The Scampering Horse

Cheri, Valerie, LaDawn, Evelyn cute Stefani down front Pretty much my favorite thing in the world from the age of 5 to the age of 13.  "Girl Parties" were invented by my aunt Karina.  She participated in beauty pageants.  As a contestant. Don’t worry, she grew out of it. As I sat in the audience of the Miss Arizona pageant, I couldn't imagine anything more awesome in the world than being in college, dating multiple boys, singing “Stand by Your Man” on stage, and strutting my stuff in a swimming suit for the world to see.  She was one of only a couple contestants that wore a one piece instead of a bikini. She brought some of the glamour home, and when I would visit we would have a Girl Party. I had cousins that lived nearby my Grandma, and Aunt Karina.  We would all gather for the ritual. A Girl Party consisted of getting your fingernails painted, hair curled and styled, make-up applied, and pictures taken in pageant dresses.  Frequently, we put on a talent

My oldest child is still very little.  She is the oldest of 4 siblings and she is not quite 7 years old.  This past school-year she was in first grade. This is what we look like every day walking home from school. We smile just like this, everyday. The first day of first grade she wore a cream colored shirt that had the word “fiesta” embroidered on the front of it in red.  She wore it because, “School is like a fiesta.” First day of school, fiesta-ing it up. She was a new student at her school that first day. Our family moved ten minutes up the road from a two bedroom apartment into a three bedroom house (+ 2 car garage) and, yes, we feel like we live in a mansion. The move put her into a different elementary school. Julie felt like a new girl.  She was worried about making friends.  With a June birthday, she was one of the younger kids so I was concerned about her making friends, too. After the first few days, it was obvious she was a bit behind most of the o

I was named after Evelyn.  It is a lovely name.  I've always liked it, even when I was little.  Granny Mac was a teacher her whole adult life.  She was a really good teacher, too.  She was one of those teachers who had  students come over to her house after school to help tutor them in reading. She taught me my times tables and paid me for memorizing them when I was in second grade. I was really good at multiplying.  When I went to college she wrote me a check to help cover my costs of books.  It was so appreciated.  She told me to write her letters, but not about boys.  She said that specifically.  So I didn't talk to her about that.  I told her about my teachers, the books I was reading, and the papers I was writing.  I showed her my grades. She was very encouraging in my academic endeavors. Evelyn Smyth McNeill My Grandma Helen was very different. When I was little, she wanted me to sing for her.  She would cook me anything I wanted, even if it was boiled cabbage.

Not the whole world.  I guess it is just the first world.  The world with access to cameras, and internet, and food.  Any of these three items on their own are perfectly fine.  It is when we feel the need to combine them that we run into some problems. One problem.  The problem being: gross. What was this? Maybe beans if we're being optimistic? Facebook is used to share the best of times and the worst of times.  We feel connected to people as we share our stories, our thoughts, our feelings.  Nothing says “I feel excited” like an emoticon. Nothing says, "My gerbil is dead," like a status update. We also share our passions.  Work, family, new stories, world views, hobbies, projects, pets, health, politics, cats, and...unfortunately, dinner.  Let us discuss the prevalent epidemic of amateur food photography. Nutritious, and? mmm...doesn't look delicious. I'm sure it tastes better than it looks. I, too am passionate about food. I’ve been g

My nose.  I can smell it. What is “it” you ask?  Exactly. It all started with my first pregnancy, and not in a good way. Many pregnant women experience this same phenomenon.  The smell of meat cooking would instantly turn me off from eating and I was a self-made vegetarian for a few months.  Cooking chicken, or bacon....ewwww. But, my superpower was not just an annoying aversion to smells.  It was also an asset.  “Ian, the noodles smell done.” The NOODLES?  Yes, I can smell when the noodles are done.   Which is awesome. While pondering my smelling experiences a few years back, I flashed back on all the smells that came to me so strongly, just when I needed them to.  The fresh bread baking at the LDS institute building in Las Cruces, at just the right moment.  The sour rag that needed washing that was sitting in the sink.  The unmistakable scent of an overheated laptop resting on the pillow on my lap. The aroma of an opened can of Strawberry soda wafting from my hu

I love to create something beautiful.  It gives me the greatest satisfaction in life. When I was first battling depression in college, I wrote poetry, stories, and essays.  I didn’t know I had depression, so I didn’t know I was healing myself.  I wrote about my roommates, about my lost love, about  running, about Marge Simpson.  Beauty can be found everywhere. The greatest paradox is post-partum depression. Beauty and depression.  I have just created the most beautiful thing a person can create, another little person; and, yet the sinking feeling of worthlessness and overwhelming inadequacy to the task accompanies the beauty. So strange.  It feels so unnatural. Can I tell you what I did after my first baby?  Before I knew that beauty healed me? I made hair bows. Isn’t that so simple? My sister-in-law and dear friend Audrey lived an hour away from me in El Paso while her husband was doing his medical residency, so we were both alone-ish.  We became friends and

I recently put some Caramel Turtle Cheesecake ice cream in my freezer. It had some friends waiting to say hi.  Can you guess my favorite brand? My freezer isn't that big. Yet, I do not want to run out of my favorite ice cream. Hoarding runs in my family.  I do not kid. It runs strongest on my fathers’ side. They/we don’t like to talk about it. My father’s mother left two trailers full of stuff when she passed away.  Clothes from when her children were teenagers, broken kitchen electronics, several sewing machines, soap, trash, just stuff.  Lots of it.  Her children inherited the hoarding trait, especially in the form of books.  Books are good, right?  Reading, information, learning, literacy, all good things.  Somehow that was translated into possessing books.  A library full. Not lying. Sitting with dust, cobwebs and mice poo covering those precious books.  My dad hoards too.  He has a building full of stuff.  We call it "The Building."  It sits in

I saw a teenage girl swinging at the park yesterday.  She had some ear buds in, and was just swinging.  All by herself.  Alone. Swinging. Not a little girl.  A teenager. I was impressed. And surprised. Kind of disturbed. Sort of confused. A little bit in awe. She was alone. Now, I love being all by myself,  as long as I have someone with me.   Here are some of the things I like to do alone. 1)I like to write alone, with someone on a bench reading or writing, too.  2)I like to study alone, in a library full of people.  3)I like to cook alone, with Ian. 4) I like to go to the loo alone, but I would rather there was a pilot co-pilot situation, or even a pilot bombardier. Everything is better with a friend. Truth is, I don’t really ever want to be alone. Extroverts get their energy from being with people; that's me.  I can leave the house exhausted, go hang with people for a few hours, and come home with a rejuvenation that will keep me awake for hou

I have five brothers and I am the only girl.  It is part of my identity.  I have three older brothers and two younger brothers.  I bossed them all when we were younger, and now they have wives to do it for me. Their wives are way better at it than I ever was. Basketball loving, hoodie wearing 8th grader. Growing up I was very competitive.  I say was.  I don’t think I am competitive now, but I that might not be true. I was always trying to out-do my brothers, or at least do things just as good as they could. Due to this competitiveness I have developed some interesting skills. One, I can eat a lot, and I can eat it fast.  Eating was an unspoken competition.  There were never leftovers and if you didn’t claim your food, you were going to miss out.  The brother just older than me, Clifton, was always hungry.  He is 6’3” and has the body of an NFL linebacker, so I can’t blame the man for his insane appetite, but he was the main competition.  And, he was not a picky eater. “Lean B

There are a lot of things I like about being a stay at home mom.  I like that I am my own boss. I like that I get to spend a lot of time with my children. I like everything about being a mother: nursing my babies, clothing them, doing their hair, reading them stories.  I like watching my children learn how to do things, like walk, talk, sing, wash their own hair, and I get numerous opportunities.   I like looking out my window and watching my birds, looking at my flowers.  I like taking my children out into the world.  We go on outings to the park, zoo, botanical gardens, nature center, library, museums, and visit friends. I like having time for projects: sewing, building things with wood, making bows, and lots of other random things I think of.  But, as with any job, there are things I don’t like about being a stay at home mom.  Mostly, that part about cleaning.  It is the part of my job that would be here whether I was a stay at home mom or not, but if I worked fo

My first love was the summer of my sixteenth birthday.   My interests growing up leaned towards the active side.  I am more alive when I feel the sun beating on me, smelling pine trees or creosote traveling on the wind, and hearing the birds chattering.  We had so much fun every meal in the dining hall with friends and watching the stars at night. It was a blissful, carefree summer. He taught me how to talk, and not be afraid of myself.  My second love was my senior year in high school. So many long talks and late nights. I loved his laugh.  I loved looking at him.  I loved how smart he was.  He had a girlfriend, and didn't ask me to our Grants High School senior prom, too offenses for which I will never forgive him for. I was an all consuming jealous. He taught me patience. I met my third and fourth loves my first year of college in Thatcher, Arizona. I loved Ian first. He was my brother’s roommate and my best friend that first year of college.  We went on runs t