Engaged to be engaged.

This is my girl and her Mister. Her Mister's name is Nate Trull. For this Valentine's Day, she was given a promise ring.

Brittany and Nate. Nate and Brittany. It's funny how my two oldest children have been dating people with my siblings names.

Back to Brit. She and Nate are so stinkin' cute together. He gave her a promise ring, she made him homemade pasta for dinner. You know, MADE the noodles from scratch. One thing is for sure, they will always eat well. Nate served his mission in Italy, just like her Aunt Dartell. He cooks for her. He's a very good cook, and we have been blessed by some of his food around the ranch here.

Nate is an ASU student. He will graduate with his Bachelor's in Exercise and Wellness in May. Brittany is a massage therapist. Isn't that cute? Their educations complement one another.

I love the cute little smile she gets on her face when I mention his name to her. So stinkin' cute.

I've fallen...(don't help me!).....and I can't get up!

Mark thinks I need a Life Alert button. After yesterday, and even though I'm only 42, I might have to agree with him. But, I only agree with him to a degree. I certainly would not want to become the reason that rescue personnel laugh hysterically.

I fell. Not just any ordinary fall. A naked fall. A naked fall out of the bathroom. It was like someone ripped the floor out from under my feet.



I put my hands out in front of me as best I could and went down like a Vegas hotel being leveled for a newer and better one. I thought for a moment that I might have broken one or more of my wrists. And then I cried. Not a cute little whimper, but an all out wail.

The backstory at this point is that Andrew was home and in his room with headphones on and the television too. About 5 minutes later he heard me and attempted to come to my rescue.



When he realized my predicament, and then, his, he made a hasty retreat and shut the door and called out, "Are you okay, mom?"

I'm thinking to myself, "no, I'm not okay, but there is no way you are coming in here to pick me up!" Long story short, I finally got up, assessed my level of injury, and got dressed.

Later that evening, we had a pretty good laugh about it. Brittany thinks I need one of those nurse pull strings like they have in the hospital bathrooms. She also thinks I need OnStar for my bathroom. It's great that my family is always there with the humor quick recovery program.

But, I am so sore today.

New Year

I anticipate that I am only writing this post for myself at this point. I figure enough time has gone by, and people will have quit checking to see if I have updated my blog.

I have had a hard time recovering from the last year of my life. Having a lifelong battle with depression has not helped me succeed in recovering either. I didn't even send out Christmas cards for the first time in 22 years. I would tell the story of why, but, I can't.

Admitting that you suffer from depression is a double edged sword for the sufferer. You can be going along living your life, and the minute something is amiss, there must be something wrong with you, the sufferer. "Are you taking your medication?" is the frequent and oft asked question. As if because you take medication you aren't allowed to get upset ever or that people can crap all over you and you stand there and take it with a smile.

Doesn't quite work that way.

I am trying to dig out. I am irretrievably behind in everything that I do. Let's call a spade a spade. I am imperfect in all that I do. I don't need someone to tell me that I'm not that, it won't help. Don't break into my blog and write for me what you wish I would write. My blog is just that. My blog. If you want to say something, start one for yourself.

This was a spot where I used to feel pretty darn creative and I have lost that. I want it to come back, but it hasn't yet. I still feel really raw and beaten down.

So, if you're still with me, welcome. I anticipate writing something worth reading real soon.

Thanksgiving and other fairy tales

For those of you with a weak stomach where this possibly feminist blog entry is concerned, please feel free to exit........now.

I have had some time to consider this holiday that we call Thanksgiving. I am convinced that quite possibly this was a holiday made up by men, for men. Humor me, won't you? I have spent the better part of two whole days cooking a meal that will more than likely be devoured in 15 minutes flat.

The man of the house's job in all of this? Show up. That's right, all they have to do is show up. These men get to sit in front of the television set or nap all day, whatever suits their particular fancy, and then the little woman announces that the meal is ready. Yep. Show up.

As if standing on your feet and slaving over counters that are way too short for your particular frame wasn't enough, now that the meal is over, YOU get to clean it all up! There are no offers of help. It's like attending a party you never wanted to go to in the first place. You show up, make a little face time, and then you leave.

Christmas is the next big show of the year. It starts the day after Thanksgiving. The little woman is charged with the responsibility of making the home festive. She will be decorating while the men are watching TV or sleeping.

The idea of Festivus is becoming much more appealing to me as the years go by. This is a holiday I might be able to get on board with. You put a plain metal pole, the Festivus pole, in the middle of the room and the participants take turns airing their greivances and reciting their disappointment with family members. Co-stan-za!

Hans Christian Anderson I am not. I'm difficult to speak with too. Happy Holidays, fellas!

Autumn is finally here.

Went for my walk with the doggies tonight, and for the first time it felt a tad brisk. I am LOVING the cooler weather. Oh how I miss the changing of the color of the leaves of my childhood in Washington. Of course, this weather is why people live in Arizona. We live through four months of hell fire just for this, and we never have to shovel the driveway.

I've been thinking alot about my Grandma Hedberg. She died when I was 12 years old at the very young age of 50. I miss her. I loved the holidays when I was young and we would go over to her house to eat. She always used real butter.

My grandma smelled of Pond's cold cream and coffee. I have never drunk coffee, but I absolutely love the smell of it. I use Palmolive dish soap because that was what she used and the smell always brings me back to her kitchen.

She, in my opinion, was the glue that held our extended family together. After she died, no one seems to get together anymore, or talk to each other anymore. It's sad really. I equate the holidays with family and well, I just don't have that. I love watching big families get together and see how they interact with one another. Silently wishing and hoping that it was mine.

I've been trying very hard to be thankful. Even though, most days I have a hard time thinking up something. This has been and is probably one of the worst years of my life.

Anyway, autumn is finally here, and I am thankful for that.

Hacked.......again.

What a shock to revisit my blog after a week of media-freedom only to find it has been hacked into.

I know my blog entries have not been terribly uplifting lately. To be honest, I don't feel terribly uplifting or uplifted for that matter.

I started my blog as a creative outlet. I like to write tales, well whoppers, really. Some of my tales are masked truths that I am not at liberty to come right out and say. To do so would land me in the bishop's office.

I haven't really felt like blogging lately because it seems everything I write is held to a microscope and scrutinized and ultimately, criticized. I really wasn't aware that freedom of speech didn't exist in the blogging world. Don't I feel stupid.

I broke my toe two weeks ago. Fact. It still hurts. Fact. I have a hard time dividing my ideals with my reality. Fact. Therefore, my feelings have a tendency to be worn on my sleeves. For this, to those who take offense, I apologize.

Have a nice day.

The Most Wonderful Wife and Mother Award...

Goes to none other than...

Charmen Johnson!

Congratulations, my love, you earned it.

Lee