In Which I Finally Post Something

Oh, there you are. I mean, here I am! I'm very flattered that in the last few weeks I've had no less than three people ask me about my blog. It has been a while since I posted anything. I'd like to say that I've spent countless hours happily pinning away on Pinterest. But that's only partly true.

First of all, I was sick. For like, ever. And then spring came, and I got all giddy because the sun came out and melted the snow. I also started subbing, which is nothing like real teaching. Sometimes it's a lot more fun. Sometimes you want to shoot yourself because middle school is a dark, dark place.

Then there's my novel. I love it, if I am allowed to say so myself. I'm in the middle of revisions, and it is a lot of work. A LOT. And it's getting better. And stronger. And sometimes, I sit outside on my red adirondack chair, and soak up the sunshine, and write and write and write. It's not a bad way to spend a morning.

Then May came along. And here's what happened:

I got hired by two resorts to do some (and by some, I mean a ton) of writing -- website content, brochures, you name it.

I also got an idea in my head for another project, which I am not quite ready to share yet. But the wheels are creaking.

I also decided to start my own business. And now I am in the process of actually starting my own business! I will share more details later, but it does involve writing.

And then I joined a ladies tennis league. I know! I haven't played organized, competitive tennis since 1990. That was in another century, People! But it has turned out to be highly enjoyable. I've met some nice people, and sometimes, my two-handed backhand actually works.

Then there's life: I now officially have a teenager. She's sweet and pretty and I'm sure I'm going to be locking her up in a tower very soon. My 16th wedding anniversary is approaching. The term "sweet 16" still applies, right? Fred is running as smooth as ever and everyone in the family loves her. As for funny things my boy says, he recently told me that he considers the start to his weekend to be Wednesday afternoons, once piano lessons are over. He hates piano lessons. And yet, he can play. He'll thank me one day.

So there you have it. For now.

Leap Day

Leap Day came and went last week, and leading up to it, I started thinking that there should be some sort of purpose for Leap Day. After all, it only comes once every four years. So this year I declared (as I am apt to do) that Leap Day should be a day that you do something you've never done before -- in other words, take a leap! I declared it, and so it became.

I had the good fortune of being on a cruise last week, so my options were somewhat more open than if I had been home, complaining about the cold weather. And what did I do? Thanks for asking. I went parasailing! It was incredible! Exhilirating! And yet very Zen-like at the same time. I flew, 600 feet over the Sea of Cortez, and loved every nanosecond of it. I can't post a picture yet, because I'm on someone else's computer. But as soon as I get home, I will post one.

Anyway, the point is this: because I gave Leap Day purpose, I had the best day ever (despite the fact that I had to report my son missing to Mexican authorities -- but that's another post). And you know what I got from that? Every day should have purpose. Don't just wake up every morning and do what you've always done. Except, do eat breakfast, because it IS the most important meal of the day, after all. But do give purpose and meaning to each day. Think about what you're going to do, why you're going to do it, and then DO IT! If you don't know why you're doing something, don't do it. Make things happen. Cause something -- even if it's just making someone else smile.

Go ahead. Take a leap.

I dare you.

The End

So I've been writing this story. And it's been a lot fun. But I got kind of stuck there for a while, and I just wasn't sure how my heroine was going to work her way out of a sticky situation. Also, the situation was not sticky enough.

And then last Wednesday, I was waiting in my car; waiting for my children to come out of piano lessons. I spend a lot of time in my car on Wednesday afternoons, so I usually pack along my iPad and keyboard so that I can write in between schlepping the kids to their various places. And boy, did the story start to flow! So I went home and kept writing.

I subbed on Thursday and Friday, so I had to impatiently wait to write until well after dinnertime. And then Saturday came. And you know what? I spent about 12 glorious hours type type typing away. Thankfully my husband was willing to keep everyone else busy. I did take a break to cook dinner, leaving my heroine in the most precarious situation, but I came back to her and she managed to save herself and the boy in the process. Before I knew it, it was 12:30 a.m. and I FINISHED MY BOOK! I actually got to type the words The End.

Granted, I have about 7 or 8 more drafts to go, but the story is done! The editing and the re-writing shall commence; but for just a moment, I can enjoy the sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing THAT I HAVE WRITTEN A NOVEL.

And just to make things a little sweeter, a fellow writer-friend, upon hearing the news that I finished, brought me this to celebrate:

It's my first you-wrote-a-book cake!

Thanks, Jen!

A Day in the Life of PMS

Wake up after tossing and turning all night because you just couldn't get comfortable. Make your children's lunches without complaining, even though all you really want to do is sit on the couch in a zombie-like stupor. Get the kids off to school and then come home and clean up everybody's crap and get angrier and angrier the longer it takes you. Take a hot shower and realize it's doing absolutely nothing for your mood. Realize that you have PMS and you're angry for no apparent reason, AND there's nothing you can do about it. Think about saying a dozen swear words, but don't because you're a good Mormon girl who doesn't use such language. But dammit to hell, PMS sucks! Put on your most comfortable pair of jeans and favorite hoodie, because it's just going to be that kind of day. Sit down and make a grocery list and mute the Rachael Ray show because even though you like her recipes, you couldn't care less about the latest gadgets to give your valentine.

Get in your car and drive down the steep, icy mountain at high rates of speed with the radio turned waaaaay up loud, because driving fast often cures a bad mood. Make a stop at The Store for a $2.50 Ruby Snap cookie. Yes, singular. And you don't care that it costs $2.50 because the cherry chocolate filling is instantly calming to your soul, which makes it a good investment for peace at home. Continue on to the other grocery stores and lament the fact that everything seems twice as expensive and it makes you feel really old because you remember exactly what you paid for that same loaf of bread ten years ago. After grocery shopping and wondering what in the heck you dropped a hundred bucks on, go to Beto's because let's face it, as good as the cherry-chocolate cookie was, all you really want when you have PMS is salt. Get yourself a 99-cent burrito that ends up actually tasting pretty good, even though you wish that Beto's was still Sonic, because a cherry lime-ade would really hit the spot.

Drive home, radio still loud, and pretend to be nice when the room mom calls to finalize plans for the next day's class valentine party - even though the LAST thing you want to do is spend two hours with 25 sugar-intoxicated 3rd graders. Wolf down your burrito and put the groceries away before pick-up time begins. You could make them walk, but there are maniacs out there who like to drive down the icy mountain at incredibly high rates of speed.

Take them shopping because they want to pick out valentines treats for their dad, and what kind of monster would that make you if you said "no"?

Come home and start dinner and undo the button on your most comfy jeans because there's no sucking in when you're this bloated. You make a shrimp stir-fry because that's what sounds really good, even though you know 50% of your children will complain. Enjoy a family dinner around the table even though, for no apparent reason, you want to yell at everyone. Finish your dinner and put on your elastic-waist pajama bottoms because the jeans are now the most uncomfortable article of clothing in your entire wardrobe.

Eventually, you make your way back into bed, praying either for the week to end quickly or the sweet relief of death. Whichever comes first.

Can You Relate?

I'm going to take a small stab at politics today. Just because I'm curious.

In many recent polls, a common question that keeps reappearing is this: "Do you feel that (insert candidate's name here) relates to you as an everday American?"

Who cares? Why does that matter? Of course they don't relate to me. I lead a very different life than they do. The sheer fact that they are running for president sets them apart from me. I don't want, nor do I need the President of the United States to relate to me. I can deal with my own life just fine, thank you very much.

What I do want from my president is for him or her to do what the oath says: to protect, preserve, and defend the constitution. Perhaps that sounds simplistic. But look at how complicated this whole process has become. I just want the president to ensure freedom and to not be a control freak about it. To get out of my way and let me live my life according to my own dictates -- as long my own dictates aren't infringing on someone else's freedoms. The constitution guarantees me nothing more than the opportunity. And that's all I need.

Now THAT'S something I can relate to.

Good-Bye, Big Red; Hello Fred

A few weeks ago, I took my 2001 Chevy Tahoe (known as Big Red in our family) in for a thirty-dollar oil change, and came out with a $2000 estimate for half of the problems they found. I've been keeping Big Red patched together for a while now, but essentially, she was starting to cost me more to repair than she was worth. Among other problems, she had a rear main seal leak, differential leaks, and oil pan gasket leaks. Big Red was bleeding to death.

It was time for a new car.

So I found one.

Much to my son's chagrin.

"But the new one has bucket seats in the back," I tried to explain.

"They're not going to be as comfortable as Big Red," he fired back.

"It has a DVD player," I offered, thinking that would sell him.

"Still not as good as Big Red."

"Why don't you want to get rid of Big Red?"

"We've had Big Red almost my whole entire life!"

And that's when it hit me. He is MY son. Emotional attachment to cars? Yes, please! When I was a kid, we had a Ford Gran Torino (you know, the car from Starsky and Hutch?). My dad sold it when I was about 14. He bought it when I was about 3. It was blue, and we named it The Blue Bubble. My sisters and I swear it even looked like my dad. The day he sold it was a sad, sad day. In fact, it was so sad, that my dad had to leave the house while the guy came to pick it up! So as you can see, it runs in the family.

I had to give Jamison a moment alone with Big Red to say good-bye. We took a drive around the block a couple of times that day.

It's taken a couple of weeks, but our new car, Fred, is starting to grow on him. He likes the bucket seats. And he's already watched Transformers 3 on a trip to Salt Lake City. And red is his favorite color.

By the way, Fred (which stands for Ford Red -- and short for Fredericka because all cars are girls) is a lovely 2005 Ford Freestyle. And for all intents and purposes, Fred is NOT a station wagon. I don't drive station wagons. She's a cross-over SUV that seems to have nearly cut my fuel costs in HALF!

Welcome to the family, Fred.

Bearing Down in Salt Lake City

A couple of years ago when it was announced that the University of Utah would be joining the PAC 12, I jumped for joy. But only because it meant that I would get to go to an occasional basketball game when the University of Arizona was in town. Well, last night, my beloved Wildcats blew into town and pounded the Utes. Soundly.

I can be Ute fan. And generally, they're the team we cheer for in our house. Except when they're playing Arizona. But then we have this boy. And he is a RABID Utah fan. Even when they play Arizona. I tried explaining to him that when it comes to basketball, you ALWAYS cheer for Arizona; otherwise you're going to be disappointed. He wasn't buying it.

The boy in his Ute gear, and me, in the WINNING team's gear.

Dominating at the freethrow line.

Feeling a bit dejected.

The final score. And THAT'S how you Bear Down.