A Musing Mother 6

I wrote this on my Facebook page: Makayla just wandered upstairs and found me reading on the sofa, pants discarded, as usual. She laughed at me. I laughed at her. Then I realized that Makayla Jensen is not my daughter. Go home, Makayla! I'm not putting my pants back on just because you are here!  There are now two camps. People who agree with me and people who have absolutely no idea why anybody would discard pants upon entering home. Fortunately, I've found that I'm not in a camp all by myself. I found an article of 10 Reasons Why I Hate Pants: Best summed up by this Venn Diagram sent by Scott's cousin:  

We're getting our kitchen redone and have finally reached the stage of final plans. A couple of days ago, the cabinet guy came over for final measurements. I greeted him, let him in and walked out the back door, grabbed a shovel and dug up worms in the side garden with the chickens. We found some huge, juicy ones. I'd had a hard day at work. It relaxes me. I returned to my house and commented that working with natural elements like wood and granite must be so grounding to him. Mike, the cabinet guy agreed. Then he added, "Except for working with the wackos, it really is great. By the way, what were you doing out there?" Nothing. Mike, the cabinet guy dropped the final plans off about an hour ago. I couldn't answer the door because I didn't have on pants. Pants are not necessary nor are they even preferred when at home alone. I only knew it was Mike, the Cabinet Guy, because I peeked out the window as he drove away. I grabbed the plans and looked them over. Bes

I was out to lunch with my dance friends on Saturday and the conversation turned to our daily difficulties. One woman claimed she struggles with spelling. Horrifically, she mentioned. Another also struggles with spelling but doesn't know it. I know because she published a book on Amazon and I bought it. One can't write. Another hates to read. I struggle with time and space, I announced. They looked at me like I'd just teleported from another galaxy. "Like Star Trek?" No, like I can't judge space like a normal person. I'll be trying to find a parking spot and find the teensiest one and attempt to park the car. Scott will tell me "You won't fit, you won't fit," and I will pay him no mind. Of course I'll fit. I can park the car in the smallest of spaces after much back and forth and then announce, "Yep. It's too small." He just rolls his eyes. One day a woman waited for me in her car outside of Target until I returned from

All I was doing was looking for an image of my great, great, grandmother. What I found was a newspaper article about her father and the demise of a certain grizzly bear that did not want to go down quietly. William Dees, my ancestor, was the first school teacher in a little community in southern Idaho. He and 11 other families settled the area, greatly offending the Shoshone Indian tribe. They were recorded as being "fierce" and "a menace." In fact, the entire settlement spent all summer someplace else, returning only to harvest their crops. Eventually, they did return to their community for good, only to continue struggling with their crops. Just to be clear about what these homes consisted of, they were dugouts. Little more than mud, dirt and grass. Home, sweet, home. Additionally, the settlement struggled with wild animals wandering into their corrals and killing their animals. While I sometimes worry about the stray raccoon or hawk stealing away my chickens, or