarette smoke, a smoke detector both disconnected and wrapped in cling wrap, stale pastries, a moldy ice machine, and pillows that smelled of dog. This last wasn’t really an issue for me, but we requested a pet and smoke free room due to extreme allergies in one member of our party. And this room was the only one available, despite our specific reservation, because it was out of service due to a broken television that turned out to just be a broken remote. At least our media starved darlings didn’t eat us for entertainment. But I digress.

As we waited for the reception to start, another couple wandered over. The husband swore I looked familiar. I said we might be related. Turns out they were from the groom’s side. They lived in the city where I went to college but not while I was there. I half expected to be identified as the chick in the cloak though…

My first view of the groom found him carrying a huge roaster full of pulled pork. His wife, my niece, was helping set up food. We are hardworking people even on our special days. My mama taught me not to come empty handed, so I brought black and white cookies and three loaves of banana nut bread. I got compliments for both. The best compliment was my great nephew telling me I did a really good job on the cookies. I suppose he will require me to bring my children and cookies for every subsequent visit. Otherwise, he might deny me admittance to his Nana.

Another guest told me how fast the banana nut bread was being devoured. It has received accolades before. Thank goodness for Betty Crocker. I also amused some guests by reminding the bride of how she is related to my brother and I. We like to keep familial relationships complicated where I am from. (“Well, I am your step-aunt but I am probably also your fourth cousin once removed. I bet we are related another way too, but let’s stick to what I currently know, shall we?”)

Aside from that, the reception proved uneventful for my normal familial small town gatherings. I feel like my troops’ attendance may have doubled the number of guests for the bride’s side. Events are hard to plan so close to the start of the school year.

I say that because another bonus nephew is having a half birthday party this weekend. The weather is being unkind, so the date got switched, but the cupcakes will still be delicious. That’s right, I don’t plan to come empty handed to that party either.

I have regaled you enough with my own family, so my in-laws just get an honorable mention. They tried to fatten me up, but I succeeded in practicing a modicum of self-control, so I am still around the same weight as when I left for my magical journey to family time.

Stay cool, my friends. Have fun in school, kiddos. And, moms, get ready to deep clean like your fall depends on it.

Just Another Day [RANT]

2026-08-05T11:37:55.320-04:00

Yes, I am a grown woman who is still quite precious about her birthday. When my employment came with the benefit of days off, that was the day I took every year, without question. It didn’t matter if I stayed at home, curled up with a book and kitties, or my friends lured me out for dinner and random hijinks. I claimed my birthday as my day.

(For perspective, my boss kept pointing out how I rarely used vacation days. He also kept suggesting mental health days. I could go for one of those now.)

As a mom, clearly I share my summer days with the tiny humans I made. I miss my own mom, who honestly went through quite a bit to bring me into the world. I may joke about having the shoulders of a very short linebacker, but that proved less of a joke during the birthing process. But here I am and my mother may have forgiven me. I can’t exactly ask for reassurance from her at the moment, but I continue to forgive my little loves tor denying me sleep, so maybe…

Back to me being precious. I declared my day of celebration as mine this year by deciding how my three loves could entertain me. Fortunately, they let me drop off to sleep before my actual birthday started. My body made sure I woke up multiple times before the sun rose, but that is just part of the joy of celebrating so many birthdays.

When I was finally ready to start celebrating me, I got to do so by waiting for the opportunity to wash off birthday eve and start with a clean slate. At least someone got to leisurely do as they pleased on my birthday morning.

I made my own breakfast. I made my own cake.

My email gifted me laughs with an invitation to join a relationship coaching academy. My constant assertions that I should have committed to being a hobbit hermit don’t stem from a deep-seated love for damp, moldy-smelling caves with spiders nesting in my hair while I sleep. I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out, but I am sure the spiders and I would annoy each other eventually. In other words, no one really wants me as a relationship coach though I can tell you some things that definitely don’t work.

Real life gifted better. One tiny love presented me with a tiny, squishable Grogu. The other selected a necklace that declares “I heart you”. A friend released a new book for me to read on my kindle. My bonus parents found a replacement for one of my ruined books. The tallest love presented me with a cozy shirt pointing back toward our first meeting. Then he played chauffeur for the rest of my demands for the day. I selected matching earrings and a necklace featuring lovely butterflies (anyone know why that is important?) with red flowers and what appears to be a nod to mother-of-pearl.

Then we went to the Cheesecake Factory for my birthday lunch. Usually, our service there is stellar. In fact, we had a waiter who has provided such service in the past. Yet somehow, my birthday brought on its own luckless abandon. We placed our orders. No problem. Beverages and delicious bread arrived. No problems. We placed our orders. Still good.

Then the food began to arrive. They brought one child’s meal and my husband’s meal. Another wave of servers came toward us. They delivered plates to people who ordered after us. Some time elapsed while my husband stared at his hamburger morosely as he waited for my food to arrive. At last, our final food got carried to our table. Almost. My dressing, as I ordered it on the side, got lost in translation. My husband tucked happily into his burger. I requested my dressing. Waiting resumed.

I finally got to eat my salad when most of the other food had already disappeared from plates. But that’s okay because after cleaning my plate, it was time to order dessert. I had decided I wanted the Very Cherry Ghirardelli® Chocolate Cheesecake. Delicious and sharable with my picky children. I was informed that this flavor has been discontinued. Then the waiter disappeared.

My body, which I may have mentioned is cranky and old, demanded I make my way to the bathroom. I informed my husband of this and he made it clear I needed to stay put until the waiter returned to take my dessert order. I couldn’t give an accurate accounting of how long his return took, since I was uncomfortable. I eventually had to flag him down. I ordered the pecan turtle cheesecake. I wasn’t thinking clearly. This was not sharable. I tried. Complaints were lodged. Repeatedly as I tried.

I enjoyed my cheesecake as much as one can with such grumbling. Then we moved on to our next adventure. A few years ago, both of my tiny loves scored new friends at Build-A-Bear for my birthday. We got some gift cards for future use. I decided that it was time to make my own friend. It was pointed out to me that a sale meant one could get two stuffies with only an extra $15. I think the idea was to repeat letting the littles each get a friend. I got exasperated sighs when I suggested the children each pick a sale eligible friend and I would get whatever inspired my little heart. Twice.

My little heart wanted two kitties. My little ones selected a cat and a dog that had coloring inspired by ice cream. We somehow kept the overhead, after gift cards, small. We took our friends home for snuggles and the hope of more cake.

I assure you there was more cake. Layers and layers of lovely cake. I posted a picture on substack. I may still be working my way through said cake, slowly, and with massive amounts of sharing because this cake was impressively large as my cakestrosities must be to celebrate my birth properly.

Anyway, I rounded out the day in bed with my tiniest angel because her “heart hurt”. I keep telling her I will hug and kiss her without subterfuge, so I spent the night worrying.

Gifts continue to trickle through though. Much like the cake, they bring back the joy of getting older. Two friends let me love on their kitties. Few images bring the joy of a chubby orange tabby bounding down the stairs to see you or tiny Siamese kittens trying to steal the toe beans of your youngest child (also on the stairs--maybe I need more stairs in my life?) Another friend treated my children and I to lunch at my favorite Queen. Well, not my absolute favorite. This one didn’t feature an Eskimo girl or a view of my birthplace from the entrance. But it was delicious.

I guess I must take the good and the bad. Anyone else suddenly want to watch “The Fact of Life”?

Trash Thunder [RANT]

2026-07-17T13:23:01.923-04:00

Woke up last Friday morning to what I assumed was more thunder from the previous night’s storm. Instead, I realized the nice men we pay to haul away what I deem unusable to the dump. If you know me, you know my history of up-cycling what other people would throw out into usable items. I have many friends who continuously give me items they have no use for to boost my creativity and happiness.

My husband thinks I am just hoarding garbage. At least my garbage doesn’t sit in areas designated to specific uses such as food prep until someone else gets tired of working around it and moves it for them. I know I am not alone in being the trash mover of the house. As they say, a mother’s work is never done.

My little darlings have been enjoying camp the last couple weeks. I had hoped to be more productive in my trash filling and moving efforts, but something isn’t quite right with me these days. Is it the continuing lack of a full night’s sleep? Does it have something to do with summer weather versus my charming polar bear nature? Could it be the smoke hanging over us like that table right next to the smoking section before they banned smoking in restaurants? Do I need an honest to goodness vacation where my nervous system isn’t plagued with everyone else demanding that I make them happy…even at the expense of myself?

Probably a little of all of these.

Like any self-respecting writer, I made some time to write, yet I still haven’t got ahead of my writing goals. I did find a stash of old writings in my hoard. They were written by me. Should I polish them up and present them to substack? Would you pay to see what was going on in my teenage mind?

Suddenly, psychologists are checking in on this page with interest…

Mama Needs Money [RANT]

2026-06-29T13:14:29.877-04:00

People keep telling me I should write a book. This usually follows a story about my early years. Instead of writing such a book, perhaps I should see how many people would wisely pay me not to share my experiences with them. How much would you pay for me to stop talking endlessly about cats, childhood trauma, and how I became addicted to chocolate?

But why would I possibly need money? Possibly to fund my corset, chocolate, cat, and fabric addictions? Maybe?

In actuality, the first issue is an age-old one. As a mother, I was offered the opportunity to stay home with my children instead of outsourcing their care to others. My husband felt that the pay wouldn’t be enough to offset childcare if I worked in an office or a bookstore or a library. And I wasn’t sure I’d want to miss their little faces for forty hours or more a week.

However, the constant need to advocate for extracurricular activities for my kids is exhausting. Yes, I have many random skill sets, but I didn’t pursue teaching as a career because I lack some of the required facets of a good teacher—unlimited energy and patience, for instance. This means I get to hear how bored they are despite my best efforts to entertain. Besides, as their mother, they don’t always give me the same attention they give to someone else who is sharing knowledge with them.

I want my children to learn and have fun. One of them definitely does better with a definite and consistent schedule repeated every day. This is my second summer trying to execute such a schedule. Thanks to advice from a group of like-minded mothers of faith, they are responding better to my attempts to keep their math skills sharp. What was that secret? Play board games with them and let them do the math, checking for accuracy, of course. They haven’t been as cooperative as I try to give them some life skills like cleaning, organizing, and resisting the urge to hoard.

On top of that, they frequently complain that they want to see their friends. So I try to make that happen. But guess where their friends are? In camps. Most camps seem to average about $300 to $400 per child for a week. That can really cut into the budget, so we stuck with the one camp that charges about $150 per child per week, but that leaves us flailing for the rest of the summer.

On top of that, a kitchen mishap has resulted in me needing to replace some cookbooks and magazines. I ended up photographing the recipes I like or still need to try from the magazines because I bought them so long ago, that people willing to part with them were charging upwards of $50. I may need to up the dosage on my heart medicine to recover from that sticker shock, but a couple of the books were reasonably priced, so I am convincing myself that it is okay to buy them or ask for them for my birthday.

In short, I technically have a very small cash stream. I finally have two paid subscribers on substack, so I will be able to afford those cookbooks by the end of the year. I also get the occasional interested party who wants to buy some of my up-cycled journals or other crafts, so feel free to send an inquiry if you need a gift for an upcoming birthday or other event. After all, it is never too early to plan for Christmas in July. (It might be too late depending on how extreme you want to get though, so choose carefully.)

Final Words: Finally Found [PREACHY]

2026-06-15T11:07:42.758-04:00

Somehow, I have decided to fall into the weeds of my digital archives. In so doing, I found some writings that seem to be mostly finished aside from finesse. Some of them might boost my productivity on Substack. Others clearly want to be shared here. So I present an edited and updated mini-post that I buried in some dark recess of my hard drive until now:

One of the podcasts I listen to, challenged me to write my Final words in six sentences. I don’t even remember when this happened at this point. As I mulled it over, looking for perfection though I know I won’t find that in myself, the following wanted to be written. My self esteem isn’t that good or you would have so much more to read from me each week. But why on earth would that be the focus of my final statement to a world in need of hope and guidance?

Shouldn’t those final words be about gratitude? Final words give one last chance to leave the world better than we found it after all. So here we go, my final words should they be needed anytime soon.

1. No matter what happens, don’t forget that you are loved by me, by our Savior Jesus Christ, and by your Father in Heaven.

2. Keep striving to be the good in this world.

3. Furthermore, try to be grateful for all that you have, both blessings and trials.

4. You need both the good and the bad times to make you into the best possible version of yourself.

5. And remember that you are never alone because Heavenly Father sent us here to care for and strengthen each other.

6. When you doubt any of this, be strong and turn to Heavenly Father in prayer.

This Is Why I Care [RANT]

2026-06-12T10:23:23.325-04:00

Some people may have read my last post and are now waiting for my breakdown and the reign of terror. But bad experiences, terrible decisions, and the cruelty of others aren’t all life taught me.

I don’t remember my grandmother very well since she passed away the year I turned four. Yet I have always feel loved when I think of her. My mother assured me that though my grandmother’s cancer had spread to her bones, she refused to miss a moment with me. She relayed that even the intense pain of trying to hold me wasn’t a deterrent. My grandmother wouldn’t let my mother take me from her, even when she heard a snap that sounded like weakened bones giving way. Sometimes, love overrides the pain.

While many of the people who claimed to try to help me as a child probably did more harm than good by making promises and never following through, a couple of educators truly saw and celebrated me. For some, they showed this by writing a letter requesting I be put in a reading class that would challenge me. One worded it more as an admonition for my enthusiasm making less motivated readers feel bad about themselves and I still got placed back in redial reading the next year. Others gave me outdated reading textbooks from higher grade levels. I devoured all of these words ravenously.

One teacher in particular took it upon herself to champion me. She didn’t limit the encouragement to just her class. She encouraged my interest in other areas of learning, pointing our with excitement how those interests related to each other. She may have also clothed me for a couple of years. I had a hobo not-chic hand-me-down style that no one else bothered to try to correct politely. (You know other kids weren’t kind—most of the time).

And she wasn’t the only bonus mom who tried to fill in where my own exhausted mother couldn’t find the time. If you really know me, you know I was the least needy of her children. Some have observed that I essentially raised myself in some areas. In other arenas, I may have been raised more like a boy. Thus you get treated to the weirdness that I call personality.

So despite all my complaints, I have to confess, that I want to be kind. I want to care. I will not randomly decide I hate you because your beliefs or appearance different than mine. And I state certain things all the time, but I shall try to summarize a few here:

I don’t care who you love as long as you respect my assurances that I want to be your friend but I don’t need to be just like you or make out with you to do that.

I am not staring because I am judging you. Sometimes, I am just looking your way because your smile or your eyes are beautiful. At other times, I am looking at the art that someone painstakingly applied to your skin while you exhibited the patience of a saint.

On a similar note, I may be counting your piercings or contemplating how one tiny hole became large enough to stick a finger through. I am socially awkward not judging you.

If I am asking you questions about your beliefs, I am not about to attack. I want to understand. Honestly, I have bolstered my own faith on more than one occasion where I asked awkward questions about another’s faith. Not because I found their faith wanting but because what they said about their faith sparked a testimony of my own.

In short, this world we live in needs more love. Let’s assume the best of each other. Sometimes, the person who cut you off just wasn’t paying attention. And even if they were darting in and out of traffic like they mistake the highway for a racetrack, maybe it is best to try to avoid that particular person instead of deciding to drag race them…

Maybe You’ll Hear Me? [RANT]

2026-05-15T20:08:31.348-04:00

We’ve all had those one-sided conversations where the person clicks their tongue or offers an unconvincing “uh-huh” to your viewpoint before launching back into theirs. You know they did’t listen to a word you said. Eventually, you even question why you bother opening your mouth. I seem to be having them more and more frequently. When did the concept of a conversation being an exchange of ideas die an ignoble death?

Judging from how some of my conversation partners launch into lecturing me like a small child who needs educated while repeating concepts I already expressed, I fear that a lack of respect is the actual issue. Perhaps, they haven’t quite caught onto the fact that I have lived more than four decades already and I kind of skipped over being an actual bonafide child despite my excessively large collection of stuffed animals and other random toys.

So let me give you some perspective for those who hear I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and assume I grew up in an idealized little world where everything went my way. They seem to think I was loved and coddled and sheltered from the big bad world. But I assure you that big bad wolf has taken a few bites out of me. I turn some of my life experiences into a bit of a comedy routine because if I don’t laugh, I might be horrified and break down or cry.

My first few years of life were lived with an alcoholic. When not drinking, some people are sweet and kind and thoughtful. But if they get enough alcohol in them, inhibitions and intelligence leave the room and anything seems appropriate. Hurting animals. Encouraging the children to help assure the adage of “if I can’t have you, no one can.” Putting things through windows regardless of who or what may be on the other side. So my feelings on the Word of Wisdom are based in experience as to why such counsel would be good.

We lived in a cabin with no running water or indoor plumbing for a summer. So if you mistook me for a wilting flower, that also isn’t true. I have roughed it. Old lady me can probably do it again if necessary. Maybe don’t sell me short…

From there we eventually moved on to living on the tracks. Yes, we were so poor, we couldn’t afford to live on the wrong side of the tracks. Indeed, we paid the railroad monthly rent to assure them they had no liability should we or our property fall in front of an oncoming train. We had outdoor cats, so you can imagine I have some experience with traumatic loss.

Compliments of children having the ability to be just as cruel as adults, I was bullied for well over a decade. Before you think that one kid just needed some major help, I assure you it wasn’t just by one kid. I have the scars internal and external to prove I was bullied by a fair number of peers. Somewhere a spring pictures still reveals bruises I tried to hide because boys thought beating on me was better than therapy. I also have memories of adults joining in by asking me what I was doing to incite this. Um, honestly, I was usually just reading my book. Sorry that angered people. Some things never change.

In all of this, did it ever occur to me to assuage my own pain in a similar manner? No. I would rather help people than hurt them. Did I ignore the pain of people who made it clear they hated me? No. In fact, I would usually let them vent until they realized who was showing them compassion and wander off, stunned, “Did you see who I was talking to?” The people they turned to usually weren’t as keen to listen and certainly didn’t care. So why did I? Because someone needs to who or the whole purpose of humanity dissolves.

So if I keep telling you to look for the good, you should rest assured that it can be found. But, honestly, sometimes it has to start with us. Look for ways to help not hurt. Hurting other people never truly brings the peace you are seeking. Helping them brings so much more than peace. Try it out without expectations of being rewarded. Expectation is what ruins it.

How do I know?

Because my number one bully asked me for forgiveness eight years after graduation. For those doing math, that was eighteen years after he started torturing me to forget that parts of his life weren’t ideal. And he isn’t the only one who has felt the need to apologize. Some even apologize with more frequency. If I say I forgive you, please let me and then be better to me, yourself, and this whole world.

Things I Shouldn’t Say? [PREACHY]

2026-05-04T18:46:00.001-04:00

If you know me, you know the filter between my brain and my wagging tongue frequently fails to work. This results in the treat of random songs floating out of my mouth, blunt words dropping like anvils though I try to be diplomatic, and the rare clamping down of mouth over tongue that leads to awkward silence because some power greater than my mortal mind prompts me, just in time, not to drop that truth bomb.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with people telling me that I am not a Christian and then proceeding to inform me of what exactly the religion I am baptized into believes though they haven’t studied the teachings of said religion for as long as I have. This weighs heavy on my heart. If you see my beliefs this way, how do you see me?

Let’s take a step back in time to a couple of decades ago. My roommate came home from trip with his fiancée and proceeded to tell me about some “Mormons” he annoyed at the wedding he attended. (Yes. My roommate was male. Quelle horreur! Another opportunity for people to tell me I was unchristian and not following my faith. Still boggles my mind that I grew up living with my two brothers and no one questioned that, but I live with a guy I think of as a brother and the assumptions abound. Anyway, the culmination of his conversation with his future “Mormon” relatives was that they could drink champagne if they wanted and make all the excuses they wanted, but he knew me and knew that I went to church almost every day. (We had activities every day. We were very social creatures and didn’t exactly blend with the skimpily clad drunks stumbling down High Street.) And my friend, who apparently listened to my random ramblings and respected me, chose to believe me when I shared my beliefs. He disagreed, often strenuously, but he accepted me for who I am and was willing to defend my beliefs to others.

But can I call people out for judging me right after they accuse me of judging them? Probably not. Just because I express an opinion that disagrees with you, particularly if you didn’t press your opposing view prior to me sharing mine, doesn’t mean I am judging you. What happened to the world where we could talk to each other and agree to disagree?

For instance, I have been told I can not love both “Star Wars” and “Star Trek” and yet I do. I also love “Doctor Who” and “Defiance” and “Firefly” and really need to watch more “Babylon Five” and “Farscape” because I liked what I saw, but feel like I need to see more to declare myself a fan.

Hope you are all enjoying this major day for nerds to celebrate what makes our world a little brighter even though it seems to be burning down around us. What makes you want to be better and influence the world for good?

So Much to Ketchup [RANT]

2026-02-27T10:58:00.000-05:00

It’s been a while. Has it been forever? I keep typing up some thoughts with the intent to share. Then they never make it out into the world. Could be a sign of something. Maybe exhaustion from this the long winter? Bear with me if you want a peek at my last few weeks.

I’ve been trying to catch up on other writers’ work. A couple of the pieces I read, reminded me that I have the right to exist and that sometimes sharing our challenges helps us make it through them. Friends who see me in person know I have challenges. So do my faithful readers. But I was also reminded that, despite my shortcomings, I have value and it is okay if not everyone gets that. They will just miss out on me and the wonder that I am. And the treats that I shower people with because it is selfish and unwise to eat that many sweet yummies alone.

No one asked because they have heard about my crafty little projects before, but I wanted to include a photo of last week’s product. These are two inches wide by three inches tall and contain fifty pages. I’ve been giving them out in gift bags whenever people come over to celebrate my babies. I also make them in 3x4, 3.5x7, 5x7, 7x10, and 8.5x11. Sometimes, I cover them in fabric instead of using the image already on the cardboard.

With Valentine’s Day and small children, the week passed too quickly for every activity I needed to participate in. I ended up swapping my Valentine’s Day volunteer session for one on the blustery first Saturday of the month. My family was excited by this as it meant we could have lunch together as a family. Then the texts and phone calls started from another volunteer. Looks like I get to try to resolve an internet issue this week, so people can access the records they want to see when they visit us at the center.

Blah. Blah. Blah. That is what my husband mumbles whenever I talk about any of my random responsibilities, so on to the fun stuff. I got blood work drawn on Friday the 13th. I found this an amusing time to schedule a stabbing, which goes to show I may not be entirely mentally well. While waiting to be seen, I talked to another person who had to have fasting labs but couldn’t get an appointment until 11:40. I really hope someone cancelled an earlier appointment and she got seen much sooner. I was out by 8:15 and it wasn’t too busy, so it could have happened.

Since I bled quickly and made my escape, I was able to bring happiness to my dear child who decided the Thursday before a four day weekend was a good day to forget her backpack. Luckily, the teachers at the elementary school were living their own potential horror as they met with parents for Parent Teacher Conferences, so I was able to pop in, grab her bag, see her teacher, and even get a hug. I attribute the hug to how absolutely lovable my sweet babies are.

As one can imagine, the rest of the weekend included participating in church. Someday, I will convince my children that it is wonderful to listen to other people share experiences with faith and wise counsel.

Hope you all got reminded how greatly you are loved on Valentine's Day. Of course, that is my wish for my beloved friends and family every day.

More snow fell after church this weekend, so my kids have been receiving full chariot service. Walking facing away from traffic on a major road makes me nervous enough when the sidewalk is clear. If we have to walk in the bike lane, it won’t be safe. People have insisted on blowing past the bus with its stop sign out and passing in that lane. Anyway, this week has been as busy as any other but not exciting enough to type about. Stay safe out there, my friends.

Snow Way I Can Do All This [RANT]

2026-02-06T11:03:00.000-05:00

Despite the poem I shared on Substack on Sunday, I find myself struggling to make time for God or much of anything really. Are all the mamas feeling like these piles of ice and snow are piled on top of them or is it just me?

I shall try to keep my words brief because we all need to get back in the fray and catch up on January. In my effort to do that, I worked on more of those little journals that I make. I have to grow some confidence and rent a space at a craft fair to get these beauties into the hands of appreciative buyers.

I also started a top secret mission. I am slowly sneaking garbage out of the hoard of my baby trash dragons into an actual trash can. Even the mama trash dragon, who upcycles paper into lovely journals, has some limits on what is salvageable. Honestly, that might have prompted me to fall down the upcycle rabbit hole again.

Meanwhile, due to an insatiable need to tell everyone that editors have value to writers, I am unofficially editing two of my friends’ contributions to the written word. One has even been letting me know when poems go live, so I can get to them quickly. Anyway, the book I just read needed one editor to catch the easy fixes and another to dig in and convince the writer to fill the plot holes. I am fairly certain my Goodreads followers are questioning why I keep reading when I am clearly aggravated by typos and misused words, but I don’t always push through. I opted to not finish a couple of books already this year, but I have spent too much time on this topic. Please point out my typos to me. I eventually catch them and wonder why no one took the opportunity to correct me.

Maybe that is because so many people think they should tell me I am wrong about such things as my own preferences. I definitely won’t get started on that one. Because I want to reassure you about something important:

I resisted the temptation of my inner redneck today. A cashier at the grocery store was dressed as a cow. A very adorable cow. I giggled to myself, but I did not sneak up on her and tip her over. Overcoming my childhood programming one opportunity at a time over here.

Hopefully, the huge piles of ice melt enough to not make me feel concerned as I walk my tiny humans to and from the bus in the middle of the road… Stay strong mamas. I’m sending positive energy your way.

Stray Thoughts [RANT]

2026-01-30T12:31:00.003-05:00

I’ve had a million stray thoughts. But every time I sit down to bring them together to share with my dear readers, something intervenes. The phone rings. Questions are fired. People check in because the snow is freezing our brains but thawing our worries. Speaking of that, hope you are all doing well.

In one moment of clarity, I realized why hobbits have so many meals. They get interrupted before they finish the first one, so they need to pep themselves up to continue being adorable and carefree and somehow send some heat to those lovely bare feet.

Side note, going outside to check the mail in flip-flops when a thin layer of ice covers the sidewalks is colder than one would think, but not as cold as sinking into a snowbank while trying to pitch something in the trash can. I put on thick socks and shoes when I repeated this endeavor at the recycling can a couple days later. This time, I slid down the snowbank surrounding the trash cans instead of falling through. It might be cold out there.

I also found cause to wonder about the difference between a butt dial and a booty call. People who have received them know that a clear difference exists though the former sounds like the latter if it occurs in an impromptu inappropriate moment. May none of us ever receive those —particularly from a relative. (Now that is the seed of a truly horrifying story…)

Women’s clothes don’t always have pockets, or useful pockets. And some ladies don’t enjoy carrying a purse because it leads to carrying a small yet heavy portion of our hoard around. Thus women have had to rely on nature’s pocket, which for some could house a sizable gun and for others barely offers a place to secrete a small wad of cash to be pulled out and offered in a sodden mass to horrified cashiers. So if a woman stores her phone in her emotion support garment, would an accidental call become a boobie call or a boob dial? And which would people prefer? Ornithologists would definitely vote boobie call (masked or blue-footed preferred).

Now that your mind is clearly in the wrong place, feel free to go plunge into that snow, which has probably turned into a solid layer of ice, and cool yourself off. I shall return to trying to finish anything between interruptions. All the mamas who know they shouldn’t homeschool but suddenly find themselves doing so know what I am talking about…

Getting Things Done [RANT]

2026-01-09T14:19:00.010-05:00

A friend invited my tiny hobbits and I to see a live performance of “Annie” with her family this past Saturday. Having never seen more than a few minutes of any version, I was excited as they were. One gave extra cuddles every time the performance reminded us what an orphan is. The other fell in love with dog. But what really caught my heart was how she stretched to her full height and moved to the edge of her seat to watch one of the intricate dance numbers.

They found the next day less exciting with church as usual, but it started a little later, so they were up and ready well before we needed to leave the house last year. Then it was back to school for them and slowly digging out of the holiday mess for me. My trash and recycling people might get fuller cans than normal from us this week.

Then Monday came and they returned to school. My legs are in an uproar about my sudden return to taking walks and my renewed obsession with tidying my house. I’m starting small, but I have lots of rooms that need attention. Maybe someday, my house will be clean enough to just maintain instead of constantly trying to dig my way out of the mess. Does that happen with kids?

In other news, my oldest thought messing around in daddy’s office was the best way to spend Tuesday night. This created a day for grumping. Since the day also included two special activities just for her, she didn’t get the most out of her day. The same principle holds true when I fail to get my beauty sleep. I feel like we all have that failing, so let’s try to get some good sleep from now on.

My youngest enjoyed an activity at church while sister grouchily slumbered on the couch. The kids went from station to station, trying to complete tasks and getting to know each other. I think the favorite station was the one where they put a cracker or cookie on their forehead and tried to get it to their mouth without using their hands. Definitely fun to watch. I didn’t try it myself, but some of the kids made it look like a task I could not complete without lots of trial and error. I was busy trying to motivate anyone at all to come drop tiny animals into a vase from their forehead.

Not much else to chat about. I did take down my Christmas tree. Yes, we put one up this year. I have already filled that space with boxes that I hope will help declutter the house. Come on 2026, we’ve got this.

New Beginnings On Our Minds [RANT]

2026-01-02T11:20:00.000-05:00

This poor blog falls into a bit of neglect every time the real world throws up roadblocks to getting my words out there. And festive roadblocks abound in the latter months of every year. I’d say costumes start all the wild distraction, but those who know me have heard how I put a costume together by rooting through my stash. That means costumes distract me all year round. If people aren’t appreciating me, I can always hide away and dress as someone else (and then write about it).

You have read about my obsession with pie, pie, pie, turkey, pie, pie, and more pie. And my last post obviously shared my love for Christmas assemblies and disappointment in other people’s unwillingness to think about other people as they celebrate how adorable their kids are. I hope I made it clear that all of the children and many of the adults were adorable.

Then I disappeared into a whirl of wrapping paper, updating a list and checking it twice, opening gifts from secret Santas, packing to be elves ourselves, and continuing to work through a myriad of other life complications that my casual reader need not worry about…

So now I write and give a brief update. I have returned from being a guest in a house where one of the hosts was recovering from major surgery. I assure you I suggested we stay elsewhere (like a hotel) and visit most of the day so the patient could recuperate without tiny clones cavorting around him for three days straight. I was vetoed. My children kept the patient company (or awake) at all hours, but he didn’t complain and thankfully seemed to be improving over the course of our stay. I hope his body made the resolution to keep getting healthier as this year progresses.

My resolutions are more of a list of foci that my brain generally bounces between. I just need to figure out how to keep that focus where it needs to be at varying times to make all my goals into reality. I won’t bore you with the entire list of twenty-five items to date.

However, you need to know that I shall continue updating this blog, hopefully weekly. I plan to keep this grumpy life log format here, since my fiction has moved to Substack. Follow me there for free or pay to subscribe for special and longer stories. I also need to expend more effort to get my crafts into the hands of appreciative buyers. I have a group on Facebook but that hasn’t been overly effective, so I need to find the best way to get people interested in paying me for my hard work.

Feel free to cheer me on in the best way you can and I wish you luck in keeping all your resolutions and meeting all your goals.

Merry Etiquette! {RANT]

2025-12-19T10:51:00.003-05:00

The week leading up to Christmas has proved as insanely busy as we now expect it to be. I have been wrapping gifts, searching for gifts I know I bought, reviewing lists, and wishing I had more jolly in my holly, but it has been a long year and an even longer month. Some of you know what I saying. Others are questioning whether I ate enough cookies.

Don’t worry, some elves have been dropping off goodies for us. This has been getting us through since other priorities have kept me from doing my holiday baking. So far, I have received a dozen pairs of adorable socks, hot cocoa with a mug and fun flavor options, a gingerbread house which my family decorated beautifully while I got distracted by laundry and tidying, tiny little cookies, festive snack mix, hugs from my two favorite girls, and other things I have already forgotten. My brain is already back to pondering last minute gifts and some time with friends…

But I was able to attend Christmas concerts for both of my little angels. They seem to have inherited the problem of breathing wrong, so they end up yawning halfway through any given song. Luckily, they are adorable, so it somehow worked for them. I was able to get one child’s attention early on, so they knew I was there. The other didn’t see me until the end of the program and it showed. She was glum and barely involved as she sang along with her friends during the first round of songs. During the second round, She was animated and, dare I say, excited to be singing her heart out.

Aside from seeing my two favorite girls, I got to see some of their friends and some of mine. I even reconnected with another mom that I would like to get know better. And her child and mine would love to spend more time playing together, so I think this will work out for everybody. I also got to sit with friends both days and see their adorable babies sing along with mine. In fact, I got to see more of their kids than mine. This is where the rant begins.

Who is the modern Emily Post? I need to know, so I can look to see if she has updated etiquette for the use of cell phones during public performances. Yes, it is just a kids’ show. Yes, we all want to take some pictures and maybe some video for long-distance grandparents. But what is the etiquette for this???

I usually try to make sure my camera screen is hidden by my gargantuan, alien head. I also pick a spot and try my best not to move around, so people behind me can, hopefully, do the same and make some memories that can be shared (even by those of us who can barely draw a stick figure). I fear I might be alone. The principal asked us to remain seated, yet people kept standing up to get a better view or waving their hands in the air, screens out. One guy arrived late and slow walked all the way across the room and then stood chatting between this short woman and her short child for a couple minutes before finally sitting down.

And the rudeness didn’t end there. A family near me kept a running commentary, which begs the question of why they came if they didn’t want to see and hear the kids. Or maybe their kid wasn’t performing yet, so they assumed no one else wanted to hear their own kids? Admittedly, I made the occasional comment because some kids that I didn’t know (pretty much every kindergarten student) was too cute not to make sure they were seen by my friends, but I tried to not be a constant voice in the background. I also tried to make sure I couldn’t be easily overheard by people six feet from me—over the music…

And the icing on the cake resulted from three grade levels participating in each show. I understand that people have work. I know that watching other people’s kids perform might not be your jam. I realize that getting in and out of an overloaded parking lot can be a hassle. But how do you think the last group of kids feels when they look out an audience that has shrunk to a third of its original size? Add to that, the fact that people disregarded the principal’s information about the flow of students to and from the stage and basically waded through the groups of students trying to stay with their class. And these adults, who should know better, sometimes felt it necessary to show displeasure that the children were exactly where they were meant to be by glaring at them. Not cool. Also not in the spirit of the season.

Hopefully, Christmas will work it’s magic on me and turn me into more of a jolly old elf by the new year.

Rest Well Inspiration [RANT]

2025-12-05T14:40:00.000-05:00

Once more life has crept in and piled stones on top of my muse. As she has been unable to breathe, the words dried up. I am working to lift off the stones but it is hard going, and people who claim to be helping are piling more stones on the pile faster than I can remove them. We’ll get there, dear readers. And then enjoyable stories will flow freely once more.

I need the stories to flow because, frankly, not having my own source of income has reached an untenable point. I have mentioned it before, but sometimes I just want to provide things for my children without having to ask, beg, or get a second or third opinion that agrees with mine and comes with a different degree than the two I possess.

I have a BS in French and a BS in International Business. The university I received them from was accredited for both at the time of my graduation. I’ll spare you my disappointment with recent curriculum changes. But neither of those degrees was as industriously earned as the unofficial one I get every day in the trenches of motherhood and marriage. So trust me when I say that I have the best interests of my children at heart and I think about them all of the time. If I happen to forget, they invite me to cuddle them to sleep or allow me to pull them into my coat as we huddle at the bus stop in the freezing cold. If I have reached a conclusion regarding those tiny suns that I orbit, it isn’t a whim or a fancy, a lot of thought and planning went into my decision.

As previously alluded, November proved a dry month for my musings. Did you notice? I did but I couldn’t force out subpar writing and pass it off as worth the price of admission. So some feelings bled out in poetry and radio silence took hold here for a bit, but I am trying to rally. After all, I used to think I could write 50,000 words every November between family engagements and being high on pie.

The demise of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) hit some of us a little harder than expected. Yes, we could still write but where were our comrades in the fight against that blank page? I feel disconnected from my writer friends. Was it COVID? Was it discovering part of my heart wandering around outside my body and needing mama’s love and attention? Maybe?

Maybe I need to rebuild some severed connections with people who get me and value my opinion and share my love for words and weird and wild and wonderful. Why do we let ourselves get disconnected? Why do we let our loved ones become less of who we fell in love with?

I’m all questions, so perhaps I should wrap this up and go answer questions my writing pieces have been asking for months now. Cheer me on!

The Right to Be Heard [RANT]

2025-11-14T19:07:00.008-05:00

As a child, I used to throw tantrums. Not little ones either. I would scream, cry, kick, and make a ruckus. And let me tell you, tiny little legs can be a massive destructive power against the walls of a trailer. But that was the only way I could make people hear me. Blood pouring from my mouth, knees, or feet generally caused minimum interest. Asking for help fell on deaf ears. It feels like I am back there now.

When you calmly try to tell people that everything isn’t okay, they nod hopefully and offer advice. They mean well, but you can tell that they aren’t seeing the problem because you aren’t screaming it at the top of your lungs. If there isn’t blood, how could you be hurting? And, of course, if anyone else is involved in the issue, we have to give them consideration and time to be better. But what about the one who has been trying to be better all along? And is now being told to dig in some more and it might take a while?

The only conclusion I can reach is that the problem does indeed rest with me. How many times will I be told I am not worthy of respect and that I asked to be hurt because I bothered to wake up and breath? Do you really think it is helpful to cast blame on the person who is seeking to make it better?

I guess my option is to dig in and wait. Hopefully, while doing that I can protect others from letting part of themselves languish in limbo because someone else doesn’t want them to shine…

In the meantime, at least I have tiny koalas to remind me that I am important. They don’t shun me for trespasses that don’t exist enough to be voiced. They don’t turn their back on me because I express complicated human emotions. And they aren’t teenagers yet, so they still believe I know a couple of things.

Do you?

Mama’s Wild Ride Continues [RANT]

2025-11-08T19:32:00.001-05:00

So I left off before the joy of Halloween night. Mama werewolf walked Red from “Descendants” and Vampirina from house to house. Despite the chill in the air, I returned home all warm and cozy thanks to my hat, my gloves, and my lovely cloak. My brother felt I needed the hat and gloves. I guess he knows me after all.

People were generous with their donations to this sweet night. In fact, I kept informing them I did not need anything. I was just carrying buckets for the girls’ overflow. Maybe next year, I will be less of a helicopter mom and watch them from the street as they knock on doors. Maybe next year, I won’t see my oldest charging into people like an adorable wrecking ball that loves candy. My children may never finish all the beloved candy they scored. Hmm. Anyone interested in buying some Trick-or-Treat brownies?

The rest of the week has been a jumble of appointments and stress. Being a mom and a wife is not for the faint of heart. When one can’t sleep, the whole world takes on a whole new light. I think I am living the mombie life to the best of my ability. But others tend not to agree. Hoping for a little more sleep and a little less exhaustion this upcoming week.

Despite that, I keep getting up and doing as much as I can as fast and as well as I can. Someday, I hope to whittle down that old “to do” list. As any mom will tell you, that is easier said than done. Some tasks renew themselves daily: dishes and cooking, for instance. Others are at least on a weekly repopulation schedule such as laundry and trash. And then there are all the line items that seem to jump from everyone else’s list to mine because I clearly have so much free time. Does anyone else have kids who constantly try to outsource their homework to you?

Due to my car refusing to start, my new friend pointed out that I needed to make a trip to the DMV. I find it ironic that they tell us not to get on our phones while we sit in line waiting indefinitely for all the cars in front of us to roll through for inspection. Good thing I scored some physical books to read. Even better, my car passed inspection.

Anyway, nothing too exciting to report. Hopefully, next week proves as dull. In the meantime, I am serious about selling some brownies. 9X13 pan, filled with chunks of Halloween candy that I shouldn’t eat and definitely shouldn’t feed to the tiny humans I have to chase if they make it to the ceiling. Any takers? $25 seems to be about the median price (with a discount) for local delivery>

I also have been trying to cure myself of my hoarding. Some lucky locals have scored some of my old stuff. But I have some crafts that need to be appreciated and my kids might like it if I score a little extra money to pay for summer camps and other extracurriculars, so if you have a need for handmade journals or random jewelry, we should talk.

Until next time, remember that you are awesome and anyone who tells you otherwise needs to reevaluate their life choices.

The Answer Might Scare You [RANT]

2025-10-31T11:43:00.004-04:00

It’s been a week. Internal struggles abound. External struggles always seem to join up when that happens. Throw in some cute kids and it’s a wild ride.

Had some communication lapses on Saturday and thought my girls were going to disown me and request a new model. We were supposed to get together with one of their friends but lunchtime passed and we neither saw nor heard from them, so I double checked and we hadn’t committed to anything. It turned out it was a difference in perceptions of lunchtime combined with a project taking longer than anticipated. Three happy kids and three entertained adults resulted.

Sunday brought more child adorableness. In my church, we have a program where the children sing and share thoughts about God at least once a year. This Sunday was the happy day. Quick highlights:

Tiny humans signing while singing some of the songs.

Nervous human babies looking like they need snuggles because stage fright is real and receiving those snuggles.

My daughter perking up when she realized mama was watching her.

The two girls taller than me towering over the tiny four year olds.

My friends’ son lip-syncing with the most amusing expressions on his face.

My daughter, right behind him, using her Scooby jacket as a puppet.

Almost shaking loose a suppressed giggle over this impromptu vaudeville show.

Songs in tiny voices.

The rest of the week has been spent in contemplating life, the universe, and everything. I may have shared some of my aggravations with more people than I should have. One of my friends sent me books to help me process. Not sure the books all apply to the situation at hand. But what do I know, I only think about my problems to the exclusion of sleep and fight battles for longer than most people would bother. Sometimes, it works out. Sometimes, it clearly isn’t going to.

However, I have confirmation that some of my thought processes are definitely not flawed. Now, we just see if the right people hear what I have to say and choose to be in this with me, right?

Life isn’t meant to be lived alone. Why else would we be born into families? And if your family falls short, choose more family. Pick and choose sisters and brothers from your friends. And if you need extra supervision and guidance, choose more family. Though my biological mother has passed, I currently have five moms listed in my phone. And I pull people into my family conglomeration from time to time because we need each other. I want to thank those who are willing to deal with being part of my family. I apologize if I overstep. We’ll just have to work on our communication. Just be patient with me.

Anyway, I doubled down on adorable today by attending a parade at my children’s school. Kids in each grade level dressed as storybook characters, idioms, or famous people. I saw so many Amelia Earharts and Taylor Swifts, flying pigs and raining cats and dogs, and Waldos everywhere. I also saw so many other adorable creatures and people.

I started snapping pictures of every kid I knew. With the sun shining on me and people milling about, I figured I might get a good photo for a friend even if some of my pictures only included a wing of one child or a hint of skirt of the other. Hopefully, my offerings bring happiness.

And now to accomplish other tasks before walking my tiny clones around to claim candy and bring joy. Hopefully, substack gets a new post today, too. I have been working on it, but it doesn’t quite feel ready for public consumption yet.

Disintegration Point? [RANT]

2025-10-24T10:54:00.001-04:00

The week started out well. Mama translation: I didn’t have to mop up the bathroom at church. I followed a friend to the class she teaches since I have a key to the door. My intention was to rush back to a different class another friend was teaching. The first friend gently placed her hand on my arm to lean in and whisper an invitation to stay.

I hesitated. I’ll be honest. I am certain I talk too much in church classes. Sometimes, my overzealous gratitude for knowing I am more than just a white trash girl from the sticks makes me want to say something to let other people know they are deeply loved as well. But I don’t think people who are new to our faith need to hear my deep and often hard-to-follow thoughts. Anyway, I took a glance at the class attendees that had arrived promptly and stood at attention. Three tall military (does former military exist if someone stands in a way that makes you want to salute them?) veterans stood looking down at us expectantly. What else could I do? I added my estrogen to hers and joined the class.

And I talked, probably too much. I bragged about being asked to turn off my barcode scanner when I worked in the library. That got a chorus of voices declaring me a librarian. Instinct kicked in because all I ever heard at the library was how you couldn’t be a librarian if you didn’t have an MLS, even if us lowly library technical assistants did most of the work since we didn’t need to pad our files for conference time. Anyway, despite my objections, at least two people declared that I am a librarian, so I have accomplished that childhood goal. Now to become a paid writer?

You can make that come true if you are feeling magnanimous and like reading my writing. I just need to lure my muse back and finish up a couple of pieces I have in the works. Someone noticed that I haven’t posted yet this week. Right? And that I still owe one to my lovely receptacle of my muse’s offerings.

One of my daughter’s best friends invited her to a small birthday dinner on Monday. Her sister was also generously invited. My friend picked them up and took them to the party, so their parents could have a few hours off. The girls had fun. I did not. Suffice it to say, an event happened that scared off my kinder muse and I am not sure I want to write the darker stuff the remaining inspiration left in its wake.

So I better stop typing about my average week and wish you all well. Halloween is coming. I have costumes to commit to and tasks to accomplish—mostly laundry—average week.

Scary Things Are Brewing [RANT]

2025-10-17T10:07:00.001-04:00

While I hung out in the FamilySearch Center on Saturday, the rest of the troops got to work on Halloween decorations. Thus I got to see one of my tiny humans apparently hefting a body on my doorbell cam. Still giggling.

Of course, on my way to the center, I almost became a corpse myself. Two separate individuals thought switching lanes abruptly in near bumper to bumper traffic would be prudent. Pretty sure neither got to their destination quicker. Thankfully, my reflexes and lack of faith in the sanity of other drivers kept me from deserting my faithful readers and “to do” pile.

Sunday brought the expected level of peace as it started with church. Aside from one child flooding the bathroom, bringing out my inner janitor, I enjoyed time with my church family. Then we went to hang out with some friends.

Despite getting reassurance from our host that his oven was functional, it poured out an amazing amount of smoke during the preheat cycle. Then I was left to my own devices without having to claim the kitchen. Of course, this means I felt like a burglar as I opened most cabinets and drawers in search of pans, utensils, and other cooking needs. If only it were that easy to be left alone at my house. My youngest has taken to rolling toys under my feet when I am dancing around between the stove, counter, pantry, and fridge. So if I suddenly stop posting, you might want to check the hospital and sneak me in some food.

Anyway, we all survived and I didn’t burn down anyone’s house. I did make an adorable four year old happy by cutting a horse silhouette into his pumpkin. I also brought the same kind of joy to a seven year old by not cutting out the face for her jack-o-lantern.

This week continued at a steady pace until yesterday. My kids get a lot of days off, so I get to entertain them for four days straight. I might be more excited about this than they are. This might be because one refuses to do her homework, so mama isn’t turning on the television and letting them rot their brains. They also keep complaining that they hurt themselves by tripping over the obstacle course they created and then whining more when I offer the tried and true solution of, “Clean up your stuff.”

Even if my kids don’t love me, random strangers do. I have had two individuals on different platforms start chatting with me out of the blue. Because I didn’t immediately tell them to play in traffic without a car, both seem to have reached the conclusion that I don’t store a brain in my head. One invited me to have coffee with them if I ever travel across the country for the inconvenience of a “wrong number”. The other seems to be trying to sweet talk me in French. Yes, I will type to you in French, albeit slowly since I haven’t kept my skills up, and, yes, I will catch the nuance of the French version of, “Your profile picture is so beautiful that I just had to talk to you.” I have heard this before. I am not impressed. Ugh. Anyone know how to negate the aura of “looking to be scammed” that seems to linger around me?

Anyway, I need to work on writing some fiction pieces, so enjoy this little snippet of sleep-inducing wildness. Type at you soon.

Did You See It? [RANT]

2025-10-10T11:02:00.002-04:00

I posted a much longer story this week? Are you one of the two people who saw the opening paragraphs? Still no paid subscribers, so only I got the full story. I guess you know what to buy yourself for Christmas and it can count as a gift to me and my little humans. Hint. Hint.

I also spent a solid nine and a half hours watching General Conference. With the passing of President Russell M. Nelson, some speakers were more somber than normal, but they still doled out some good advice. And a couple of them even made me giggle. That may be more on me than the speakers, however.

I went to the dentist for the fourth time in four weeks. I am thinking I might want to take my observations on oral hygiene to a standup venue instead of making the hygienist giggle as she tries to extract bits of pop tart from my child’s teeth. I promise I told her to brush after breakfast. I also assure you that I don’t think her heart was in brushing the ones she wants to keep. Now I want to brush again…

But first, I remind you that Halloween is coming. It feels like it has snuck up on me fast. Luckily, I have a collection of costumes, so I can just decide on the fly what to be, but not everyone shares my neurosis and costume hoarding skills.

Yesterday, I ventured to the eye doctor. Unlike last year, they didn’t outright call me old, so that was a win. I did get my eyes dilated, which added a level of excitement to the day. I am not sure if it was the drops for numbing or the dilation drops but something strongly disagreed with my eyes. I did get up on my personal stand-up stage and crack some jokes about looking like I was high, however. If you know me, you know I have resisted many attempts to get me to actually enter that state. I am perfectly disturbingly weird without help. Thank you very much.

Hope you have fun plans for the weekend. Maybe a haunted house? Man, I need to find people who appreciate people trying to scare bodily fluids out of them to wander darkened halls with me. My family is too sweet to be scared. Daw!

Are We Caught Up Yet? [RANT]

2025-10-03T10:16:00.005-04:00

Did I get you all caught up last week? I certainly didn’t get myself caught up. I posted one of three posts I am anticipating for substack before tomorrow. That means, I should be simultaneously updating this site and that one. Even I am not that good. Clones anyone?

My girls made a new friend this weekend. A friend’s son has been a little shy at church, so I suggested he make some friends at church. He suggested we get out kids together. Now my oldest might want to adopt the little fellow. I got told I sound like someone’s grandma in my twenties, so I am prepared for this.

I also tried to get through some of the tasks leftover from last week. Unfortunately, I got into a screaming match with one of my children earlier this week. I do not recommend this as my body sided with her and a disc slipped out of place in my back. Thus I have been slowly working my way through the laundry, dishes, and a million other mom responsibilities while trying to keep sounds of distress trapped behind clenched teeth. Should my family life really feel like a jungle where any sign of weakness will have them leaping on me?

Speaking of wildlife, my baby koala hasn’t been able to lavish affection on me the way that she likes. Her preferred method is to hug me and then wrap her legs around my legs and hang on. Generally, I love this, so I am hoping my back feels better soon, so I can go back to being mama koala.

Since I don’t have anything deeply exciting to share aside from my need to tidy up and prep some activities to keep the tiny humans happy while I listen to General Conference (more on that hopefully arriving on substack later), I shall let you return to your regularly scheduled activities. Keep catching up. We’ll conquer the “to do” list and relax…

Eventually...

Right?

But Did I Die? [RANT]

2025-09-26T18:34:00.002-04:00

Did you notice that I disappeared? For over a month? Maybe? Maybe not?

I haven’t been wholly neglecting you. If you think I have, then you clearly are not one of my four subscribers on substack. I am also lacking in paid subscribers, which means my goal of socking away a little money for those extras my girls want (that I don’t object to) has not got off of the ground. Should I try to sell you baked goods instead? Contact me privately if you are willing to pay me to bake you a cake or cookies or brownies.

In the interest of time, and hopefully writing more fiction than retelling my own life, I shall try to be brief. What have I been up to?

I went to visit my in-laws. They showered my kids with toys. We missed the back to school night where we find out who gets to teach our little darlings this year. By the time we returned home and I found quiet time to call the school, it was barely under the wire of the school day. Too barely. No one answered my call. My girls went to school with only the eldest knowing who her teacher was due to the school social media app. I told the younger one to go to the teacher her sister had two years ago. I was only half joking. I was also entirely correct.

They survived their first week and we had friends over for labor day. Who knew my house would be party central? Makes it easier when I don’t have to transport every random dessert I decide to make that day.

Then my brain began obsessing over my oldest daughter’s birthday. Between making sure she had a treat for her birthday, making sure Nana and her auntie got to see her open gifts, and planning a little get together with a handful of her friends for that weekend, I might have gone a little crazy. She went off to dance auditions with her dad because I needed to attend the back to school night and meet her teachers.

The next morning found me back to obsessing over her party. We scored some little stepping stones. Some are adorable turtles. Others can hook together to become a little balance beam. I figured those could keep the attendees occupied for a bit on the party day. I baked a cake. We acquired waters and chips. I was semi-satisfied with the tiny fairy I made for the top of the cake, since my daughter changed her mind from an pegasus with wings to a Barbie theme. Thank goodness I hoard cool baking stuff.

Then I started conversing with some of the parents. One said her husband had tested positive for COVID that Wednesday. Since her daughter goes to school with mine and mine had what I thought was a cold the previous weekend, I realized I probably didn’t hide us from the rest of the world long enough after her illness. In the interest of not spreading that joy around, I postponed the party for a week. Most people could still come.

Then I spent another week obsessing and cleaning. And I remade that fickle fairy. She turned out better this time. I might almost be a pro. I also remembered to buy ice cream, as per the birthday princess’s unspoken request. (Mom’s can read minds.)

So this gets longer and longer. The party went well. Everyone seemed to have fun. My daughters both enjoyed my thoughtful ice cream choices. Some of the guests lingered. This happens when they are basically family and your kids have trouble with the idea of stopping their play before total exhaustion makes them collapse. When our guests left. I covered the small amount of deliciousness to avoid attracting other sweet junkies and my body informed me that I had been overdoing it for about a month and needed to go to bed.

I haven’t quite recuperated from all the running, which continues. Moms have more jobs than even they realize. I have posted a couple of pieces on substack to make up for the week I failed that venue as well. Anyway, I have left out some things because otherwise you will be exhausted from reading this. Hope your week is relaxing.