No Plastic Surgeon After All

I'm getting older. Somethings about this aging process I really don't mind. But then there are others that I fear, dread, and am frankly beginning to experience.

My siblings and I all have a shared trait. We have bags and dark circles under our eyes. For me, as I get older it is getting worse. It doesn't matter how much sleep I've had, how many vitamins I've swallowed, the black eyes remain. I've tried eye creams, preparation H, ice packs, sleep, and many expensive cover up creams but inevitably people continue to ask me if and why I'm tired. I hate it.

As I am aging I have noticed that I don't have as many wrinkles as some of my peers have. Again genetics. Instead, I am sagging. You see, I have an extremely oily complexion. Always have. When I get a sun burned nose, it doesn't dry and peel. My layers of skin simply slide off. So instead of deep creases caused by wrinkles I am developing deep creases from sagging. (We are only talking about the face right now.)

Then there is my neck. You can always tell a woman's age by her neck. Kathy Lee Gifford should be the poster child for this. Her face looks great with the layers of paint on her face but look at her neck. That can't be hidden without a turtle neck. And now I am seeing it. Ever so slightly as I turn and the light hits me just right I have the beginning of a turkey neck. I am becoming my grandma.

These three things bother me, more so than my waist line, graying hair, or liver spots that are beginning to show up on my hands. I have seriously considered making an appointment with a plastic surgeon to see what can be done. Subtly of course. Until now. I think I have found the solution and I am so excited to try it out. Tell me what you think.









For those of you that have emailed me, called me and text me - IT'S A JOKE!

Morals VS Finances

I am so stinking tick off! Several different things happened today that just lit me up and so I'm venting. Several years ago, more like ten , we were working for a contractor who taught me a very valuable lesson. One that I check in with now and then to see where I truly stand. He was a friend. A man that we trusted. A man that said he wanted to help us gain a secure footing in our company. (Side note: We've been self employed for sixteen years.) Months after a particularly large project was completed he still had not paid us in full. Unfortunately this ended up with lawyers. We never received the tens of thousands that he owed us but we learned a lesson.

He made the comment, "I know what the moral decision is but this is not a moral decision. It's a financial one."

And with that he told the necessary lies and forged the documents that got him off the so called financial hook and obligation. We pulled up our boot straps and went on. But I am always surprised at dishonest people who otherwise are very good. I simply don't get it. I can almost guarantee the way different cultures will pay us and do business. From their ethnicity to their religion. I won't break it down here because I don't want to throw everyone into the generalization pot. But very few customers have proven us wrong to date.

Gripe #1 - I am floored by the "buy and bail" that is so prevalent right now. If you aren't familiar with the term it is when someone intentionally purchases a second home with the intent of walking/foreclosing on the first. It's also referred to as a strategic foreclosure. You mean a strategic way to get away with something or out of something that you don't want to deal with. It's cheating. And cheaters stink. People aren't even ashamed to admit that they intentionally walked from their home. Wow. I'm sure I'm going to offend someone but I honestly don't care right now. I understand having to leave and foreclose on a property due to illness, death, loss of job etc. But to outright bail because your property lost value is down right dishonest in my eyes. Especially if you can continue to afford said property. Moral decision VS financial decision. How many "bailers" cancelled their cable and satellite, lowered their cell plans and all the perks, gave up the fast food and restaurants, vacationed less or not at all. I don't understand why you walk when you had planned on living there to raise your family. So what if the value dropped. If you can still afford your payments then why leave. If it was purchased as an investment then bad gamble. You signed a contract. You made an agreement. You didn't come out on top this time. To bad. Life is unfair. But for crying out loud hold on to your honor. Honor. Does anyone have it anymore? Do people even know what it truly means? Everyone is looking for the easy way out. No one is willing to work or suffer through to keep what matters. Self dignity. Honor. Self respect.

Gripe #2 - Once again another business man is taking us for a ride. Why? Because he screwed up and he needs a fall guy. So instead of taking responsibility and recognizing that he isn't going to come out on top this time, he is choosing to throw us under the bus for his benefit. He is slandering the work we do and the company we own. He is trampling over friendship and professionalism in order to get gain. And yes, he does fall into one of my unmentioned categories. It makes my blood boil because I know he knows the truth. Where is the courage to do what is right? A person shows their true character by what they do with their money. Rich or poor.

I've reread what I wrote and I sound arrogant. I don't mean to be. I have an expectation. I teach my children to do the right thing. To be honest in everything they do. Everything. It can be hard to do what is right and take responsibility for our mess ups. It takes courage. But by standing strong it builds character and self respect and no way will I allow someone else's decisions take that away from me. I've worked to hard to earn it and to keep it.

I Know Where My Kids Are

What I've done this week:

walked 13 miles and complained about my blisters
went grocery shopping
washed 7 loads of laundry
made a bank deposit
added oil to my car
filled my 37 gallon 10 mile to the gallon gas tank and choked
picked up my lap top from the repair shop
went to church
went out to lunch with my daughter in law
changed out my broken cell phone
cleaned my house
shuttered about my weight gain and clothes not fitting
drank lots of water to curb my soda craving
talked to my sister on the phone
went house hunting with my mom
got frustrated with my kids because they didn't tell me where they were going

Thought of Japan

perspective changes

I'm Sorry Chicago

A friend of mine called and asked if I would like to take his horses out. They hadn't been ridden in a while and needed some exercise. Uh... Twist my arm.

Bret and I loaded up the trailer with our new found horse friends Tonka and Tears and headed East. Many a wonderful trail is to be had in this area of dessert. Washes and jumping cholla abound along with the beautiful sight of nearby surrounding mountains. What wasn't present was rain and snow. This is why I love Arizona. 5 hours to the beach, 2 hours to the snow in the winter or cool pines in the summer. Phoenicians have it made. It's January and we are in short sleeves and sun glasses and brought plenty of water. If you've never made it to this lovely state, now is the time to come. Just please drive the speed limit and stay in your lane. (that could be a good gripe for my next post.)

A little - okay a lot - saddle sore but hope to do it again soon before it gets to hot and the rattlers come out.

For my curious out of staters we were at Usery Mountain Park, the white cactus is a jumping cholla so named because the tines are so thin on the end that you can't see them when you brush up against them and so they have the appearance of jumping. They hurt something terrible when you get poked with them too. The tall skinny dark green cactus is a saguaro, and the mountains in the background are the Superstitions, home to the tale of the lost Dutchman.

I'm A Liar. Are you?

I'll admit it. I'm a seasonal liar. At least to my children. I'm also a magician (at least when my children are young) and magicians perfect the art of deception. It all began one summer at the grocery store. My boys liked water melon but didn't like the seeds and therefore wouldn't eat it. I bought a seedless watermelon and took it home. I called them all to my attention and performed a fantastic abracadabra blah blah blah and Voila! The proof of my magic was exposed as soon as the knife cut into the juicy meat of the watermelon. No seeds. I was not only a magician but I was also a hero. This lie magic trick went on for several years. But one day the unthinkable happened. One of them learned to read. And I had been foolish enough to take that one with me to the grocery store. "You mean they make seedless watermelons!" he exclaimed with a hint of disdain in his voice. I was had. He wasn't willing to keep this secret from his brothers. As soon as his feet hit the driveway he was running in the house to expose his fallen hero.

I got my talent from my mom. She was a magician too. With the toaster. She had this great ability to know just when the toast was going to pop up. I still don't know how she did it. But I guess it wasn't lying magic like mine.

A new season is fast approaching and I giggled to myself as I listened in on a conversation between my twins as we walked through JCPenny's. One was acting up and the other was very quick to remind him of the Santa Cam's. They both looked up and simultaneously pointed. "He's watching you ya know." And the bad behavior immediately stopped and they were absolute darlings the rest of the shopping trip. I confess to another lie. No not Santa. We all do that. Several years ago I told my tantrum throwing toddlers that the spy/security camera's in Walmart was Santa's way of watching them.

I mean really, how else can he know what you want and if you are being naughty or nice I told them. And since I'm the mom and they are supposed to trust me I used it to every advantage and they believed in me- in Santa - in Santa cams. Take a look up the next time you're in a store with a rotten kid. Your chances of having a Santa cam near you is pretty good. And whether that makes me naughty or nice it's a lie I'm sticking to until they find out that the universal lie - Santa - isn't true.

9 EPT's (I did get a 2 for 1 deal)

I'm linking up to one of my favorite bloggers at the Denton Sanatorium. How did I end up in this house full of men? I never really thought much of my future. Of career, college, family. Maybe I didn't have enough time. I just went with the flow. I think that my lack of "future planning" has aloud me to ride the waves of life a bit easier. I met my love while I was still in high school. We fell in love and with a letter from my mother giving me permission to marry, we were on our way to the beginning of the next 25 years. No easy years but oh what an adventure.

My first son was born soon after. A three hour labor. No problems really. Mothering came naturally to me. I never felt inadequate or ill prepared. Okay maybe a little but I wasn't afraid. I wasn't intimidated by this new calling in life. I think that both of us being the oldest in our families and my coming from a single mother with 6 small children gave me the experience I needed to be comfortable. I thought my #1 was a breeze. I didn't realize what a fussy baby he was until I had others. I loved him so much. I would watch him sleeping in his cradle and morn for the emptiness I felt inside by not feeling him kick and squirm. Now I had to share and I didn't want to. My Danny. "Danny doo with eyes of blue", silly I know. I wasn't ready for another one anytime soon. I was still in high school and my husband was working three jobs.

I remember very well the moment I realized #2 was created. Sounds strange but I knew immediately. I just knew. I fell to my knees and with tears streaming down my face in the quiet darkness of my room I asked God to give me the ability to love another child. That was my biggest fear. How could I possibly love another child as much as I loved the first. I knew instantly when TJ was placed in my arms after my hour and a half labor. Hearts grow.

Spencer was my only planned. My heart knew it was time for another. My first two were 20 months apart but more time had passed and I was ready. It was a Sunday evening and we were sitting at the dinner table when I realized I had my birth control prescription to pick up. Bret looked at me across the table and said, "don't go" Those two words were some of the most romantic words he's spoken to me. Ten months later and my longest labor ever - 4 hours - my sweet dimple faced Spencer was born.

I hate to say that number four was a mistake but I will say that a contest and a bit of adventure brought us Taylor 33 months later. How much of that plays into his personality is a guess. I had four boys and life was good. Bret had his own business, we loved our little house and the boys were growing up.

I loved being pregnant! I joked with my sisters that I would and could easily be their surrogate if ever the need was there. I became pregnant easily, I was never sick, I felt fantastic, my deliveries were FAST and my babies healthy. So two years later we were expecting number five.
I felt fantastic even with four little ones. I was showing enough to have purchased and been wearing new maternity clothes and I had just begun feeling the tiny flutters and movements that mother's cherishes. I remember waking up in the early morning feeling the need to use the bathroom. I returned to my bed only to have the feeling again but before I could get back up my water broke. The rest is to sacred and personal but I had lost my fifth son. I had never felt my soul ache as I did that morning. My heart was forever scarred with that loss. But I knew I wasn't done. Our family wasn't complete.

A few months later I became pregnant again. Early on I started to spot and was put on immediate bed rest but at 8 weeks we knew that it wasn't to be. Mother's Day at church I went into labor and my husband took me home. I labored all day long until it was finally over. This one wasn't as hard to lose. Not to say that it wasn't hard but we knew the chances of loss so early on that I think we were mentally prepared for it.

Then number seven. That sounds weird and is strange to even read. We were excited. My doctor but me on total bed rest. I could shower, bathroom, fix my lunch if no one else was there to help and check the mail. My OB diagnose me with an incompetent cervix. I had damaged my cervix when I delivered #1 by pushing to soon which caused lots of tearing and thought that this surely contributed to the weakened muscle. I went in at 12 weeks to have my cervix stitched. At 16 weeks, after cute maternity clothes and those blessed feelings of movements inside, I went into labor. My husband was working out of town three hours away. My mom had to take me to the hospital. I can't imagine how my husbands heart must have hurt and how agonizing that trip home must have been for him after he received my call. I will forever be grateful to a tenderhearted ultra sound tech. The tech couldn't tell me anything. Hospital rules. But I needed to know. "Do you know what a Doppler is"? he asked. "I do. It's on isn't it"? He nodded his head. There was no sound. I had my answer. How could this have happened?

But it wasn't over. Once again we tried. Once again we lost. Identical scenario as five and seven. I lost number eight. The most painful experiences I have ever gone through. But. I learned through it all how much my Savior knew me, loved me, and was capable of comforting me. I wouldn't trade that knowledge for anything. People thought we were crazy. Crazy to have tried so many times to begin with and even more crazy , some said selfish and even foolish to try again. But as hard as I wanted to feel I was done, it wouldn't come. I prayed. I prayed a lot. I told God that I had it in me to try one more time but that was all I could do.

I didn't get pregnant. That never happened to me. But after several months and a positive test I was beginning my next ride. Bret went with me to the doctor. The same doctor that had cried with me the last 4 babies. With the ultra sound on, he looked over me and directly at my husband. Do you see what I see? They look like owl eyes. There are two in there! The three of us cried. With great excitement my doctor told me how in the past few months he had been caring for a patient that had similar experiences as me. He immediately ran some blood work and I tested positive. Had I become pregnant immediately he wouldn't have known how to treat me or to even test me. I have a genetic blood disorder called hyperhomocysteinemia. My blood is thick like pudding and I don't absorb B6, B12, and folic acid normally. So as my babies grew #1 my cervix wasn't strong enough to hold them and #2 my blood would clot, cutting off life. So at 12 weeks I had my cervix stitched for the third time, I was put on very strict bed rest, and I had to inject myself in my tummy, twice a day, with blood thinners. Too many blessing happened during this time of my life to even refer to in this post. At 36 1/2 weeks my twin boys were born. Healthy. Alive.

I knew we were done. The feeling was so precise. So definite. So final. It's been eight years since my last child was born. Eight years is the difference between my number four and five and six. Strange. It seems like a life time ago and yet the memories are as fresh as yesterday. Loss hurts oh so bad. I can't comprehend what those mothers who have lost living children must endure. Yes, my children lived. I felt them move. I saw and held their perfectness. But lets put this in proper context. I didn't nurse them, I didn't rock them to sleep or bathe them or comb their fine hair. Loss is personal. We can share but we can't truly understand and feel the pain of another. Not fully. To my friend and acquaintances who have suffered and endured so graciously - I honor, admire and respect you.

What has motherhood taught me? I am strong. I am brave. I am resilient. I trust. I have faith. I am loved. God is good. God hears prayers. God knows me. Personally. God knows my children. Personally. God knew what I needed to learn from motherhood. From physical pain, from emotional pain. God knew I would enjoy the journey and that I would trust Him. I am learning to trust myself. My greatest honor in this life is to be the mother of six boys. This is what I was made for. This is where I am supposed to mess up, to learn, to grow, to be. I've got my true love by my side to do it with and my Heavenly Father to guide me through it. I wouldn't trade a minute of it.

The Real Me

We never really know what people's perception is of us. How many know the real us? I mean the real us. I don't have a clue what people think of me, I hope it's positive. I decided to participate in Jenny's challenge. You can read about it here. In my defense I am a really really hard worker. When I put my mind to something I give it 200%, however I tend to neglect everything else while working on said project. I'm not very focused and disciplined. I haven't always been that way but 4 years ago this month that all changed. I'll blog about that another time.

Just remember lazy:

Lacking motivation-rAn out of time-Zomething better came along-no energY

I hate mornings but each one starts with my 16 year old waking me up at 6:40 to take him to school. I have just enough time to go to the bathroom and find my usually misplaced keys and sunglasses. Yes I wear my sunglasses even if it's not sunny. I guess you can call it my disguise. As he gets out of the car he often times has to pick up whatever fell out of the car onto the parking lot and throw it back in. Junk mail, water bottles, fast food bags, shoes, you name it. I drive back home and listen to the twins get ready for school. Notice how I said listen. A good perfect mom would make them a nutritious breakfast, comb their hair, and have a great morning conversation with them. I check my e-bay, face book, blogs, and e-mail while they are fixing frozen waffles, cold cereal, or peanut butter toast. In my defense I am in the other room within listening distance and I do gather with them for morning prayers before they rush out the door. At this point I often climb back into bed.

Once I wake back, I shower and get ready for the day. I rarely make my bed. I was not brought up this way. I don't remember a single day when my mom's bed was not made. I do know that it makes the day start off better but honestly I am just lazy. See the pile of shoes next to my night stand. Lazy. I think I a rebelling from my upbringing and so perhaps my children, in their lack of example from me will rebel and have perfectly neat and tidy rooms and made beds when they are adults.





I spent the last week at my sisters house a couple hours away. We spent hours and hours cleaning, sorting and organizing. She is incredibly talented as a musician, mother and more. But she needed help in the organization area where I have my talents. So if you were to come to my house after seeing and hearing all that I instructed and did, you would call me a hypocrite. I like to think of myself as a coach. A very good coach but a lousy player. I'm great at telling other people what to do and how to do it, but am terrible at implementing that said advice for myself.


I usually run errands and go to the office (self employed lets me work flexible hours). If I were on top of things I would do a little bit of house work before I left but again, I am lazy.

We are short people and I can't see the top of this shelf. But I am sure that most of the adult population that comes over can. Sorry mom I know you didn't raise me this way but you're really short and never would have known.

I generally eat while I am out. I am a confessed junk food/restaurant junkie. It's seams like such a waste of time to stop and fix something at home. Lazy. I did have a goal a little bit ago to eat healthy, and save money by eating at home. I went to the grocery store - a chore that I HATE - and brought home some things that would make for great breakfasts and lunches. And here it sits.

I know that many of you take time for yourselves during the early afternoons. A pedicure would be nice but the real me is missing too many toe nails. 3 1/2 to be exact. I lose them after big hikes and yes I've tried all kinds of boots and shoes. Here is the confession. My gross big toe has a fungus. Yes, FUNGUS. So gross to even admit. I'm that lady who you look down at and say, "Oh dear you need a pedicure." Yeah right. I know what would be said about me in a language I don't understand if I came in with my missing toe nails. I do know that I can get tips. Tips on toes. Sound really ridiculous but according to the Dr. it will only slow growth down if not stop it completely. I live in Arizona for heavens sakes where sandals and white have no September rules and I have ugly toes. I do occasionally paint my nails (skin). If you look at my painted right toe you will see a blister. That's from my 8 year old pair of Payless shoes that I danced the night away in and walked the Las Vegas strip till three in the morning (remember Karen?). Sunday church gave me a blister. Then there is a little nick on the next toe over - I don't know if you can see it but that's from shaving my toe hair. Yep fungus and toe hair. That's the real me.

I try to make it home in time for the kids to get home from school. We do the normal after school stuff, watch to much tv, play to much on the computer and realize when it's too late that it's time for dinner. We try to gather together as a family before bed and say our family prayers. Then the little ones are tucked in with a prayer, a song and a drink. And it must be in that order. I fall in bed about 10:00 and generally think of all the things I should have accomplished but didn't because I was to lazy to get it all done.